Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(102)

Mitch and his buddies should’ve known we’d always be a dozen steps ahead of them. They have Ophelia’s hired soldiers; they feel untouchable. It’s always a good feeling to bring your enemies down a notch.

I settle into the seat and close my eyes.

One day, I imagine we’ll have people to do this sort of thing for us. That is, if we play our cards right. But you don’t let your underlings know about all the murders you commit, especially when the cops are on your ass. And you most definitely don’t send a soldier to do a general’s work.

I open my eyes as Hael’s phone rings, and he answers it with the car’s Bluetooth system.

“What’s up, lover boy?” Hael asks, and I hear Aaron’s low laughter on the other end of the line.

“I’m in position. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Is that what you say to Bernie when you fuck?” Hael teases, spinning the wheel and taking a hard right. “Let me know when you’re ready, baby.”

“Screw you,” Aaron snorts back as Hael takes another right turn, and we see the bright red of the Camaro down the way from us. “Be nice to me or I’ll fuck up your car on purpose.”

“Don’t you even joke about that shit,” Hael growls, but he grins as he says it. “Give us a second to put Cal into place, yeah? Don’t be a premature ejaculator. Nobody likes a premature ejaculator.”

“Eat shit, Hael,” Aaron says, his voice giving me chills, even though he’s not present in the cab with us. “I’ll wait.”

“Wish me luck,” Cal says, climbing out of the car and taking his rifle with him. With his hood up to hide his blond hair, he disappears into the shadows within a few seconds, slinking off to give us the intel we need to make this work.

Hael taps his hands on the wheel in time with the music trickling from the speakers while Vic stares out the window like he can actually see where Callum’s gone. Oscar says nothing, still and quiet and enigmatic beside me.

“Cal just texted me,” Hael confirms after a few minutes, summarizing the message for us. “He says they’re all here: Mitch, Logan, Kyler, Timmy, Billie, and Kali.” Hael snaps his fingers. “Fuck yeah. All our birds, one stone.” He watches the screen of the phone carefully, light playing across his handsome face. “Alright, Aaron. They’re about to start the first race. Nail that throttle to the floor and redline it, motherfucker.”

Hael and Aaron leave the connection open on their phone call as I lean forward between the two front seats, watching as Aaron hits the gas, spraying mud into the night sky. The streetlights are bright white, almost neon, so I can see every drop as it spatters the windshield of our stolen car and Hael laughs.

“Asshole,” he murmurs, just before Aaron peels out, spinning the Camaro around the corner and shooting down the tunnel that leads to the track. He times it perfectly, flying out in front of the other cars as one of the Charter Crew’s girls waves a green flag and the race begins.

Since this part of the road sits higher than the rest of the track, we can see the crowd go fucking nuts. Mitch is easy to spot, sitting on top of the old bleachers with Kali by his side. As soon as he sees Aaron in Hael’s Camaro, he rises to his feet. It’s hard to see his face from all the way over here, but he’s clearly pissed.

“Should’ve known my mother was involved, with all those new cars the Charter Crew’s got,” Vic murmurs, rubbing his chin. And he’s right. They’ve all got new rides to replace the ones that we ruined with the Navigator and then, later, with Oscar’s revolver.

“They made it seem as if their drug business was doing very well,” Oscar says mildly, but not like he cares. “Regardless, they’ve just made our job much easier, haven’t they?”

“Much,” Vic agrees as Hael takes us past the tunnel that leads toward the track, headlights off, our speed in the single digits. We drive the Mercedes around the side of the track, to the spot where a damaged chain-link fence meets up with the walled-off area that hides what used to be a snack bar area. There are more bleachers just above it, rusted and worn-out, riddled with holes where light shows through. “We’ll be lucky if they even let him finish the race; give yourself ten minutes and get the fuck out of there.”

Hael nods and climbs out of the car, slipping through a hole in the chain-link fence with a duffel bag full of tools. There isn’t a single person at that race who isn’t looking at Aaron as he outdrives the rest of those assholes like he was born to do it, sending the Camaro flying over the bumps and rises and crashing into the mud.

Victor gets out and hauls his ass up to the roof, rifle held loosely by his side. Oscar stays on the ground, circling the car and keeping his eye out for anyone else that might be creeping around in the bushes.

I stay with Hael’s phone, listening as Aaron whoops and curses his way around the track.

“Are you there, Bernie?” he asks, panting heavily.

“I’m here,” I say, sitting inside the Mercedes with the doors closed, so nobody can hear us talking. “You’re kicking ass out there.” I lift my head up from the phone’s screen to watch the cherry-red car outpace the others under the white glow of the lights when a text from Callum comes in.

Hael is working on Mitch’s car. Give us a warning if we need to retreat early.