Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,1
about me,” I say, watching as people clear out of Victor and Hael’s way, moving to either side of the hallway to leave a path. The last thing anyone wants to do is draw those assholes and their attention.
Back in freshman year, the boys made a deal with the rest of the school: call out the word Havoc, that dark acronym of their first names, and they’ll do anything for you. But only if you’re willing to pay their price. And I’ve just done it. I’ve taken their word for it and called their gang. Now, I have to see what it is they’ll want from me in order to do my bidding.
Most students at Prescott would rather jump off a bridge than risk calling Havoc.
And it's the way I start my first day of senior year.
Stacey is right: I really do hope I know what I'm doing here.
But the phrase is fight fire with fire, right?
And I, I need an inferno.
My first day back at Prescott High is tense as hell. I'm witness to three separate fights, and a sophomore getting busted for bringing meth to school. Like, literal methamphetamine. Other schools freak out if a student is caught with a joint. Here, you're just lucky if you don't get hot-boxed while you're taking a piss in the girls' bathroom.
“Bernadette, right?” Callum Park says, taking the seat across from me in the cafeteria. The food here is crap, but at least it's free. It's better than not eating at all, so I choke it down. Callum has a tray, too, but the only thing that's on it is a can of Pepsi, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter.
“Wow, you remember my name?” I ask, feigning joy as I put my fingers to my chest. “After kicking the shit out of me for nearly an entire year? Good for you.” I don’t bother mentioning that we’ve been going to school together since second grade, too. He knows that. All the Havoc Boys know that.
Callum smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's a smile nightmares are made of.
His lips are full and pink, but I’m not fooled by that pretty-boy face of his. Cal’s blond hair hides the scars on his forehead, and the lowered hood of his sweatshirt helps shadow the ones on his throat. Blue eyes watch me curiously across the surface of the beat-up cafeteria table as he drums navy-painted fingernails on the edge of his tray.
“You know how we work, just like anybody else. You say the word, we name the price, the job gets done. It's not personal, it's business.”
It’s not personal? I think, staring back at him. Tormenting me wasn’t personal? But like me, Callum’s an empty shell of a person, so maybe he doesn’t lose sleep at night over it. Bad things happened to him, but bad things happened to me, too. And he was one of them. During sophomore year, my ex-best friend hired the Havoc Boys to torment me. I’ve spent a year and a half wondering what price she paid. Mostly, I’ve spent a year and a half wondering if the Havoc Boys ever cared about me at all.
“Get the fuck away from me, and I'll meet you after school in the library. Isn't that how this thing is supposed to work?” I narrow my green eyes on him, running my tongue across my lower lip and tasting the waxy texture of my lipstick. I’m wearing a line called Naked Heat today, and the color is Scorched, this metallic copper shade that tastes even better because I stole it and I didn’t get caught. “I call Havoc, I set the terms.”
“More or less,” Callum purrs in that rough, husky voice of his, reaching up to run his fingers through his golden hair. He flips the hood on his sleeveless navy sweatshirt up. “But don't push it, Bernie.”
He stands up and stalks out of the room as my hands shake, and I pick the carton of chocolate milk up. Milk. Like a freaking elementary school student. I drink it anyway and pretend like hearing Cal call me Bernie again doesn't bring back horrible memories.
The Havoc Boys are more than just bullies; they're a full-fledged gang.
Once upon a time, they took me down.
This time, I'm sending them on a mission of my own. I just hope this transaction doesn't leave me broken and bleeding like it did last time.
This is such a stupid, fucking idea, I tell myself as I pace out