Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(13)

“What do you want us to do?” she asks, finally getting the big picture.

Either she cooperates or, very likely, she dies and goes the way of the Kushners.

“First off, we’d like to double back on the idea of your on-the-way friends,” Oscar purrs, his gray eyes the same color as the ocean beyond the glass. As the afternoon’s worn on, the sun has started to hide behind the clouds, like she knows this isn’t her month or season to shine. “I’m curious as to how many holes we’ll have to dig to accommodate them.”

“Nobody’s coming,” Marcus Vincent says, finally finding his balls and speaking up. He glances over at his wife’s wide eyes and pursed lips. “It’s just us here until we go back to work on Monday.”

Wow. What a fucking moron.

“Excellent,” Oscar says, setting aside his tablet. “Now that I’ve disabled your security system, we can speak more freely.” He crosses his legs in front of him and then bands his hands around his knee, fingers intertwined together. “Tell us: what do you know that you think is worth trading for your life.”

“What?” Marcus chokes out, glancing over at his wife again. His hand must be killing him, broken and now bound behind his back. “You said this wouldn’t come back on us. Why is this happening, Leigh?”

“If I tell you what I know,” Coraleigh begins, flicking her eyes to me before turning them back to Oscar. She glances briefly at Vic, but then quickly switches to me and Oscar again. She’s decided that Victor isn’t a threat. Funny that, considering I’m quite sure he’s the most dangerous person in this room. After all, look at what a nightmare Oscar is; Victor controls that nightmare. I take another bite of my ice cream, tapping my heels against the front of the white cabinets. “Then you’ll kill me.”

“If you don’t tell us,” Oscar says right away, giving a hideous smile. “We’ll just have to torture it out of you then kill you.” He reaches up long fingers to rub at the demon hands tattooed on his throat. The way he holds his chin up like that, a smirk ribboned across his lips, he looks like an aristocrat born into the wrong life. “Your choice. We have some possible uses for keeping you alive, so there is hope, however slim.”

The Vincents exchange a long, studying sort of look, like they’re actually debating their options. What choice do they really think they have here?

“You said you didn’t remember me, but that you’d heard of me,” I begin, drawing Coraleigh’s attention back around. “Want to explain that for me?”

Hael hops onto the counter on my other side, sitting as close to me as I am to Callum. All the places we touch burn, and when I breathe in, I smell coconut and motor oil—even though we’ve been staying in a hotel for three days straight. That scent must just be a part of who he is now. He steals the ice cream from me, and I stab him in the side with an elbow. May as well jab at a goddamn rock for all the good that does. Hael Harbin is hard and fit and he knows exactly how to undulate that pelvis of his.

“Ophelia Mars warned me about you,” Leigh says, and it takes me nearly a minute to process what it is that she’s said.

Ophelia.

As in Victor’s mother.

As in … what the actual fuck is going on?

“What contact have you had with Ophelia?” Victor asks, suddenly alert. He leans forward and parks his elbows on his knees. His stare is intense, like looking into the dark eyes of a shark before it bites down. No malice there, just survival. Doesn’t mean you’ll bleed any less.

Leigh sputters, like she’s been caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

“Ophelia is … well, she’s well-known in our circle …” The disgraced social worker trails off as Aaron comes down the steps, lips pinched, eyes hard. He has a soft spot for children and not only because of his sister and cousin, but because every person that matters to him had their childhood stolen away.

Innocence is precious and these people profit off of breaking it.

There’s nothing worse.

“The girls are watching a movie in the home theater,” Aaron says, one hand resting on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at the Vincents the way one might examine a pile of dog shit. “And that kid … she’s fucking nine years old. Her name’s Alyssa.” His voice is staccato, almost robotic. I imagine that he’s trying really hard not to kill somebody right now.

“Do you think they’ll try to eavesdrop on us?” I ask as Aaron gravitates toward me like he’s being pulled by an unseen force, resting his palms on the tops of my thighs as he stands between them. It’s like he’s so fucking angry that he needs to ground himself, to find something to hold onto. I love being that something, a sun that he orbits in hope of warmth. I wonder if he knows that I feel the same way about him? That I crave his smile, his approval, his affection.

Aaron shakes his head, his slightly curly, chestnut hair falling onto his forehead.

“I warned them that if they did, there’d be one less Christmas present under the tree for all of them.” He smiles, but the expression is tight. “If I know Kara—and I know that I fucking do—that’d be enough to keep her and Ashley in the room. Heather, too, probably, because Kara’d fight like hell to keep that present count up for Ashley’s sake.” He gives a feral grin that has me shivering. I’m aware that everyone—including Coraleigh and Marcus—are staring at us. Also, I don’t care. “But I don’t know Alyssa, so I pushed a dresser in front of the door, too.” He shrugs and glances over his shoulder again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wouldn’t want them to see something they’d never forget.”