Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(105)

I close my eyes as he moves up the drive, heading into the office to grab some keys. When he comes back, I open them again and watch as he unlocks the doors to a mustard yellow Chevelle. Without a word, I head over, climb into the passenger seat, and lean my head back.

There is only one thought playing out inside my mind.

Where is Aaron? Where is Aaron? Where the fuck is Aaron?!





Aaron Fadler





When I come to, it’s dark out and I’m lying on my side. Everything fucking hurts. Everything. For a second there, I have no idea where I am or what the fuck is going on. When I try to sit up, I bang my head on something and feel the very first edges of panic start to take over me.

Don’t do that, Aaron, I tell myself, trying to stay calm. The thing is, I’ve got pretty bad claustrophobia, so no matter how logical I try to be with myself, I’m still going to panic. I have no idea where the phobia came from; I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. Dying the way Neil Pence did … that’s like, my worst nightmare. Am in a coffin? I wonder suddenly, feeling around inside the small area where I’m trapped.

But no.

It’s not the right shape, and there’s a pair of jumper cables next to me.

Ah.

A trunk then.

I’m inside of somebody’s fucking trunk.

“What the hell?” I murmur, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. Don’t do it, Aaron. Don’t panic, man. You got this. You got this. You fucking got this. I squeeze my eyes shut. Not like it matters, since it’s dark as pitch in here, but it helps somehow. Like, it’s supposed to be dark when you close your eyes. It’s not dark because I’m trapped, right?

I take a second with my eyes closed, trying to control my breathing as I adjust my body and then hiss in pain. My right hand goes to my leg and pieces of scattered memories flicker behind my closed lids. Getting pulled out of the Camaro, fists and boots and fighting, blood from someone’s head. I remember getting up and running as fast as I could toward the woods, as per our plan. Get into the woods, get away, meet at the nearest rendezvous point six blocks away.

When I try to remember what happens next, my leg throbs in response and I groan.

That’s right.

Someone hit me with their fucking car.

I remember pain exploding in my leg, but then nothing after that.

I lean my head against the inside of the trunk, the throbbing in my leg increasing as I take note of it. Either I’m still in shock or the injury isn’t too terrible. I move to adjust my legs and end up crying out in pain. Holy fuck. The agony is sharp when I move, but dull if I stay still. I’ve had enough broken bones to figure that could very well be what’s wrong. I don’t feel any wet blood when I touch my leg at least.

Nah, most of the blood is on my sore and swollen face.

Jesus.

The car I’m in seems to be sitting still. When I strain my ears, I hear nothing but crickets outside. Very likely, we’re in the woods somewhere. There’s no traffic, no distant laughter, no voices.

This isn’t looking good for me.

My mind strays to my girls. All of them, including Heather and … Bernadette.

“Bernie,” I murmur, rubbing at my face. She’s probably freaking all the way out right now as she looks for me. The idea makes me want to panic. If she goes gallivanting around the city in search of me, she could end up getting herself killed. It’s clear that Ophelia is intent on getting Vic’s inheritance, regardless of what she has to do to earn it. “Hello?” I call out, but of course nobody answers me. “Who the fuck are you?” I shout next. It can’t hurt, right? Either I’m in the middle of nowhere, or else somebody’s bound to hear me.

I run my hands around the inside of the trunk, looking for the spot where the taillights should be. Theoretically, if I punch and kick them, they’re supposed to pop out. I find what I’m looking for but decide to wait until we start moving before I give that idea a try. No need to let my captor know I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.

There are two other options for getting out of a trunk. The first is the trunk release cable, but not all cars have that. Likely this is an older car, I think, wetting my dry lips. Probably something vintage, probably belonging to the Charter Crew.

Goddamn it. How did I let myself get so fucked?

I decide to try the last method, turning my body in the narrow space as panic threatens to overtake me. Don’t do it, Aaron. Don’t let your irrational phobia keep you from getting back to Bernadette. She’ll be so worried about you; she might get into trouble if you don’t hurry your ass up.

Whoever put me in here, they were clearly in a hurry because they didn’t bother to tie me up. Big mistake. Even though my right leg is fucking killing me, I put my feet together and kick at the backseat of the car with every ounce of strength I have in me.

Holy. Shit.

Pain explodes behind my eyelids, and I clench my teeth together against a scream. I don’t need my captor knowing I’m in so much goddamn pain. Sucking in a deep breath, I ready myself to kick the backseat again when I hear footsteps from outside along with a pair of voices.

I turn around, putting my feet towards the trunk. Depending on how many people are out there, I may be able to fight my way out of this. Or die trying, at the very least.

There’s the sound of a key in a lock, and then the trunk is opening and I’m left staring up at Kali Rose-Kennedy, Ophelia Mars, and Tom Muller with a shotgun in his hand.