Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,24
stare at him.
“Don't I?”
A long, silent moment passes, the wind whistling down the dirty street. In this part of the city, nobody calls the cops over a gunshot. Better to let something bad happen to someone else than be labelled a snitch and bring something bad on you and yours.
“These kids are fucking crazy, I told you,” one of the other men says, grabbing his groaning, bleeding buddy under the arms. Several of the other men step in to help as Oscar stays where he is, gun held rock steady in one hand. “You tell Vic that his dad owes money to a lot of powerful people.”
“My patience is sadly running low,” Oscar says, cocking the hammer again for emphasis. “I'm going to count down from ten in my head.” He taps his temple with an inked finger. “And if you're not gone by the time I get to one, well …”
The men scramble to drag their friend away while several others come pouring out of the house, booking it down the road with limps and blood and black eyes.
Hael, Aaron, and Callum come out after them with Vic following behind.
He drags his father by the shirt and throws him into the dead grass, knocking over the plastic lawn chair we sat in together just days ago. My heart begins to beat, and I run my tongue over my lower lip without thinking.
“You piece of shit,” Vic snarls, putting his boot on his father's chest, his teeth gritted in anger, a muscle ticking in the side of his neck. “You brought that crap home with you. Are you insane?”
“That's my boy,” the man coughs, choking and sputtering under the weight of his son's shoe. “I knew you and your friends would be there for me. That's what family is for, right?”
Vic's entire face shuts down, and he removes his boot, crouching down next to his father with the darkest expression I've ever seen on another human being.
“Havoc does not exist to be your personal police. This is the first and last time we will come to your aid. Do you understand me, old man? The next time those men come looking for you, I'm handing you over with a ribbon tied around your fat neck.” He moves to stand up as his father rolls onto his side, face red with liquor, wearing a stained gray wifebeater and holey jeans. It's an outfit virtually identical to what Hael's got on, but where Hael is streaked with grease from being under the hood, Vic's dad is wet with sweat and blood and vomit.
My lip curls.
“Son, you have all that money comin' to you,” the old man starts, and Vic laughs. The sound is far from pleasant.
“You listen here.” He grabs his father's hair and lifts his head up in a way that makes the old drunk hack unpleasantly. “The only reason I hate Mom more than I hate you is because she ran off and left me here with you. You are scum. Worth less than the dirt beneath my boots. The only reason you're alive right now is because I have a moral code that's so rigid, even my desperate dislike for you can't break it.”
“Moral code?” Vic's father laughs, jerking away from his son's grip and scrambling backwards until he finds his feet. The other boys stand in a loose half-circle around him, watching, waiting, while Oscar cleans his gun with a handkerchief from his pocket, and tucks it into his shirt, carefully buttoning it up again. “I know what you and your buddies do. You steal and you fight, you smoke and you fuck. What makes you any different than me?”
“The fact that you don't know the answer to that question is part of the problem.” Victor stands back up and swipes some blood from his hands onto his jeans. None of it is his blood. He turns to the side to look at me and frowns, running his fingers through his dark hair. “Hael, Oscar, escort Bernadette home.”
My nostrils flare, and I try not to show my disappointment.
If Vic thinks sending me home is a boon, he's wrong.
It's a punishment.
The Thing isn't currently at the house, which is a positive, but if it were, I wouldn't go inside. I'd sleep in the woods out back, in the small pink tent my grandmother gave me when I was six. And I'd sleep there with a knife.
“You don't look so happy to be here,” Oscar says, leaning forward between the