Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(32)

“This is the cognac,” he says, glancing up at Aaron. “Cost?”

“That one …” Aaron starts, looking it up on his phone as Callum hops up to sit next to me on the counter. “Wow. Thirty-five K.”

“Thirty-five thousand dollars for alcohol?!” Hael chokes out, snorting a laugh. “Well fuck me, we drinkin’ this one, my friends.”

“That was a gift!” Leigh cries out as Hael pulls the glass top off and takes a swig. “Put it down!”

“Damn, that's smooth,” Hael purrs, passing the bottle to Cal. He takes a drink before leaning toward me. It takes me a second to realize what he wants, but as soon as I do, I feel my face flush. My eyes flick to Victor, but he just stares back at me as Leigh screams. My attention shifts to the endless blue of Callum's eyes as I lean in and tilt my head to the side.

The heat of his perfect pink mouth finds mine, but when I lift my fingers to touch his chest and neck, I can feel the roughness of his scars. Perfectly imperfect, I think as he gently parts my lips, stinging my mouth with the burn of the cognac and the heat of his tongue.

We lean into each other as someone tugs the bottle from my hands. I'm too focused in on Callum to notice or care. Oh, shit. Maybe he thought I didn't notice him all these years, that he could sit across from me in that cafeteria and act like he didn't know my name. All of those things are lies.

You square danced with me that day I cried in elementary school. You found me during the eighth-grade dinner dance and encouraged me to join you on the floor. The only reason I remember that day is because of you.

“Bernie,” Cal murmurs, pulling back slightly and touching his forehead to mine. That's a big thing with these boys, all of this touching. I don't think any of us has ever been hugged or cuddled or loved enough. “I told you we'd make them pay, didn't I?”

He leans back enough that I get lost in the blue of his eyes, and then hops down to the floor.

“Give me the knife,” Cal says, gesturing for Aaron to hand it over. Without hesitation, he does. Callum approaches the Vincents and pauses behind them. He then starts to hack their perfect hair off, pressing the blade dangerously close to their skulls. They both scream, like something's actually hurting them, but it's all bullshit.

Callum doesn't shed a single drop of blood.

“Get the girls and let's go swimming,” he says, handing the knife back to Aaron as soon as he's done. “And when we're finished, we'll drown the Vincents and dispose of their bodies.” Callum is bluffing, obviously, but his whispered words do the trick. The couple starts to scream as Hael and Aaron drag them back up the steps so we can lock them in their room again. Cal glances my way, and I swear to fuck, my lips tingle in response to his dark look.

It isn't dark with violence though; I've seen that expression on his Disney prince face plenty of times in the past.

No, this time, his expression is carved of hunger and lust and things unsaid that are better left in the dark. He has secrets, I bet, Callum does. Since Havoc isn't supposed to have any, if I asked, do you think he'd tell me?

I wet my lips with my tongue.

“For real though,” Cal says, letting out a husky laugh. “I'm dying to see you in a swimsuit, Bernie. Hope you don't mind my saying that.” He winks at me, picks up the lamp, and smashes the sofa table, with it, the muscles in his arms rippling with the power needed for such a move.

Meanwhile, I just hide inside of Aaron's sweatshirt, soaked between the thighs at the sight and holding a baseball bat worth more than most people's cars.

“It's what I've always wanted: Bernadette.”

I swing the baseball bat at a vase of dried flowers and try not to think too hard about that statement. Not yet, not today. Because Victor needs time, and this dangerous dance of beautiful boys … I'm not sure I know the choreography just yet.





The Vincents don't have a turkey in that massive fridge of theirs—we go out on holidays, so says Coraleigh—but that's okay because the couple is really into Keto right now and their deep freezer is chock-full of ground turkey.

“Jennie-O for the motherfucking win,” Hael says, praising the brand of meat and spinning a knife around his fingers in a very impressive sort of way. “Tacos, it is.”

“Tell me …” I start, sliding my butt onto one of the still-intact stools at the kitchen peninsula. See, it's like a landscape in here: an island, a peninsula, a frozen tundra of mini-freezers beneath the countertops. It's also totally and completely destroyed. I mean, it's functional enough but Heather's eyes nearly fell out of her face when she saw it.

“You are not getting your security deposit back after this, Bernie,” she told me with all due seriousness. So fucking cute and na?ve. I pop a bit of brownie into my mouth and hope that Callum's guess on how special this special brownie really is, is accurate. That, or I'm going to be so stoned I don't remember my very first Havoc Thanksgiving.

“Tell you what?” Hael asks, adding oil to a saucepan and dropping the seasoned meat into it. He's swaying a bit with the music, bobbing his head and mouthing the lyrics. Not sure how someone so dangerous can be so cute. But there you go. I like him even better now that I know he isn't going to be a dad to someone else's baby.

I bite my lip.