Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,11
service I don't offer most of my clients. Be grateful, Bernadette.” Victor's face shuts down, and I see the full scope of his brutality. If I push this, if I kiss him and take this deal, I'll end up in his bed. My enemies will end up in the ground; my sister will be safe.
It's all I've ever wanted anyway. Well, the last half of it.
There's no need to drag this out any further: I made my decision this summer, and I'm sticking to it. My own inked fingers curl around his neck, and I try not to think too hard about this. It's just a kiss; I've had other kisses before.
But when I lower my lips to Vic's, and that hot slash of his mouth brushes up against mine, heat slices through me. He puts one of his big hands on the back of my neck and holds me there, his tongue sliding into my mouth and taking over. His kiss is a demand for more, the sealing of a deal, like some kind of fucked-up reverse fairy tale. This time, I'm not kissing the prince to become the princess, I'm tonguing the villain to guarantee the destruction of others.
Watching their downfall should be satisfying, cathartic in a way.
It's hard to think about that though when Vic is holding me so still, kissing me so deep, his cock lengthening beneath me. I can feel it through the black basketball shorts he's got on.
“Fuck me,” he commands, pulling back just enough so that his lips brush mine when he talks. My heart is pounding, but I knew this was coming. I said I'd be their plaything, didn't I? I knew what I was agreeing to.
My hands come down and curl under the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. I'm still wearing my bra, but that doesn't stop Victor from sliding his hand up my side and searing me with heat. His tattooed fingers knead the heavy flesh of my breast through the black lace.
We're still sitting in the front yard, but whatever. I'm sure the people in this neighborhood have seen worse.
Vic reaches around behind me to unhook my bra … and then a man comes out of the house, wearing a stained wifebeater and smoking a cigarette.
“Don't fuck your whores in front of my house, you little bastard,” the man snarls, stumbling toward us. Vic tenses up, but he doesn't move from where he is. He does, however, let me go so I can stumble up and grab my shirt from the lawn, slipping it back over my head.
“Get your ass back inside, old man, you're an embarrassment.” Victor waits while the guy makes his way over, sneering at me in a way that has me bristling. I've been looked at by older men that way for far too long, and I won't put up with it anymore.
If I have to choose between victim and aggressor, I'll pick the latter every time. My life as an innocent has long since slipped from my grasp.
“Get over here girl, and I'll show you how a real man fucks.” The old guy with the thinning hair grabs his dick and runs his tongue across his lower lip, making me feel sick to my stomach. My hatred for Victor Channing is only outshone by my lust for him, but this guy … he's repulsive, exactly the sort I've always hated.
Vic moves from his chair in such a fast, fluid motion that he's just a blur. His tattooed hand wraps the other man's throat, and he walks him backward until the creep's being slammed against the trunk of a tree. Victor gets right in the asshole's face, the expression on his one of murder.
“I told you not to touch my girls.” Slam. He pulls the guy—who I'm assuming must be his father—away from the tree, only to slam his back into it again. “Don't talk to my girls.” Slam, slam, slam. “Don't even look at them.”
Victor releases the man, who crumples to the ground right away, choking and grabbing at his throat, before stepping back. Vic glances my way, running his inked fingers over his violet hair, his mouth in such a severe frown that I'd be worried if I were his dad.
“Go home, Bernadette,” he says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket before removing one and lighting up. “Don't be late to school on Monday.”
“I wouldn't dare,” I mock dryly, turning and grabbing