Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,29

the girls into their playdate—a totally weird thing to see a tattooed teenager doing—I sat in his van and used an old envelope to write down some names.

1. the stepdad

2. the best friend

3. the social worker

4. the ex-boyfriend

5. the principal

6. the foster brother

7. the mom

There are no names there, just titles, because whoever these people used to be to me, they're not people anymore. Just letters on a list.

I hand it over to Vic, and he takes it, reading it carefully before tucking it into his pocket.

“Stepdad spends a lot of time at the morgue, huh?” he asks, which is sort of a creepy, fucked-up question coming from him.

“His name is Neil Pence, and yeah, his best friend works at the morgue, so he’s always over there, probably destroying evidence or some shit,” I say, feeling my insides twist into a painful knot as my eyes close. That piece of garbage raped my sister, and he never paid for it. She was just an 'accuser', not a victim. Just an attention-hungry little girl who shouldn't have worn that skirt or drank those drinks. My jaw clenches tight, and I have to work hard to control my breathing. “Why?”

Victor lifts his head up to look at me.

“I know why all these names are on here,” he says, tilting his head to one side, studying me in that way of his. “Except for this one.” He points to the fourth name on the list, and I frown. Hard.

“Is that part of the bargain, what it takes to recruit Havoc? Because as I recall, you don't really care what the reasons behind the request are.”

“It's not a part of every bargain,” Vic says, rising to his feet and towering over me. Maybe he thinks he's intimidating? He's not. I'm not scared of him. “But it is a part of yours. You're a Havoc Girl now, and we don't keep secrets from each other.”

“Why don't we go to this luncheon thing first, and I'll tell you after?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I'm not exactly looking forward to either of these events, but honestly, dealing with Victor's psycho mother is the least bad.

I don't want to talk about Don.

Not today anyway.

Victor takes a final drag on his cigarette, chuckles, and then steps past me to put it out in an ashtray on the arm of Hael's chair.

“Come inside and get showered. Ivy will be here in thirty to do your hair and makeup.”

“Ivy Hightower?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. That junkie bitch and I used to attend the same free-for-poor-kids summer camp, before we both got kicked out (just after Aaron did, coincidentally). Maybe our blow-out brawl the last day of camp last year was what really did it for both of us? “Why her?”

“Because she works for weed, and she's got a big mouth on her. She'll spread our blessed news all over the school. Hell, all over the city. She gets around, that chick.” Vic shakes his head and moves into the house, leaving the door open as he goes.

I wonder if he wants me to shower with him?

My hands curl into fists, and I lick my lips.

“You'll find your clothes waiting for you on the counter,” Oscar says, looking up at me through his glasses and smiling—and not very nicely, I might add. His gray eyes sparkle with wicked thoughts behind his glasses, but his voice is calm, almost inflectionless. It must take a lot of effort, to pretend to be so damn disinterested in life. “Underwear included. Vic has very particular tastes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I say, moving between Hael and Callum and going inside. Vic is in the bathroom, shirtless, brushing his teeth. He nods his head at the already running shower as I walk in.

“You first,” he mumbles, and then goes back to brushing. Frankly, it's hard to find someone terrifying when they've got a mouth full of white, minty foam, but somehow, Victor pulls it off. Wouldn't surprise me if he could pull that toothbrush from his mouth and stab someone with it.

“Fine.”

I pause in front of the toilet, and focus on the opaque shower curtain, removing my jacket first, then my top. Even though I can't see him, I can feel Vic watching me as I strip off my bra, shoes, jeans … and finally, my panties.

It gets hard to swallow, but I pretend like there isn't sweat rolling down my back, like my heart isn't pounding, and I climb into the shower. As soon