Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,49
gaze when he locked me in that closet, how hoarse my voice was from screaming, how little he cared.
No, he truly is a monster, just of a different breed.
“Show us the way,” he says, holding out an inked hand. I nod and turn, knowing the Havoc crew will be close behind me. They're never far apart, these boys. It occurs to me that we're all here because nobody loved us enough, nobody cared. The boys, they created their own family. And me, I just stumbled into it.
“In there,” I say, remembering the night Donald brought me back here, how he smirked, and I giggled. How he pushed me up against this wall and kissed me breathless. He was good at that—probably still is—but being a good kisser doesn't make up for the fact that he's a rapist, too. Or at least a wannabe one.
Hael hands Callum a crowbar, but before he can even try to use it, I step forward and grab the handle. It swings open and the boys exchange looks in the dark behind me.
“Posh school, a different sort of hoodlum. They probably think the front gate security is enough.” I step inside and find an elaborate hallway with wood floors, brick walls, and stuffy paintings of old white dudes. More than likely, rich old, white dudes. My lip wrinkles—because who the fuck actually likes misogynistic, money-hoarding dinosaurs?—and I step aside to let the others in.
We head straight for the curving staircase to our left and up, to the hallway where Don’s bedroom is located. I notice that we're all fairly good at keeping quiet, a throwback to dark childhoods and blending into shadows. It's a hard-won skill, but it comes in handy as we slip down the hall and pause in front of room 219. Don’s room. The room he invited his friends to, to have a taste of southside whore. My mouth fills with bile, and my eyes close. My whole life, I feel like I've been running from men and their greedy hands, their hungry cocks.
And to escape them? To punish the ones that'd already done me wrong? I sprinted into the arms of the enemy. We'll see how this works out, won't we?
Donald Asher, the rich dickhead I dated because, for some stupid, silly reason, I thought he would be better. Hah. Anyway, his door is locked. I guess monsters always know where to look for their brethren in the dark.
Kneeling down in front of Don’s door, Callum pulls a lock picking kit from his bag, and I get the idea that he's the master of breaking and entering amongst the Havoc Boys.
In two flicks of a fucking lamb's tail, the lock is disengaging with a click, and the door is swinging inward.
My pulse is racing so fast I have to seriously consider if I might pass out.
“We got this,” Aaron whispers as he moves around me, that distinctive rose and sandalwood smell of his wafting in the cool air. Like some sort of SWAT unit, all the boys but Oscar move into the room on tiptoes.
“This should be interesting,” Oscar murmurs, gray eyes glimmering in a stray shaft of moonlight, his mouth in some semblance of a smile, albeit one that stings like acid. The lenses of his glasses—I notice he’s wearing a completely new pair tonight—catch the light as he glances briefly over at me, tucks his iPad against his side, and then holds a single hand out to indicate that I should enter the room.
With a deep breath, I do.
As soon as I enter that room and smell that awful cologne, memories come flooding back, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming.
Donald is lying peacefully in his bed, his snoring eliminated by some special surgery that his father's company funded the research for and now sells to the public for exorbitant prices. Oscar carefully closes and locks the door behind us, giving Victor the nod he's been waiting for.
“Wake him up,” Vic commands, and Hael flashes a sharp, cocky grin through the bottom hole of his ski mask.
“My pleasure,” he purrs, putting his hands around Don's neck. The asshole's brown eyes fly open, and his lips part to scream. But whatever Hael is doing is keeping him quiet. “Struggle too hard, and I'll snap your neck.”
“And keep your mouth shut,” Aaron adds, stepping naturally into his own role. Vic remains cold and emotionless, the untouchable leader of the bunch. His ebon eyes slide to mine.