Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(44)

Then again, he’s just like Neil’s partner, Sara Young. Almost too good for their own good. Now, Ms. Keating, she is #goals for sure. I wish I knew how she was doing, but there’s little about it in the news and although rumors abound on the Prescott High social media circuit, that’s all they are: rumors.

“I hear you were married just before the break,” Constantine says, watching me with a completely different expression than he wore the last time we spoke. “A little young, don’t you think?”

The detective is suspicious as fuck.

Rightfully, he should be.

That doesn’t change things though.

I yawn and shrug, lifting up my hand to show off Vic’s grandmother’s ring. Vaughn cringes, yet again, but the detective barely spares him a glance. Even a goody-two-shoes like Constantine can sense how weak our principal is.

“If you had to live with my mother, you’d do anything to get out.” It’s a common enough excuse. Lots of kids at Prescott High get married, just so they can legally escape their awful families. I’m not the only person who’s gotten hitched during the school year.

“Mm,” Constantine murmurs, glancing over at one of the uniformed officers behind him. The man pulls out his phone as the detective turns back to me. “Do you mind if I record this conversation, Bernadette?” he asks, and a flash of anxiety spikes through me. I show nothing, shrugging my shoulders as if this is any other Monday. Shit, at Prescott High it kind of is.

“Sure, why not?” I say, slouching in the chair, fully aware that I’m sporting a tattoo I didn’t have the last time I was here. Oh, and a jacket that’s clearly gang-related. Doesn’t matter though. There isn’t a student at this school who doesn’t know I’m a part of Havoc. That, and I’m married to their fucking leader.

“Excellent. We’re just waiting on one more person …” Constantine begins, trailing off and then smiling as the door opens behind me. “Ah, there we go.”

“Sorry, the line for coffee was insane,” a semi-familiar voice says as Sara Young appears on my right, holding a Dutch Bros cup and looking down at me with an expression that I can’t quite seem to dissect. “Hello, Bernadette.”

“Miss Young,” I hazard, because I’m not exactly sure what I should be feeling right now. Don’t panic. Havoc knows what they’re doing. I have to trust that the guys wouldn’t lead me into a situation that I can’t get out of. I’ve had very little of that in my past—trust, that is—but I’m all in here. There is no going back.

The pretty young blonde takes a seat on the desk beside Detective Constantine—god only knows what his first name actually is. I bet it’s Joe. Yeah, it’s probably Joe. Or John. John motherfucking Doe. He’s so unassuming and average that I’d forget everything about him but for his meticulously plucked facial hair.

“How are you, Bernadette?” Sara asks, taking a sip of her coffee. It says candy cane mocha on the side, reminding me that it is, in fact, December now. Jesus. What a Christmas this is going to be.

“I’m fine,” I say, adjusting myself in the chair so that I can put my boots up on the desk next to Constantine. He looks at my feet like they’re poisoned but says nothing. I cross my ankles together and smile. Bet it looks wicked, with my particular shade of lipstick. This one is called Bad Blood. How … ironic.

My initial reaction is to say something snarky like, a little tired from my honeymoon, if you know what I mean. But that sort of shit won’t work on Sara Young. Actually, it’ll take away from the persona I’m trying to build with her, the one where I’m a girl trapped in a gang, desperate for escape.

I switch gears.

“Look, my husband isn’t going to be thrilled about my being dragged in here first thing in the morning.” I look into Sara’s doe-like brown eyes and try to put some pleading into my face, a lick of fear, of desperation. “So can we get this over with? I’m missing the only class of the day that I actually like.”

English with Mr. Darkwood, and my ex-bestie, Kali. Seeing the look on her face this morning was priceless. She’ll know, of course, that the last person Neil was with was me. Will she nark? I have no fucking clue to be honest. She likes to play the victim, but she also knows the rules of Prescott High: snitches get stitches, motherfucker.

“Where have you been, Bernadette?” Sara asks casually, her blond hair twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her black button-down is pressed, her badge nice and shiny over her left breast. She’s the picture-perfect police officer, and I’m the ideal delinquent. This should be interesting.

“On my honeymoon, in Newport,” I say, shrugging again and sliding my phone from my pocket. The two officers allow me to look at it, as if they think I’m stupid enough to type something incriminating into my group chat with the guys. Instead, I pull up a series of photos that Vic and I took of ourselves on the beach. I skip past the one where we’re looking into one another’s eyes—it’s too obvious that we’re in love—and select one where his hand is on the back of my head, cradling me protectively. To the wrong set of eyes, it might look as if he’s holding me there.

I pass the phone over. Constantine barely glances at it, but Sara stares at it like she’s reading between the lines. Good. Very good. She gives the phone back to me, but I just select another photo, one of me and Heather building a sandcastle. I show them this, too.