Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(28)

“We have some other interesting twists planned, but her level of narcissism is astounding,” Callum comments, standing on the railing with very little effort. Bet he could perform an entire dance routine up there without falling. “We have pictures of a dozen girls and boys she’s sold off in the past; we were going to plaster them on her walls and torture her a bit.” Cal cringes slightly, reminding me of the night that Danny died, how upset he was. He told me, in his own words, that he wasn’t upset about killing the guy, only in that he did it spur of the moment and put us all at risk. At the time, I thought he was bluffing. I don’t think that anymore. “But I don’t think it’ll upset her the way we want it to.”

“Let’s go raid her wine cellar,” Aaron suggests, lounging in an Adirondack chair. “Let’s break some of her shit. Let’s trash her fucking house. Did you see the way she looked at us yesterday? She was terrified we were going to mess up her perfect life.”

Vic snorts and nods, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re right. I mean, it’s a lot less bloody than I had hoped for, but it’s important to hit these fuckers where it hurts. Besides, by the time we’re done using the Vincents against Ophelia, they’ll wish they were dead.” Victor smiles, and it’s an appropriately hideous expression. “You know that my father is the only man she ever loved. Her next two husbands died under mysterious circumstances.”

“Ophelia Mars is the ultimate black widow, for sure,” Hael chuckles, pushing up from his position against the railing and rubbing his palms together. His eyes slide over to mine as he grins. “Wine drunk sex is always fun. You wanna get wine drunk with me, Blackbird?”

“Hael …” Victor warns, taking a possessive step closer to me. I look up at him, big and beautiful and aggressive, and I feel my palms itch with the need to touch him, to be closer to him … and also to punch him. That’s our thing, me and Vic. “But I like the brainstorming here. Let’s have some fun with this.”

“Havoc on a honeymoon,” Cal sings, hopping down from the railing and then letting his head fall back with raucous laughter, just like he did in the hallway when he was arrested. “Let’s break some stuff. There’s a signed Babe Ruth baseball bat in a display case that’s been calling my name since we got here.”

Hael chuckles and high-fives Cal.

“Fuck sports, am I right?” he shoves open the doors and prances inside like we aren’t involved in several mysterious plots against our lives. That’s Hael for you; he hides his darkness with cocky glee. “Let’s do a wine drinking contest. Last person to finish their bottle is a pussy.”

“Humans emerge from pussies; balls just nut.” I shrug my right shoulder. “I’d rather be a pussy than a ball sack.”

“Fair enough,” Hael says, kicking open the door to the basement. He pauses and snaps his fingers like he’s just thought of something. “Let’s save the most expensive bottles for later. We can bring the Vincents down and make them watch us break them all and pour the wine down the sink.”

“Oh, you’re wicked,” Cal cackles, following Hael down the dark stairs.

I stay where I am, because with the way Aaron’s looking at me …

He steps close, ignoring Vic’s snort of irritation. Oscar, on the other hand, doesn’t bother coming inside. I fucking hate that man, I think, feeling my skin prickle.

“Hey,” I say softly as Aaron reaches out and takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb over my wedding ring and then shifting his touch to my HAVOC ink. The still-fresh tattoo on my knuckles stings, a forever reminder of Aaron bent over my hand, the needle in my skin, his fingers using a rag to gently wipe the blood away. “Are you okay?”

He looks up, and his lips tilt into a genuine smile. He only gives them to four people: the girls, including Heather … and me. His affection hasn’t escaped my notice. Actually, I find myself leaning into it the way a flower tilts toward the sun. Even a voodoo lily needs light.

“I’m okay,” he says as I close my eyes, savoring his touch against my hand. When I do that, squeeze my eyes shut tight, I can pretend like we never broke up, like we’ve never been separated from each other. “I heard about … you and Oscar.”

Oh, fuck.

With all the crap we’ve had going on, I haven’t had a chance to tell him about it.

I open my eyes, but Aaron doesn’t look pissed the way I thought he would be.

“I didn’t mean to hide—” I start, but he shushes me with a kiss that tastes like sugar and dreams and Victorian houses painted a pretty shade of pink. Penelope would’ve shipped us, Aaron. When she was alive, she did ship us. Fuck me. Fuck my life. Sadness sweeps over me all of a sudden, like a tidal wave consuming the beach. I can’t breathe for the pain of it.

“I know you didn’t mean to hide it,” he whispers against my mouth, teasing his fingers down the arms of my baggy, borrowed sweatshirt. When I look up and see his wavy chestnut hair curling across his forehead, I almost die. He’s too cute. How can he be so cute?! Why am I crushing like a little girl? I am over that shit. I am. I’m … I’m … “And I’m not as dumb as Vic,” he whispers, putting his mouth near my ear and rubbing his face along the side of mine.