Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(70)

“I want to see you move for me,” he tells me, and my stomach muscles clench in anticipation. I can feel him hard beneath me, his cock straining for what’s just tantalizingly out of reach. Reaching my hands up and into my hair, I start to ride him, rocking my hips in time with the music while he looks up at me. This time, I’m the one doing the performing, a show meant only for this man. “Look at you,” he whispers, voice strained. “You didn’t need lessons at all, did you? You move like you were made to do this.”

I grind harder, move faster, dropping my palms down to his chest, digging my nails into those silver scars. He better not ever tell me the names of the boys who did this to him because I will kill them. He says he took enough from them to be satisfied, but I’m not. I want to turn them into dust beneath my feet.

“Oh, Bernie,” Callum groans, and the sound is the most perfect of all nightmares. Whenever I close my eyes, I’ll be able to hear it. It’s etched into my brain. Harder, faster, more. I move my hips until Cal’s crying out beneath me, his hands locking on my hips as he comes in his sweatpants, his pelvis thrusting up to meet mine.

Panting, I look down at him as he grins up at me.

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, but there’s no sorry at all. It was hot as shit. Anytime I can get a boy to ruin his pants for me, it’s a win. Just … so long as he isn’t finished …





Callum Park





I am not done with Bernadette Blackbird, just because I come.

Instead, I roll us over so that I’m on top. She reaches up to cup my cheek, and I press my face into her skin.

“I am your monster,” I tell her, and I mean that with every syllable. “Command me as you choose.” I drop my mouth to hers, tasting her pain and loving it. I meant it when I told her that pain is pretty to those who have too much of it. It must be; it has to be. It’s a defense mechanism for the soul. Bernadette Blackbird is swimming in pain; it’s that grief and melancholy that makes the ties that bind us.

“Fuck me,” she groans, and she’s damn lucky because we’re young and I’m desperate for her, and I haven’t had sex in almost six months. I’m ready for this. My body seems to move of its own accord, like it often does, like it knows better than I do what’s to come next. Works the same way with dance or violence; I just go. My muscles and my blood and my bones, they know better than my brain it seems.

“Yes, mistress,” I murmur, my body coming alive at her command. As quickly as I can, I strip off my pants and my hoodie, yanking her own leggings off and chucking them aside like they’ve pissed me off. My hands worship her soft flesh, my lips her lush mouth, my cock her sweet pussy. She caresses me with her body, legs wrapped around me, hands in my hair. After this, I know for certain that no other woman will ever be allowed to touch me.

Bernadette has just inserted herself into the eyes of a monster, and there’s no escaping after this. If she were to run from me, I would follow at a distance and watch over her. It’s the only way I know how to behave anymore, the only thing I understand. I’m confident that I was born a little bit broken, and then twisted into what I am now by the world.

Most definitely.

I fuck Bernadette into the dance floor of my studio until she’s screaming, clawing at me, drowning in my kisses. Until she is most definitely, assuredly mine.

For a while after, we lie there and listen to my playlist. It’s fairly dark, definitely damaged; it reflects me perfectly.

I stare at the ceiling with her wrapped up in my left arm, her head on my chest. Her breathing slows enough that I know she’s truly asleep. Even though my body aches like crazy lying on that hard floor, I don’t move. I’ll sacrifice whatever I have to in order to keep her happy.

Everyone needs a goal in life, don’t they? A dream? As ours were stripped from us, one by one, I think we all took this sweet, little girl who needed us and turned her into an obsession.

I almost feel sorry for Bernadette, being at the mercy of Havoc.

“Jesus,” she groans a little while later, sitting up and blinking sex and sleep from her eyes. “How long have I been out?”

I smile at her.

“Not long,” I reply, sitting up next to her. We’re both naked, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody would dare bother me in here while the door is locked. If they did, not even god could save them. My hands itch to spill blood, but I quell that need by stroking Bernie’s beautiful hair back from her face. “Do you want to try to actually dance some before we bail out?”

She looks back at me, blushing slightly and glancing away. As if the blush has angered her, she narrows her eyes on the floor, gaining control of her emotions before turning back to look at me again.

“Actually, I’d like that,” she says, shrugging her shoulders loosely and then forcing herself into a sitting position. “But maybe you could also teach me how to move in the shadows the way you do?”

I quirk a brow, sitting up beside her and smiling at the idea of any of the other instructors or students catching our flushed faces on the way to the bathroom to clean up. That should be fun.

“How to move in shadows, huh?” I ask, thinking on the subject for a minute. It never really occurred to me that that was a skill of any worth. It’s just something I’ve always done, tried to move without being seen or heard. It’s better that way, isn’t it? Other people rarely hold goodwill in their hearts in this part of town, so it’s just best to go at it assuming violence is on the roster. “Yeah, I could do that. You’ll have to bear with me though; this’ll be a learning experience for both of us.”