Havoc at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  “You can thank me later,” Hael says, sliding up on my left side, a cigarette clenched between his teeth. He gives me a hard wink, and then flicks the butt into the nearest trash can. “Set the radiator up with some small explosives on a timer. It'll look like the whole engine just went. Happens you know, on these foreign cars.” Hael takes off and clomps his way up the three steps that lead into the front entrance of the school, setting off every metal detector in there, the way he always does.

  “How far, exactly, you want this to go …” Oscar runs his finger down the back of my neck, making my muscles tense up. “That's up to you.” He moves past me, and I shiver.

  We're just getting started here.

  Just getting started.

  Everything is different today. You’d think that kiss I shared with Victor shattered the world. When I walk on campus, people scurry out of my way, stare at me with wide, wide eyes. They avoid me like the plague while simultaneously letting me know with their body language that if I demand it, they’ll succumb to my every whim.

  It’s surreal as hell.

  Victor comes to find me at lunch, waiting just outside the door to the locker room, his big body curled over, hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor. When he lifts them to my face, I feel this strange, tingling sensation take over me, like I did that one time I tried to donate blood. Like I’m fading, like my life force is being drained by his stare.

  “Come with me,” he says, and I do.

  Because with that kiss, I promised I’d do whatever he asked.

  Victor leads me back to the area next to the dumpsters where the others are waiting, watching. They’re all smoking. Because that’s what bad kids like us do, right? “That stuff’ll kill you, you know,” Ms. Keating likes to say. Once, I heard Hael smirk and shoot back, “we’re counting on it.”

  He’s right.

  Every step closer to the grave is one step further away from this hell we call life.

  “Boys,” Vic greets, pausing in front of them and then gesturing toward me with his chin. “Glad to see we’re out the door and running.” He gives Hael a very special sort of look, and I have to wonder if the cocky dickhead thought to get his boss’ permission before blowing up the principal’s expensive SUV. And before you ask how a principal at a downtrodden public school can afford such a thing, don’t bother. I’ll explain later. It’s one of the reasons he’s on my list. “And excellent work in making it look like an accident. They’ve called off the bomb squad.”

  “Whoopee, glad to be of service,” Hael says, grinning and running his tongue across his lower lip as he surveys me with an appreciative gleam in his eye. First chance he gets, he’s going to demand I crawl on his lap, same as Vic. “To be honest, I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time. We’ll consider that one a freebie.”

  I frown and flip him off, but he just laughs. Aaron scowls, but Callum claps his hands like he’s attending a show just for him.

  “I hear you’re one of us now,” he says, pushing his hood back, so I can see his Disney prince blond hair. Only, it’s strange because he’s not the prince; he’s the villain that slaughters the wide-eyed royal and buries his body in the woods. Cal slides a knife from his boot and tosses it to Vic, making me raise my brows. He managed to slip that past security, no problem. It’s a little scary.

  “Blood in,” Vic says, slicing his palm and then handing the knife to me, his eyes deadly serious. “Blood out.”

  “You’re joking, right?” I ask, looking between him and the other Havoc Boys. Aaron is practically seething, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “You want to make a blood pact? Like some middle schoolers on a tree house dare?”

  “Take the knife, Bernadette, or I’ll do it for you.” Vic isn’t threatening me with his cool, dark words. No, he’s simply telling the truth. I swallow hard and look down at the bloodied bit of blade. He could have a disease. Hell, as far as I know, he could have a dozen of them. But this is what I signed up for, isn’t it? To be their plaything. I swallow hard and snatch the knife. The last thing I want right now is for Vic or anyone else to see me vulnerable or unsure.

  So I slice my palm with the sharp blade, hissing at the pain, and then gasp when Vic clamps his hand to mine, squeezing so hard it hurts and staring so deep into my eyes that I feel like I’m drowning.

  It only lasts a couple of seconds, but as our blood mingles, and our gazes lock, I know that I’ll never be the same again.

  Victor releases me, swipes the blood off on his jeans, and then tosses the knife back to Callum who catches it effortlessly.

  “Just to be clear,” he continues, his gaze sweeping across the others before returning to me. “You’re on my orders and nobody else’s.” There’s a harsh bite of threat in his words, but I have a feeling it’s not exactly meant for me. He flicks his attention to the other Havoc Boys in warning. “And now that we’ve got our own Havoc Girl, we’ll start dealing with one problem at a time, beginning with the issue of my mother.” This last word comes off his tongue like a curse, like Victor Channing can’t think of anything worse than a mom.

  “What issue with your mother?” I ask, wondering if I’m overstepping my bounds here. He said I’d belong to them, to Havoc, but what, exactly, that means I’m not sure. Vic told me I’d have to obey his every word, but he didn’t say I had to be a meek, kowtowing bitch, right?

  Vic laughs, and the sound gives me such chills. He almost sounds like I do when I look in the mirror and wonder what the point of all this is.

  “She’s gripping my inheritance in her overly manicured claws on some stupid ass technicality.” Vic gets out a cigarette as Oscar scribbles something down on his iPad and Hael gets up to molest the shiny surface of his car. Callum just sits there and eats while Aaron glares at the pavement, his shoulders so taut it almost hurts to look at him. “I have to be married before I can collect.”

  “Married …” I start, and then the realization hits me like a freight train, and my eyes go wide. “Wait, what?” I snap, that last word flinging from the tip of my tongue like a rubber band from a slingshot.

  Victor gives me a long, studying sort of look, dressed in a black wifebeater and jeans. He’s the picture of delinquency with his violet hair, ebony eyes, and inked body. His muscles are hard, long, and lean, built up from use and not just workouts. He most definitely doesn’t look like a high school student. Pretty sure most of us don’t, not with the darkness in our pasts or the shadows under our tired eyes. I’ve lived more nightmares in my seventeen years than most have lived their entire lives.

  “You didn’t think we wanted you just for sex, did you?” he asks, his bemused tone making me bristle, like I’m an idiot. But of course I did. What else could a bunch of horny teenage assholes want with a girl they don’t even like? “If I’d wanted that, I would’ve asked you to be my whore, not a member of my crew. Now fuck off to class, and let me know if anybody gives you any trouble.”

  “Stupid, piece of shit, asshole Victor Channing!” I shout, throwing an empty glass beer bottle against the side of an abandoned convenience store. I haven’t even made it home yet because one, Heather is still at her after-school thing, and two, I’m too pissed off to go back to that hellhole.

  It’s the Thing’s day off, and if I walk in there in a blind rage, he’ll know it. He’ll take advantage of the situation and poke at me until I snap. I’ve come close to killing him before, and we both know it.

  Wouldn’t that be ironic justice? The teenage girl sent to prison for life for murdering her cop/pedophile stepfather.

  I choke on the feeling of helplessness, as familiar to me as my own breath. It comes in uncontrollable waves, an ebb and flow that I couldn’t resist if I tried, just as impossible to resist as holding my own breath until I pass out.

  Who cares about a fake marriage? I ask myself. It’s a common enough trope, a central focus of dozens of TV shows, movies, books. What’s so much worse about pretending to be a bride? Isn’t that better than finding myself in the beds o
f all five Havoc Boys?

  Hmm.

  “You’re on my orders and nobody else’s.”

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean anyway?

  I slump down the wall and wait there until my anger subsides. I’m committed to this. I spent the entire summer hiding out with Heather at the lake and the park, mulling this over.

  There are people in my life that have to pay, and I don’t have the strength or the resources to make it happen on my own.

  So if I have to slip on a ring for Victor’s mommy, so be it.

  It won’t be the worst thing I do this year.

  Not by a long shot.

  Besides, if I try to leave, I don’t know what they’ll do. Well … actually, I guess I do: they’ll kill me.

  That much, at least, is a definite.

  Sitting with Havoc at lunch every day is disconcerting; I'm pretty damn sure the whole school is staring at us. Other stuff I noticed: Jim Dallon didn't ask to bum a cigarette from me, Mark Charlin didn't hit on me when I was digging through my locker, and my ex-bestie, Kali Rose-Kennedy, saw me coming down the hall this morning and went running.

  She's coming down, like all the rest of them. The people who ruined my life. Havoc did a good job. Hell, they really are professionals, but they were the symptoms, not the cause.

  I'm taking down the ringleaders of my destruction.

  Sometimes, when I feel like this, I'm certain that I'm a ghost, come from the grave for vengeance. There's no way I could be alive, not with the way I feel. Living things shouldn't be so full of misery.

  “Where'd you get the sweet bike?” Callum asks, his voice low and dark, rough. Stacey claims a rival gang member once hit him in the throat so hard that he suffered permanent damage. I'm not sure if I believe that, but the guy has this coarse, shadowed sound to his words. “Did you pinch it?”

  “I got the parts out of the dumpster behind the cycle shop downtown. Wait around long enough, and they throw out a little of everything. Some elbow grease and YouTube videos was all it took.”

  I glance over at the shiny red ten-speed on the bike rack and shrug my shoulders.

  I'm trying to eat my cafeteria food, this nasty ass greasy pizza plus the bag of chips and soda that come with it. But I can't. I feel like I'll be sick if I do. Tossing the slice of pepperoni down, I sigh and wipe my shiny fingers on a napkin.

  “Can I have this?” Cal asks, pointing at my soda, and I nod. Aaron still won't look at me, and I don't care. He doesn't like me in his gang? Too damn bad. He's the idiot who helped create Havoc and their rules: if the client is willing to pay, never turn down a gig.

  “Tonight, we'll meet at my place,” Vic begins, sitting up straight, and giving a passing boy a look that's all sorts of cold hell. The kid stumbles over his own feet, looking sheepish, and empties his pocket into Victor's hand. It's just a big baggy of weed, but I don't see any money exchange hands. Instead, Vic nods and the student scurries off like a mouse. I hope I don't look like that, like some sort of frightened rodent looking to pay the dog to scare off the cat. “Eight sharp. Bring shit to stay the night. The old man's off to poker night; we'll have the place to ourselves.”

  “Stay the night?” I ask, feeling my brow go up. Vic frowns and looks at me with that scary ass face of his. My palms go up in a placating gesture. “I'm not complaining, just asking.”

  “We have my mother's breakfast thing on Saturday, so get ready to gussy yourself up: you're going.” Vic rolls toward me, putting his palm on the step on my right side, and sliding his big body between my legs. He smirks and puts his mouth up against mine, brushing across it until his lips are at my ear. “And you will impress her. I want her fully convinced we're in love, fucking like rabbits, and destined for forever. You hear me?”

  Victor undulates his body, so that his hips rub against my groin, making me groan. It feels so damn good, even with the whole school looking at us the way they are. What breakfast thing? I think, but my lips form words without my brain’s permission.

  “I hear you,” I tell him, and he grins, rolling back over and kicking Hael's tray down the steps. Trash goes everywhere, and a girl in a short white dress pauses to pick it all up, her eyes never straying higher than the top of Hael's boot.

  Weird.

  “We'll need a dress to cover her tattoos,” Victor muses as Oscar writes everything down, inked fingers moving quickly as they slide the tip of his stylus against the screen. “My mom hates tattoos. Figure out how to cover up the pink in her hair, too. I don’t want it dyed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Oscar purrs, the edge of his lip quirking up in a smirk. He adjusts his glasses, eyes flashing as he glances my way. I pretend not to notice. “Have you thought much about the ring?”

  “I have my grandmother's band, that'll do.” Victor's eyes scan the crowd before turning back to me. “Make sure everybody knows she's ours. I pity the guy who misses that memo.” He rises to his feet and takes off, just before the bell rings.

  “See you tonight,” Cal whispers, sweeping past me like a shadow. Oscar follows him, still jotting notes, with Hael on his heels. Aaron is the last to go.

  “I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into,” he says, waiting for me to stand up. He escorts me to class by following three steps behind, and then disappears. I don't know where he goes, but he definitely doesn't go to class.

  There's nobody home when I get back from school, letting myself in the back door and packing my sleeping bag, pillow, and some clothes. Mom is gone, and so is the Thing. I'm glad he's not here, and I can't wait for him to see the evil I've unleashed. Fortunately, Heather is off to a sleepover at a well-vetted friend’s house, so for tonight at least, I can leave without worrying about her.

  I feel much safer biking the sixteen blocks to Victor's house today, like the whole city knows I belong to Havoc. And you don't mess with Havoc, unless you're willing to pay.

  I'm going to pay handsomely with my body, but I don't care. There's nothing I want more than vengeance, and nothing that turns me on like danger.

  When I arrive, the boys are in the front yard, smoking and drinking. Hael offers me a beer right off the bat, and I take it, finding that my fingers tingle when we touch. He smirks, like he knows exactly what I'm going through, and then gestures at my sleeping bag.

  “It's adorable,” Vic says, ashing his cigarette, “but you won't need it. You're sleeping in my bed tonight.” He leans back in his chair, watching me. I half expect him to order me onto his lap again, but I think this time he's more interested in seeing what I'll do on my own.

  I sit down in the center of the group, right on the dead grass, the yellow-brown strands digging into my thighs as I lean back in my red and black plaid jumper, my ratty combat boots crossed at the ankles. They all watch me, like they did the other day when I walked around the back of the school and saw them hanging out next to Hael's car.

  Predators.

  That's what they look like, like predators.

  The thing is, I'm nobody's fucking prey.

  Maybe they're more like lions looking for a lioness to mount.

  I smile slightly.

  I know what I agreed to here. The thing is, I want it. I want them. I always have, ever since we met in elementary school and things were good. Well, maybe neutral. Then bad. And now … they're whatever they are. But I always wanted to belong; I craved it.

  “Do you have condoms?” I ask, and Vic snorts.

  “You have a one-track mind, Bernadette,” he says, sighing and looking up at the sky with those dark eyes of his. I think they're actually brown, but they're so shadowed and full of pain that they look black. The eyes of a bully. I glance away and pick at the grass with one hand, holding my beer in the other.

  “Not particularly. I just know what you want from me. And like you said, a deal's a deal.”

  Victor throws his head back in a roaring laugh, and the other guys chuckle along with him, all of them except for Aaron who glares at me with eyes the color of the sun-dappled
oak leaves behind his head.

  “Really, Bernadette, it doesn't have to be all bad. I'm a skilled lover. The rest of the guys are … adequate.” Victor flashes a sharp, dangerous sort of grin. He leans forward in his plastic lawn chair, like it's some sort of throne. The way he sits in it, it could be. He exudes confidence, like he owns the damn world. Pretty lofty for a guy who lives in one of the worst parts of town with an unemployed drunk for a father. But Vic Channing, he could have whatever he wants in life—even if he has to take it by force. “And we both know you're not a virgin, so what does it matter?” Vic tilts his head to one side, that shadow-purple hair of his sliding across his forehead. “We have plenty of time for sex, so don't worry about it. When I want it, I'll let you know, and you can service me then.” He smiles in a way that gets under my skin, makes my black-painted nails curl into the grass so hard they're filled with dirt.

  “Thought you didn't use condoms anyway?” Hael asks, taking two puffs on the blunt and passing it over to Oscar. He waves it away, and Callum takes it instead.

  Victor smirks.

  “I don't.”

  My mouth drops open, but he cuts me off with a look. My chest is heaving, but I don't look away. A stare is a challenge I can take on, one that he can't exactly punish me for. I'm not doing anything that goes against the bargain we made.

  “So what's the deal with this brunch thing exactly?” I ask, feeling them all start to stare at me again. It's unnerving. Like, maybe I could fight off Oscar or Callum or something, but all five of them? Including Vic and Hael? They could do whatever they wanted to me, and I couldn't stop them.

  Hell, they did it before, didn't they? And they were much smaller then, back in tenth grade. They're all huge now, properly filled out. Men instead of boys.