Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #3)(9)

Still, it's exciting … enough. But the adrenaline rush is nothing compared to the highs I've been riding lately. Between my feelings for the guys, the scent of danger in the air, and all the bullshit situations we've been in, I don't think something as simple as riding a dune buggy would be enough for me ever again.

I've been ruined by Havoc.

Hael takes us over the biggest dunes he can find, tilting the buggy at angles that make me wonder if we're not going to roll backwards down the hill. My breath catches and I lean forward, hands curling around the top of the front seat. Even if the adrenaline rush is weak in comparison, it still makes for a good time. Actually, I'd like to do things like this more often.

Victor and I are married, but we've never been on a date. Like, a real date.

This is the closest I've come to having one with anyone but Aaron.

“You like this?” Vic asks, his voice muffled by the helmet. All I can do is nod as we shoot over the top of the hill and the buggy goes airborne for a moment before crashing into the sand. We have a lot to learn, me and these boys.

We skirt the edge of the sea, splashing through the foam and coating my calves and ankles with cool saltwater before shooting into a patch of thick sea grass. It's only once we pass through the reeds that I see the other buggy. It's much smaller than ours, a two-seater carrying a man and woman, their faces covered with their helmets.

My breath catches, and my heart stills in my chest.

This is Havoc in a nutshell, give me something pretty, promise me something wicked.

Hael turns the wheel and sends us heading straight for them.

Oh.

“You know you aren't getting that security deposit back, right?”

Hael's words click into place about ten seconds before the impact. I clench my teeth, digging my nails into the seat back for purchase as Hael lets out a whoop of excitement. Our buggy hits the side of what I can only assume is the Vincents' vehicle, sending it tumbling across the sand like a gymnast. The force of it knocks me forward and then sends me flying back. Both Vic and Cal keep a hand on my thigh, but my brain rattles around in my skull anyway.

It must be just a fraction of what the Vincents are going through.

Their buggy flips a few times and then slides down the dune we're resting on. I can hear the couple screaming—even through their helmets—as they struggle to get control of the vehicle. Unfortunately for them, it flips one last time and, with a tired groan, the little buggy comes to rest on its back like an upturned beetle, wheels spinning against the sky.

Hael drives us down the side of the dune and parks next to the overturned buggy, shutting the engine off and then pulling his helmet off. His bloodred hair is mussy and sexy as hell. Shouldn't rightfully turn me on so much, seeing the guys wreak havoc and leave chaos and mayhem in their wake. But it does.

I'm just that twisted.

“Oops,” Hael says as he folds his forearms on the steering wheel and parks his chin atop them. “I think we hit something.”

Callum is already laughing as Vic and Oscar climb out, taking their helmets off as they survey the damage.

The Vincents are currently struggling to get their seatbelts off without falling on their heads and breaking their fucking necks. I mean, if they did, no big loss.

I slide off the bench seat and step into the sand; it quickly covers my freshly painted toenails in the new flip-flops I grabbed in the hotel lobby. My lip gloss tastes like cherries and vengeance as I slide my tongue across my lower lip.

“Alright, alright, enough of the squalling,” Vic grumbles, lighting up a cigarette. For a moment there, I get nervous. He smokes when he's stressed-out. But then he passes it over to me, and I know this is more of a social smoking sort of situation. “Cal, Hael, get them out of the buggy.”

I watch as the boys move to do their boss' bidding. I feel mildly nervous about Mr. Vincent. Like, it's possible—not likely, but possible—that he doesn't know what his wife does. In that case, I don't know that I'd be comfortable executing him the way Oscar did Todd Kushner.

I shift from foot to foot with discomfort, causing Victor's dark gaze to slide over to me.

“You okay, wife?” he asks, cocking a brow. I glare back at him and take a drag on the cigarette. The wind blows a few loose strands of hair around my face, perfuming the air with the sweet scent of peaches and daisies. I bought this shampoo and conditioner set specifically because Callum told me I smell like peaches to him.

“I'm fine.” I nod my chin at the Vincents as Cal and Hael push them to their knees in the sand. They take the liberty of removing their helmets as Coraleigh—better known to most as Leigh—sobs and shakes, and her husband scowls at us like he has any business to be angry. This trip, this dune buggy, his clothing … likely all paid for with money earned by selling little girls. “Coraleigh, longtime no see.”

She gawks up at me with parted lips and squinty eyes, like she’s trying to place me but just can’t quite figure me out. I let my head fall back, laughter spilling from my lips like poison.

She sold me to be raped by a pedophile and she doesn’t even remember my face? Even Eric did, and he was the pedophile in question.

I drop my head back down as Mr. Vincent—who knows what his fucking name is—starts to bitch and moan.

“You could’ve killed us!” he snarls, as if we would’ve cared if we had. He very clearly isn’t understanding who holds the power right now. “I’m calling the police.” When he reaches for his phone, Hael grabs his hand and breaks it.