Fuller High; there is absolutely no reason she should be on this side of town. You know, except to fuck up my entire life.
“Excuse me?” I say, and if I were Brittany, I'd probably run. Can she hear the murder in my words? If not, she clearly has no sense of self-preservation. The bourgeois cheerleader cunt stares right back at me with weepy brown eyes. She's looking at me, and not at Hael, but if she's just called out Havoc then there's a reason for it.
Somehow, it never really occurred to me that someone else might call Havoc. I mean, logically, I always knew it was a possibility, but I guess I was showing my naivety by believing it wouldn't happen. Even weirder than hearing Havoc called out, is knowing that I'm as beholden to that word as any of the boys. As a member of Havoc, it's also my duty to carry out requests—and to determine price.
How the tables have turned.
I narrow my eyes on Brittany's pregnant ass, wondering if there’s something in the goddamn water here in Springfield for so many girls to be pregnant. Brittany, Kali … hopefully not me. I bite my lower lip and wonder if I shouldn't take a pregnancy test. I haven't been careful enough, and as much as I believe in a woman's right to choose, I'd rather not have to deal with any of that. Doctors, nurses, questions, medical procedures. It's an invasion of another sort, and I'm not interested in subjecting myself to scrutiny of any kind.
For right now though, I'm not thinking about birth control. Nah, instead it’s violence that’s in the forefront of my mind. But I already beat up a pregnant chick today. Restraint is key.
“What did you just say?” Hael asks, his face going ashen as Brittany makes her way over to us, dressed in an oversized cable-knit sweater and leggings with UGGs. She’s got her basic bitch uniform down pat, pumpkin spice latte included. I can see the letters PSL scrawled on the side of the cup.
“Havoc,” Brittany says again, lifting her chin in defiance. “I'm calling Havoc.”
“You don't even go to Prescott,” Hael chokes out, but he knows as well as I do that that was never part of the bargain. Call out the word, state your needs, pay the price. That's it. “Holy motherfucker son of a bitch,” he groans, letting his head fall back and sliding both hands over his face.
“I need you, Hael,” Brittany says, leveling a death glare on me, like it's my fault she got pregnant with some random guy's kid. Looking at her, I can see that we've devolved into something primal here. She wants this man standing between us, but even though I'm loath to admit it, the thought of her taking him from me fills me with a white-hot fury. “This baby needs you.” She puts her hand over her belly, finally turning her attention away from me and over to her ex. “That's why I'm calling Havoc. I want you to be in my life, in this baby's life. I want you to be a father.”
Hael drops his hands at his sides and gives her a long, suffering look. His expression is strained, almost dejected. He wants this about as much as I do.
“That's what you called Havoc for?” he asks, studying her in a way that says he looks back on their relationship with about as much fondness as I look back on Donald. What a mistake he was, a nightmare of national proportions. Clearly, anyone can see what a divisive little psycho he is. “To ask me to be a father?” Hael laughs, the sound dry and disconnected. “You understand that's a lifelong commitment. You'll never be able to pay our price.”
“Look, I'm going to be honest with you, okay,” Brittany says, casting me a look that says I'm not welcome to be a part of this conversation. “But I want to talk alone. Can we take a drive maybe?” She takes another step forward, reaching out to put her hand on Hael's muscular arm. I step between them, cutting her off from touching him and staking my claim in a man that I'm still royally pissed off at. But I can't help it. This is getting primal: two bitches fighting over a bastard. And I'm not about to lose. If Brittany wants to see claws, I'll show her mine. Guarantee mine are sharper, longer, and tipped in venom.