But holy shit, I must’ve underestimated that white trash bitch because she slams her elbow down on my head, making me see stars. I throw myself at her midsection and she stumbles back, but not before bringing the knife down on my right arm and slashing me from shoulder to elbow.
Blood blooms, splattering across the tiled floors as I rise back to my full height and punch her as hard as I can in the face. Kali is there, on my right side, moving in like she thinks she has a snowball's chance in hell of touching me, her army of trashy assholes right behind her.
I slam my boot down on her peep-toe heel, and she lets out a wail that echoes in the graffiti-covered little room. Nothing good is going to come of me staying in here, not when Billie has a knife, Kali is insane, and there are nine other girls just waiting to get their hands on me.
Besides, I'm damn near positive this is a set-up of some sort.
With one last shove to Billie's chest, I manage to skirt her knife and slip out the door, taking off down the hall with blood oozing from my wound. A quick stop at my locker grants me a black hoodie that I can slip on to hide the blood.
If I go to the nurse's office, there'll be inquiries. I'm not about to bring the administration into this. Lord only knows how fucking corrupt they are.
Just around the corner, I bump into Vic.
He snatches me by the arm, and I hiss in pain, his fingers squeezing the sleeve of my hoodie until blood soaks through and coats his fingers in ruby red.
“What the fuck is this?” he snaps at me, drawing his hand back to look at the blood. With a clenching of my jaw, I turn away. “They wanted me; they made me their little toy.”
“What did Kali pay you guys to torture me?” I ask, looking back at him, my expression stern. “If I'm a Havoc Girl and not just some side piece for you guys, then I deserve to know.”
“Jesus Christ, Bernadette, did Kali do this?”
“Kali and Billie,” I admit, knowing there's no way to get out of this without telling him the truth. My eyes meet Vic's dark ones, and I swear, as black as they are, even more shadows race forward to crowd his stern gaze. “Plus nine other faceless idiots whose names I don’t know. Now tell me: what did she pay you?”
“Later. This isn't the time.” He pushes up the sleeve of my hoodie to examine the wound, his eyes narrowing. His smell surrounds me, almost cloying in its toxicity, and I can't help but remember our kiss on the jailhouse roof. What was it he said? “We need each other, you and me.”
My pulse begins to hum, and I swear, the whole universe hones down to a single, fine point, like we're resting on the tip of some dark god's ballpoint pen.
“This is deep,” he murmurs, swiping a thumb over the blood and making me cringe when a sharp, hot burst of pain shoots through me.
“I don't want to see the nurse,” I declare, and Vic knows why. He knows all about Principal Vaughn, and his naughty nurse. “But I'm not sure I can fake my way through class; it hurts too much.”
Shit, was that me being honest? I wonder, and Vic nods once, nice and sharp.
“Follow me,” he commands, pulling my sweatshirt sleeve down and stalking off across the now empty hall. At some point, the bell must've rung, and I just didn't hear it. There are a few security guards on campus, but not nearly enough. Our shitty ass public school doesn't have the funds it needs to keep this jailhouse running properly.
We make it outside to the courtyard without any issues, the chain-link fence with its barbed wire looming over us. A few kids look up, smoking cigarettes in the shadows, but at least they're not stupid enough to come at us the way Kali and Billie were.
Victor knows exactly where the hole in the fence is, shoving aside a dumpster and gesturing for me to step out before he does, pulling said dumpster back into place again before he takes off, expecting me to follow.
His bike is parked down the block, just out of sight of the security office. Not that it matters. I've seen how Havoc can manipulate the staff at Prescott.
We pause for a moment as Vic pulls out his phone, taps out a quick message, and then gestures for me to get on his bike. Even though my arm is throbbing like crazy, and I'm starting to feel dizzy from the blood loss, I climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his taut waist.
This inescapable feeling settles over me like somehow, someway, this man is part of my goddamn destiny. Maybe in a good way, maybe in a bad one, I can't tell. But it's impossible for me to ignore it, the way my body reacts when I'm around him, the way my breath catches, my hands shake, my heart thunders.
Closing my eyes, I let the wind sweep over me as we zip through the streets of Springfield and end up at Vic's house. It's not exactly a safe haven, but kids like us, we have nowhere else to go. There is no perfect little nest for us to crawl into when we're afraid; we take what we can get.
Vic climbs off the bike, and I follow after him, into the dim interior of the shitty little house he shares with his father. It's much the same as it was last time I was in here, but with a few extra liquor bottles on the floor. He kicks them out of his way with a curse, moving into the bathroom and pulling out a first-aid kit from under the sink.
I wait warily in the dining room for Vic to come back.
“Sit,” he commands, pulling out a chair and indicating with his hand that I should sit in it. I do, but only because I'm starting to sway where I'm standing, and all I want is to close my eyes for a moment. “Tell me what happened, every detail.”
“Stopped in the bathroom to pee, ended up with Billie on one side and Kali on the other, seven of their minions crowded in next to the sinks. Kali taunted me for a bit, and then Billie whipped out a knife. Not much else to tell.”
“Taunted you how?” Vic asks, pushing my sweatshirt sleeve up my arm and smearing blood everywhere. He examines the wound for a moment, curses, and then gets to work with some antiseptic wipes. They sting so goddamn bad that I have to bite my lip to keep quiet.
I'm not letting Victor Channing know how much it hurts, no way.
“Kali claims you made her a similar deal to the one you gave me: her body for your cooperation in turning my entire shitty life inside out.” My voice quavers a bit as Vic pinches the edges of the wound, trying to get a read on how deep it is. He scoffs at me as he tosses the wipes aside, snatching up a curved needle and some thread.
My brows go up, but I'm determined not to show how afraid I suddenly am. Stitches? I've had stitches before, after the Thing punched me as hard as he could in the side of my face. There's a scar, just beneath my hairline. I was so young that the memory's blurred around the edges, but I remember it hurt like a bitch. And that was with numbing agents.
“Here,” Vic says, pulling a flask from the back pocket of his pants and passing it over to me. “Take a swig of whiskey and get ready to hurt.”
He kneels down beside me as I unscrew the flask, taking it in my left hand as I turn my gaze away and throw back a burning swig. The alcohol sears my throat going down at the same moment Vic shoves the needle into my skin.
“Fuck.” The word manages to slip past my carefully sealed lips as my eyes close against the pain. In and out, Vic pierces my skin over and over again, sealing me up, and cutting off the flow of blood. The flask is empty by the time he finishes, cutting off the end of the thread and tying a tight knot.
“We'll need to take these out in a week or two,” he says, his voice dark, his thoughts far away. I watch as he rises to his feet and heads into the kitchen to wash my blood from his hands.
“Are you going to tell me about Kali or not?” I ask, because I can't take the dark little demons inside my head. They know that Kali Rose is a liar. But yet, I can't get them to stop.
“Now isn't the time,” Vic says, and the deep, authoritative way that he speaks just infuriates me. He doesn't just get to decide the fate of the whole world like that. “I'm taking you back to school.”
“Not until you tell me about Kali,” I say, just as the skies open up and rain begins to pour from the clouds. Slowly, V
ic glances over his shoulder at me, carefully drying his hands with a dishtowel. He tosses it into the sink, and then turns toward me, moving slowly across the ugly carpet.
“If I tell you that now isn't the time, then it isn't.” Vic's face is hard as he stares me down. “I thought we'd moved past this bullshit: what I say goes in Havoc. It's how we function, how we succeed. It's how we stay alive.”
“I can only take so much,” I whisper, my voice darkening as I swipe a hand over my stitches and cringe at the sudden rush of pain. It'll scar, that mark. I'm going to fucking destroy those bitches. But then it occurs to me that the boys will probably destroy them first. “How can I go back to class with Kali's voice echoing in my head, her fucking taunting …” I turn away for a moment, painfully aware that Vic and I are alone again. Last time, he kissed me and told me we needed each other. What'll happen this time? “Did you really ask to fuck her in exchange for torturing me?”
Vic snorts and when I glance back, he's shaking his head at me, raking his fingers through his dark hair.
“Jesus Christ, Bernadette,” he says, turning and heading for the front door without answering me. I lunge forward and grab onto his arm, digging my nails into the inked muscles as he stops and stiffens up.
“I have to know why you did it,” I grind out, hating the way my voice sounds, almost like I'm begging. “Nobody else wanted this but Vic. Nobody. It’s too much, too personal, it brings you too close. But he wouldn’t let it go.”
I'm not really sure if I'm even asking him about Kali anymore, but he doesn't know that.
“You think we'd make a deal that big for something so simple as a fuck buddy?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder to look at me. “And with Kali, of all people? I'd hardly need to make a deal to get her to fuck me.”
“You made a deal to get me to fuck you,” I blurt, and apparently that's the wrong thing to say. In an instant, Vic is on me, slamming me into the wall next to the front door.
“You want me to screw you, Bernadette? Will that make you feel better? Will that get you over your self-destructive bullshit?” Vic reaches between us and cups me through my jeans, sliding his thumb over the seam in the denim, teasing an ache into my flesh that wasn't there before.
A gasp slips past my lips, and his mouth twists into an awful smirk.
“That's what you've wanted from moment one, isn't it? To let the man you hate more than anyone fuck you into a mattress. That would complete the cycle, wouldn’t it?”
My breathing is coming in harsh pants, and even though I hate myself for it, I wonder if Vic might actually be right.
His finger traces up and down the seam in my pants, stroking my core into a hot frenzy. He’s so slow, so meticulous, so not like I’d expected. Those ebony eyes of his bore into mine, our harsh breaths mingling. This time, when I reach my hand down to the crotch of his jeans, he’s hard beneath the fabric.
Vic takes me by the wrist and slams my hand into the wall, making me groan.
He looks me in the eyes as he continues to stroke me with his other hand, watching as I come apart beneath the firm, commanding brush of his fingers. I haven’t been touched like this in years, not since Aaron. And the few guys I’ve slept with since, I can barely remember their faces let alone their names.
The way Vic is holding me right now is a warning. When he lets go suddenly and steps back, I feel like I should know better. Every instinct in me says to leave this alone, to back off, to let it be.
“If nothing happened with Kali, why not just tell me?” I demand, breathing hard, shaking. “It’s okay. You used her. You’re using me. You don’t give a shit who you destroy or step on or fuck up, do you?”
In the span of an instant, Vic is on me, spinning me around and shoving me against the wall. He tears the button of my jeans, the tiny piece of metal pinging against the tiles of the kitchen floor. My fingers curl against the hideous orange and yellow wallpaper as he wrenches my jeans down my hips, exposing my ass and the violent heat of my aching core.
The sound of his zipper coming down turns my insides to liquid, and I bite my lower lip.
The feel of his cock is a surprising warmth against my ass, but when he moves to push inside of me, it happens so quick that I’m barely able to take a breath before he’s filling me up. A cry escapes my lips that I can’t hold back, no matter how hard I try. It’s been so long since I had sex, and I most definitely don’t have a safe place to touch myself, so although I’m wet enough, my body’s too tight and Vic is too big.
Pinning my arms above my head, Vic pushes himself inside of me with a rough grunt, and I close my eyes against the brief rush of pain. It fades quickly enough, replaced within the span of a few thrusts to hot, blinding pleasure.
The feeling of having Vic inside of me is equal parts elation and hatred.
I hate him.
I want him.
And I don’t know why.
Victor fills me up with his thick, hard length, taking over everything, shattering me to pieces with his body.
Even though I don’t mean to do it, I find myself pushing back and into him, hot lashes of pleasure tearing through me like a storm. My hips seem to move of their own accord, rocking back against him as he drives into me.
I’m too taut, too hyper-aware to have an orgasm, but Vic comes inside of me with a ragged groan, his hot breath against my neck, the searing warmth of his hand pressing into my hip. When he steps back, I’m too liquid to do anything but sink to the floor, my forehead against the wall, body shaking.
He just stands there; I can feel his presence behind me, this all-consuming demand that I both hate and crave at the same time. The way I feel about Victor Channing, it makes no sense.
“Get up,” he says, but not unkindly. “We need to get back to class.”
That’s right.
Couldn’t possibly risk losing his inheritance, now could we?
Using the wall for leverage, I haul myself up, but there’s a mess between my thighs that has to be cleaned up. Without looking at Vic, I breeze past him toward the bathroom. He didn’t use a condom, I think as I strip down and take a quick shower, careful to keep my hair from getting wet.
It’s hard to bring myself to care.
Instead, I open the door in nothing but a towel.
“I can’t wear these,” I say, tossing the underwear and jeans his direction. They land in a heap at his booted foot as he regards me with dark eyes, his expression impossible to read. Impossible. Just fucking impossible. “I’m not going back to school in cum-stained clothing.”
“Nobody asked you to,” Vic snaps back, snatching the items from the floor and disappearing into the kitchen. A few moments later, I hear the rushing sound of water in a washing machine. When Vic reappears, he can barely look at me, storming past and up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
I lean against the doorjamb and close my eyes, completely numb.
I don’t feel a thing.
That is, until I feel his heat, his gaze, watching me. Always watching me.
Warily, I crack my eyes and find him there, staring at me. For the briefest of seconds, the expression on Victor’s face matches mine. But that doesn’t mean it’s any more explainable or understandable. He’s an enigma, a lone planet floating in a faraway galaxy. Yet if I can discern anything from this moment, it’s that as soon as he’s within my orbit, I don’t feel numb anymore.
“Here.” He hands over a pair of underwear that look brand-new as well as a pair of Prescott High gym shorts. They’re his, so far too big, but at least they have a drawstring. I step back and close the bathroom door, slipping into the undies—dude undies, but oh well—and the shorts. “How are your stitches?” is what he asks me when I open the door back up.
“Fine,” I say, but they’re bleeding a little. I mean, he did throw me into a wall.
Vic grunts and grabs an extra hoodie from a hook near the door, chucking it at me the same way I chucked my dirty jeans at him, and then we head outside to hi
s bike. I have to hide a small grimace when I straddle it, that ache between my thighs burning now that the adrenaline of the moment has faded.
Neither of us says a word until we arrive back at the high school, parking a block away and walking back.
Hael meets us out front.
Must be lunchtime. Seniors are the only ones allowed off-campus during lunch. Either that, or the Havoc Boys have paid off the new security guard to look the other way when they break the rules, the same way they did the last one.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Hael demands, sliding his palms over his red hair, muscles in his inked arms bunching with the motion. “Shit is going down. Those Ensbrook and Charter fuckers are all over our dicks.”
“I told you to wait until I got back,” Vic snaps, ice-cold, iron-clad.
Fuck, I hate him.
And yet … when I close my eyes, I can feel him buried inside of me, and that heat I work so hard to fight back begins to creep into every single cell.
Luckily, Hael is too flustered to notice either of our strange behavior, or the fact that I’m wearing Victor’s gym shorts. His goddamn name is written across one leg in Sharpie—a school requirement since we have so many problems with theft.
“What happened?” Vic demands as we start toward the front steps where Oscar, Callum, and Aaron are waiting. Unlike Hael, Aaron notices the shorts right away, and his gaze flicks up to my face and the slightly damp tips of my hair.
His mouth purses into a thin, hard line.
“The Charter crew won’t let us near Billie or Kali,” Callum says, his voice that rough, broken sound as he flips his hood back, revealing mussed-up blond hair. “And they’re spreading rumors about Bernadette.” He looks at me with bright blue eyes ringed in thick liner, and then turns his attention over his shoulder as the front doors of Prescott High open and Mitch, Logan, Kyler, Danny, and Timmy step out. Two Charter boys—Mitch and Logan—and the three Ensbrook brothers. Two families, all trash.
Havoc at Prescott High Page 14