Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(15)

“Yep, yep,” Cal agrees, like that’s the most logical thing to do here. “And then?”

“Untie Leigh and then drag her husband into the garage,” Vic says as he passes by. He stops with one foot on the bottom step to glance over his shoulder. “And if she doesn’t behave in a way that pleases us, shoot Mr. Vincent in the face.”



Victor and I are sitting together on the window seat when Ophelia and Tom show up an hour later, a teenage boy tagging along behind them. The kid’s hands are in his pockets, head bent low. With his tuft of pale brown hair hanging down, I can’t really see his face.

“Victor,” Ophelia says, crossing a single arm over her midsection. Her dark eyes flick to me briefly before returning to her son, as if she expected to see him here all along. No big thing. It’s a lie, but a good one. However, blood must run nice and thick in that family because Ophelia tightens her shoulders the same way Victor does when he’s playing a part. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking past his mom to study Leigh. When we first untied her, I was certain she would bolt. But then, I underestimated her greedy nature. She doesn’t want to leave us alone at her beach house. She also doesn’t want to run to the cops. So … either the Newport police are actually good guys, or else they’re in someone else’s pocket. “When Leigh here heard about our wedding, and our honeymoon in Newport, she invited us over for dinner.” Vic flashes that terrifying anti-smile of his, all white teeth and sass. My fingers trace over the tattoos on his arm, lovingly petting his ink and feeling my heart flutter in my chest.

“She was such a huge help to me when I was a kid,” I lie, playing the politics game with my new Havoc husband by my side. When I smile, I’m sure doves cry. It’s likely as nightmarish a look as it is on any of the boys. That’s what pain does; it shapes your mouth. No, no, it owns your mouth. “Coraleigh is such a blessing to children without a shepherd.”

Fuck, smiling sucks. My face hurts.

“Mm,” Ophelia murmurs, looking askance at Coraleigh. She just stares back at her and gives away nothing.

“Maybe I should start us all off with a round of drinks?” Leigh suggests, moving over to a wet bar in the corner of the room. She starts fussing with clinking glassware while I look past Ophelia toward Tom, the used car salesman-like man that she’s dating. And then there’s the boy … He lifts his head up to look at me, and we both pale considerably.

Oh.

Oh, no.

David is one of the two guys I slept with between breaking up with Aaron and joining Havoc.

“Bernadette,” he says, and I hate, hate, hate that he remembers my name.

“David.” As soon as I say his name, I glance over and find Victor staring at me.

“You know Tom’s son, David?” he asks, and my heart skips several beats. I suck in a deep breath, like I’m coming back from the dead.

Remember how I said I smelled a plot?

This fucking reeks of one.

“David and I … were at the same Prescott party once,” I hazard, and Victor’s entire demeanor changes. Aggression rolls off of him in waves, making me shift uncomfortably. He does a damn good job keeping it to himself though. If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I doubt I’d pick up on it.

“How … interesting,” Victor purrs, pursing his lips slightly and turning his grin into a truly hideous smile. He knows that David and I slept together, even though I’ve only told Aaron the story. Vic is just that fucking perceptive. “Springfield really is a small town at its core, isn’t it?”

“Truly,” Ophelia agrees, and I get the chills seeing the two of them face off against each other. On one side of the chessboard, we play the white pieces. On the other, Ophelia holds the black. But see, the thing is, the king, as important as he is, is a useless piece. The queen can move wherever she wants.

I have to play for our side and win.

Aaron’s footsteps on the staircase draw the attention of all three guests, but unlike Victor, he doesn’t bother smiling when he sees them. He’s not very good at playing politics, Aaron isn’t.

“The kids are really enjoying your movie theater,” he says to Coraleigh instead, looking at her like even that simple statement is a threat. “Especially Alyssa. They were all wondering if they might use the pool later, too.”

“Oh, well, we don’t really like kids in the pool area,” Leigh says with a strained laugh, downing a glass of what looks to be high-end vodka. She winces a bit, but she doesn’t chase it with anything. I’d say I respected her for that, but it’s hard to praise someone who sells kids to perverts for anything at all. “Marcus keeps his rare plants in there.”

Is she … okay, fuck, this chick is next-level insane.

“What kids?” Ophelia asks, giving Coraleigh a strange look. “Who’s Alyssa?” She looks from my disgraced social worker and then back to me, her raven hair plaited at the base of her neck, her cream-colored dress designer. A necklace of diamonds sparkles at her pale throat as she reaches up two fingers to stroke at them absently.

I don’t know about you, but that looks like a tell to me, same way her son rubs his chin.

Tom accepts a mixed drink of some sort from Coraleigh while David slumps to the sofa nearest me and Vic. I can feel my husband’s eyes taking his mettle from here. If Victor’s looking for a challenge, he won’t find one in David Benedict.