Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,1
for a moment before giving a brief nod.
My feet are moving across the floor before I even realize it, the boys trailing just behind. I continue to feel Oscar’s stare on my back, and I think about the way he put his hand on my head and told me he was sorry. Too little, too late, maybe, but I don’t care.
He’s mine, and we both know it.
He can be fucked-up; he can run away after sex; shit, he can trade barbs with me all day long.
That doesn’t take away from our belonging to one another. Signed and sealed, written in blood. Cannot be undone.
“Bernadette,” Officer Young says, her doe-brown eyes flicking past me to land on the boys. Like a murder of crows with sharp-sharp beaks, they scatter, dispersing into the crowd as if her presence has any effect on them at all. In reality, I know Oscar would put his revolver to Sara’s temple, pull the trigger, and not lose any sleep over it.
It’s up to me to act like a moral compass in this situation. Not that the boys have a terrible one, because they don’t. After all they’ve been through, despite the darkness in which they thrive, they do good for this city. Springfield could only be so damn lucky to have us run the underground.
Somebody has to do it, right? Why not a bunch of somebodies whose hearts actually beat? Who care for other souls beyond their own? Who actually have souls, I should say. We won’t sex traffic little girls; we won’t hurt bystanders; and I’ll be damned if we kill cops whose worst sin is that their hands are a little too clean.
Kali turns her toxic gaze to mine, and I swear on the devil’s perky tits that I feel something slash through me, like the fangs of an arachnid. Poison, poison, poison. I’ll admit: I’m a little sexist. After everything men have done or tried to do to me, I know the depths of their evil. Women, overall, are not nearly as bad. But when they are, they’re fucking venomous.
“Do you need something?” Sara asks, seemingly oblivious to the silent battle of wills taking place in this stupid dance. This stupid, motherfucking idiotic bullshit dance that I, for some silly reason, wanted to come to with Aaron.
I wanted to be seventeen for a night.
I wanted to be in love.
Instead, I’m going to soak my pretty, pink dress in blood.
I smile.
Kali senses my intentions; I know she does. Good. As she should. That’s my only regret in finding out that Coraleigh and her idiot husband Marcus had their heads chopped off by someone that wasn’t me: intent. They need to understand where I’m coming from, and why they’re being punished. But whereas Leigh was delusional enough to fool herself into thinking she’d done nothing wrong, Kali knows.
Kali. Fucking. Knows.
My tongue slides across my lower lip and tastes the waxy texture of my lipstick; it’s called Anarchy by the way, and it’s pink and vibrant and terrifying when paired with a rictus grin.
“Your makeup is definitely on point, Kali,” I say, cocking my head slightly to one side, like a wolf who’s scented weakness in the pack. Time to cull the herd, am I right? “Hides the fucked-up swelling from your stitches.” I run a finger round my mouth to emphasize the places where Stacey and her girls pushed their wicked needle to sew the bitch’s lips together.
Brilliant. Beyond brilliant. I should befriend Stacey Langford. She’s never treated me like shit, despite being Prescott’s queen bee, and I don’t think she’s ever screwed any of my boys. My eyes shift slightly to the right, finding Hael’s strong gaze in an instant. He stands out in a crowd, carrying this cloud of charisma that draws girls to his honey like flies.
Even though they know he’s off-limits, even though they know that I’m watching, still they come. If I didn’t have Aaron to worry about right now, I’d be cunt-punting and titty-slapping my way through their skanky asses. Well, the Prescott girls are all skanky—it’s kind of our thing. Fuller girls look like catalogue models. Oak Valley girls look like anorexic birds in designer dresses.
I turn back to Kali, but, despite the fire in her eyes, she flips the victim card again and tears appear, as if I started all this by calling Havoc on her. As if I sought her out and started bullying her for no reason at all. Fucking pathetic.