Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(55)

“Let’s do it,” Aaron says, turning to head toward the Bronco and then pausing like he’s just thought of something. He glances back at us, and Victor raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah? You want something?” he queries, his voice mild but laced with an edge of irritation underneath. He might’ve given his okay to the rest of us, but he’s not happy about it.

“Bernadette can ride with me tonight.” Aaron doesn’t waver in his statement nor does he ask; his words are not a request.

“Mm, okay, so,” Victor starts, lighting up a cigarette. Either he’s nervous, or he just likes a good smoke after a drive-by. No big deal. I don’t even consider the fact that Callum likely killed the guy he shot. My boys in black, I feel like they’re untouchable. “When I said you fuckers could work on your own shit, I didn’t mean you could boss me around. I’m still in charge, Fadler.” Vic nods at me with his chin. “Bernie can choose what she wants to do: ride on my bike or carpool with you.”

I stand there for a minute, feeling like my body is being pulled apart by two powerful magnets, one on each side, desperate for a piece.

My initial reaction is to flip a coin and let fate decide.

But I’ve got to be more than some limp-ass, dangling ball sack that crumples to pieces at a simple flick of a finger.

Since I rode here with Vic, and I want to know why Aaron’s staring at me the way he is, I make the decision and decide that I’m going to stick with it. No matter what.

“I’ll ride in the Bronco and we’ll meet you there?” I ask, and even though Vic keeps smoking his cigarette and acts like he doesn’t care, his shoulders stiffen up.

“Yep.” He flicks his smoke aside as I follow Aaron to the car.

“I have to say,” Aaron tells me as I climb in and shut the door behind me, my eyes flicking back to Victor and his motorcycle only once before my attention lands on Aaron and stays there. “You surprised the shit out of me, Bernie.” Aaron pulls his sweatshirt over his head and accidentally takes his shirt along for the ride.

I see full belly and chest and ink, all at once.

Aaron’s chest piece is of a girl and a boy kissing in the rain, a see-through umbrella above their heads that shows off the stormy sky. There are even holes in the umbrella, leaving the couple to be soaked by the storm.

Son of a bitch.

I close my eyes for a minute, and then force them open as Aaron tosses his hoodie into the backseat and pulls his tee back on.

“Surprised in a good way, I hope?” I ask as he starts the car and turns on the heater.

The way he looks over at me, with wavy chestnut hair falling over his forehead, the gold in his eyes blazing in the starlight, I feel a pitter-patter in my chest that makes me gasp.

“In a phenomenal way,” he assures me, looking over his shoulder before he pulls out of the garage drive. Aaron flicks the brights on as we head down the dark street in the direction of the drive-in, the one on the Prescott side of the tracks that serves the best food. It’s called Wesley’s, after the owner’s son. Rumor has it that the kid was killed on the Prescott High campus during his senior year. Of course, this was over twenty years ago, but I know how grief works. Time does not ‘heal all wounds’. That’s a load of shit. The only thing time does is extend the length of time between breakdowns.

I still can’t look at a frozen waffle without thinking about Penelope. Legit, the last time I saw someone eating one on a commercial, I broke down into violent sobs. That is how grief works. So even if ‘Wesley’ has been dead for decades, I bet his parents still have moments where they can’t breathe, where they wonder if it’s worth it to keep going or if it’s better to give up.

I look over at Aaron, studying his classically good looks. He’s timeless, Aaron is. He would be attractive in any decade. My mouth twitches slightly, and I look down at my lap.

It’s just me and him in here, with “Flowers on the Grave” by the Maine playing softly in the background. It’s kind of a sad song, about saying goodbye to the child you used to be.

After about a minute and a half of listening to it, I feel like it’s wormed its way into my soul and my eyes prick with tears. I very quickly reach up and skip to another track.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asks, glancing over at me for a minute. It seems odd, that it’s just me and him right now. Just thinking about spending some time alone together makes my pulse race. Victor … just gave us the go-ahead today. It seems impossible, knowing what I know about him, but then, I knew he could do it. I knew he would do it.

He can’t deny any of us the right to get to know each other.

How did Oscar phrase it?

“Bernadette is a member of Havoc; Hael is a member of Havoc. These things are signed and sealed in blood; they cannot be undone.”

That applies to any member of this group—even Victor. He created Havoc; he told us the one currency you can carry is truth. So I am a Havoc Girl, and he must share. My body breaks out in goose bumps, and I cross my arms over my chest as my eyes squeeze shut.

“I’m okay,” I tell Aaron, before he starts to think I’m having a breakdown. “And don’t worry: I’m not upset by the drive-by. Well, not anymore upset than a person with a soul should be after shooting someone.”

Regardless of how I feel, we had to make a stand; the Charter Crew can either submit and fall in line or … Well, look at Danny Ensbrook.