Keating or else you’re just bored and drained of life (i.e. every other staff member except maybe Mr. Darkwood whom I still hate).
I shove up from my chair and the crowd parts to let me through.
The VGTF.
The Violent Gang Task Force.
Oh. Fuck.
I’m already panting as I stumble into the hall, my eyes widening as the world around me slows down, like the hungry ticking of time is being filtered through sand.
There are my boys, all five of them, handcuffed and being marched down the hall in a single file line. They’re each being escorted by two cops, decked out in full SWAT gear, with face shields and rifles and everything.
My mouth goes dry as Victor glances my way, his expression bored, dark eyes admitting nothing.
I move up to him, ignoring the shuffling of the cops, the lifting of guns.
“Finish class. Act like nothing’s wrong. Hit Aaron’s house after school and one of our guys will meet you there to get the girls,” he whispers before he’s cuffed in the back of the head and I’m dragged backward by Ms. Keating. One glance at her face, and I can see that she’s worried. That’s when I know for certain that she’s the best, most genuine human being I have ever met.
While Sara Young and her type aren’t bad people, they’re twisted in their own way from following a rigid set of moral rules. Ms. Keating is just kind, through and through. She doesn’t like seeing her students manhandled like criminals.
I mean, they are, but that’s not the point.
I’m starting to hyperventilate as I watch each letter in Havoc walk by.
“Last time you’ll fuck with my daughter, you punk,” a bald man without a helmet says, his fingers clamped so tightly on Hael’s bicep that I can see angry red marks where his skin is indented.
It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.
Brittany’s dad. The anti-gang squad. Her rage at Hael when the DNA results came back.
Either her father acted on his own in response to his daughter’s grief … or she betrayed Havoc. Broke her price. Wrote her own epitaph.
Hael looks at me in apology as he’s ushered past, Aaron close behind him. He says nothing to me, but his look says it all. He knew this might happen one day. He pushed me away from Havoc because, unlike Vic, his love is not selfish. It’s endless and infinite and pure.
Shit.
Oscar comes next, frowning hard, his glasses askew, one of the lenses cracked. If I were the police on either side of him, I’d be afraid. Even handcuffed, even being assorted out of a high school surrounded by rifles, he’s dangerous.
“Hey, Bernie, you’re beautiful in the worst possible way,” Cal chortles as he walks past, laughing and laughing and laughing, his blond hair shimmering under the fluorescent lights.
They hit the front doors of the school as I stand there in a panic, my mind blank, my mouth hanging open.
But … but Havoc is untouchable … right?
“Looks like even Satan makes mistake,” Mitch calls out, and then one of the nameless Charter Crew assholes sets off a party popper, exploding confetti across our classmates. They start to whoop and chant, a near deafening sound in the crowded hallway.
Kali giggles and cuddles up against Mitch’s side, flicking a poisonous glance my direction as she throws up a fist in the air and cheers.
It’d be impossible right now to look around this school and miss the dark, quiet expressions on some of the students’ faces. These are the Prescott kids with skeleton masks in their lockers. I feel a solidarity with them. Blood in, blood out.
“Alright, everyone,” Ms. Keating says, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. “That’s enough of that. Back to class.” Laughter and groaning echo around the school as people file reluctantly back into their classrooms, whispering behind cupped hands, their eyes darting straight to me.
The disgraced Queen of Havoc.
A queen who isn’t entirely sure what to do just yet.
“Aw, look, the bitch is about to cry,” Billie purrs, and I swear, I nearly fracture my jaw when I grit my teeth against a surge of violence. As much as I’d love to recreate what I did to Kali by smashing her face into a locker, there are too many witnesses around and clearly, this is not a good moment to be stirring up trouble.
“Don’t pray for trouble, Hael,” Oscar said. Damn but he was dead-on.
“Do you need a minute to calm down, Bernadette?” Ms. Keating asks, standing close by,