Mayhem at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  “Do not try me tonight, Bernadette,” he says, and I snort as Hael starts the engine and we pull out of the driveway. You’d think Hael would be the one racing, but he has a skillset that Aaron does not, one that we need for this plan to work.

  We’re gonna blow up some cars, baby.

  “Try you?” I ask, sliding my hand up Oscar’s thigh. He’s wearing jeans tonight, not a suit. They’re nice and tight, too, so it’s quite the treat to feel him up. He clamps his hand down over mine and weaves his inked fingers through my fingers. It’s not meant to be a nice gesture though; he digs his nails into my palm, making me wince. “I haven’t even started, Oscar.”

  “Hands off,” he says, flicking my hand away from him. “I don’t like being touched.”

  “Really? Because you sure seemed to enjoy the touch of me on your dick.” I stare right at him as Callum chuckles inside his hood and Vic glances mildly over his shoulder, studying us. “And you have a hell of a lot of tattoos for someone that doesn’t like being touched.”

  “Bernadette,” Victor warns, surprising me. I look back at him and find that he’s watching Oscar and not me. The dickhead in question is staring out the window with his jaw clenched. “Let it go for now.” Vic pauses for a moment. “But Oscar … there are no secrets in Havoc.”

  “I’m well-aware, thank you,” Oscar retorts, proceeding to ignore me for the rest of the ride. I’m fucking dying to know what that was all about, but I can see that tonight is not that night. With a sigh, I slump back into my seat and turn to look at Callum instead.

  “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your parents?” I ask, because for as long as I can remember, he’s lived with his grandmother. Once, in sixth grade, she made cupcakes and little party bags and dropped them off at our class. She seemed really sweet at the time, but that’s about all I know. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned them.”

  Cal stares down at his fingertips for a moment, rubbing his thumb across them as he thinks about what to say.

  “My mom is dead; I have no idea who my father is.” He looks up and smiles at me. “My grandmother raised me as her own son for years. I didn’t find out she wasn’t actually my mother until I was fourteen.” He shrugs his shoulders. “My real mom is dead, choking on ash and bone …” He trails off as my eyes widen, and I shiver. Jesus. Callum smiles at me again, crinkling up his eyes with the expression as he rubs at the scars on his throat. “Everyone thinks my grandmother killed her, but I don’t know the full story, so how can I judge?”

  “Your grandmother …” I start, my mind reeling. Wow. It’s like we were all designed for each other by a cruel and unforgiving universe. Then again, there are very few students at Prescott High who have backgrounds that aren’t drenched in blood and secrets and bullshit. Callum’s story should be weird, showstopping, but it’s not. Not at Prescott. “Wow.”

  “I mean, not anytime recently,” he explains, leaning a shoulder into me and gesturing with his hands. “Just before I turned three. So, it’s not as big a deal as it could be.” Callum pulls a package of peanut M&Ms from his pocket and pours some into his palm. He offers them up to me, but I put up a hand to turn them down. “My grandma was a prima ballerina in New York City once upon a time; she wanted me to be everything she wasn’t.” Cal stares at the candy in his hand with a faraway expression in his gaze. “What a disappointment I must be,” he muses, but not like he’s at all upset about it.

  He knocks the candy back in one mouthful, chewing thoughtfully.

  “Did you tell her your family was featured on a murder mystery show once?” Hael asks, and Cal laughs.

  “Ah, that,” he says as I gape at him. “What? The episode came out when I was five, trying to pin my mother’s murder on my grandma. Nothing came of it anyway.”

  “Why would your grandmother murder her own kid?” I ask, aghast at the idea of it. But then … Pamela, am I right? She’d have definitely murdered me and Pen and Heather if it served her well to do so. Oscar makes a sound of disgust from behind me.

  “Rumor has it that Grandma killed her husband when Mom was thirteen, and made her help with the body.” Callum pours more M&Ms into his palm and flips a blue one into his mouth. “Apparently, my mom confessed everything to my aunt before she disappeared.” Cal slumps against his door so he can look at me better. “Do you feel sorry for me, Bernie? It looks like you do.”

  “Of course I do,” I say, but Callum just chuckles again.

  “Don’t. I don’t remember any of it. I’ve only heard stories.” Cal tosses another M&M into his mouth. “My grandma’s always been good to me. Not even sure if I believe any of the stories.” He pauses for a moment, his smile faded and his expression glazed over. “Even when I got my injuries”—he taps at one of his scarred knees with a hand—“and her dreams for me were shattered, she took care of me without complaint.”

  “How have I never heard about any of this?” I ask, and Callum shrugs again.

  “I wasn’t in danger with my grandmother, Bernie. Even though we’ve always lived in South Prescott, I had a good life. I got to dance. For a while there, I was the best. That’s a feeling you don’t ever forget.” Callum finishes off the M&Ms and then picks his rifle up off the floor, laying it across his knees. “What if our distraction doesn’t work?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly. I guess that’s his right; it’s his story.

  I sit back as Oscar finally turns to join the conversation.

  Much of our plan tonight involves the Charter boys paying attention to Aaron as he drives Hael’s Camaro into the first race.

  Mitch, Logan, and the Ensbrook brothers don’t race until later. We just need to buy Hael time to get to their cars without being seen. He’ll do his thing, and then … well, hopefully the Charter Crew will be a hydra without any heads.

  “It’ll work,” Oscar assures us, like he has any way to guarantee such a thing. “People are predictable. As soon as they see Aaron, they’ll be like sharks with blood in the water. The most important thing is that we make sure he gets out of there alive.”

  My blood chills and I wring my hands together.

  This is dangerous as fuck, but it’s also not something we can’t handle.

  Mitch and his buddies should’ve known we’d always be a dozen steps ahead of them. They have Ophelia’s hired soldiers; they feel untouchable. It’s always a good feeling to bring your enemies down a notch.

  I settle into the seat and close my eyes.

  One day, I imagine we’ll have people to do this sort of thing for us. That is, if we play our cards right. But you don’t let your underlings know about all the murders you commit, especially when the cops are on your ass. And you most definitely don’t send a soldier to do a general’s work.

  I open my eyes as Hael’s phone rings, and he answers it with the car’s Bluetooth system.

  “What’s up, lover boy?” Hael asks, and I hear Aaron’s low laughter on the other end of the line.

  “I’m in position. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Is that what you say to Bernie when you fuck?” Hael teases, spinning the wheel and taking a hard right. “Let me know when you’re ready, baby.”

  “Screw you,” Aaron snorts back as Hael takes another right turn, and we see the bright red of the Camaro down the way from us. “Be nice to me or I’ll fuck up your car on purpose.”

  “Don’t you even joke about that shit,” Hael growls, but he grins as he says it. “Give us a second to put Cal into place, yeah? Don’t be a premature ejaculator. Nobody likes a premature ejaculator.”

  “Eat shit, Hael,” Aaron says, his voice giving me chills, even though he’s not present in the cab with us. “I’ll wait.”

  “Wish me luck,” Cal says, climbing out of the car and taking his rifle with him. With his hood up to hide his blond hair, he disappears into the shadows within a few seconds, slinking off to give us the intel we need to make this work.

  Hael taps his hands on the wheel in time with the music trickl
ing from the speakers while Vic stares out the window like he can actually see where Callum’s gone. Oscar says nothing, still and quiet and enigmatic beside me.

  “Cal just texted me,” Hael confirms after a few minutes, summarizing the message for us. “He says they’re all here: Mitch, Logan, Kyler, Timmy, Billie, and Kali.” Hael snaps his fingers. “Fuck yeah. All our birds, one stone.” He watches the screen of the phone carefully, light playing across his handsome face. “Alright, Aaron. They’re about to start the first race. Nail that throttle to the floor and redline it, motherfucker.”

  Hael and Aaron leave the connection open on their phone call as I lean forward between the two front seats, watching as Aaron hits the gas, spraying mud into the night sky. The streetlights are bright white, almost neon, so I can see every drop as it spatters the windshield of our stolen car and Hael laughs.

  “Asshole,” he murmurs, just before Aaron peels out, spinning the Camaro around the corner and shooting down the tunnel that leads to the track. He times it perfectly, flying out in front of the other cars as one of the Charter Crew’s girls waves a green flag and the race begins.

  Since this part of the road sits higher than the rest of the track, we can see the crowd go fucking nuts. Mitch is easy to spot, sitting on top of the old bleachers with Kali by his side. As soon as he sees Aaron in Hael’s Camaro, he rises to his feet. It’s hard to see his face from all the way over here, but he’s clearly pissed.

  “Should’ve known my mother was involved, with all those new cars the Charter Crew’s got,” Vic murmurs, rubbing his chin. And he’s right. They’ve all got new rides to replace the ones that we ruined with the Navigator and then, later, with Oscar’s revolver.

  “They made it seem as if their drug business was doing very well,” Oscar says mildly, but not like he cares. “Regardless, they’ve just made our job much easier, haven’t they?”

  “Much,” Vic agrees as Hael takes us past the tunnel that leads toward the track, headlights off, our speed in the single digits. We drive the Mercedes around the side of the track, to the spot where a damaged chain-link fence meets up with the walled-off area that hides what used to be a snack bar area. There are more bleachers just above it, rusted and worn-out, riddled with holes where light shows through. “We’ll be lucky if they even let him finish the race; give yourself ten minutes and get the fuck out of there.”

  Hael nods and climbs out of the car, slipping through a hole in the chain-link fence with a duffel bag full of tools. There isn’t a single person at that race who isn’t looking at Aaron as he outdrives the rest of those assholes like he was born to do it, sending the Camaro flying over the bumps and rises and crashing into the mud.

  Victor gets out and hauls his ass up to the roof, rifle held loosely by his side. Oscar stays on the ground, circling the car and keeping his eye out for anyone else that might be creeping around in the bushes.

  I stay with Hael’s phone, listening as Aaron whoops and curses his way around the track.

  “Are you there, Bernie?” he asks, panting heavily.

  “I’m here,” I say, sitting inside the Mercedes with the doors closed, so nobody can hear us talking. “You’re kicking ass out there.” I lift my head up from the phone’s screen to watch the cherry-red car outpace the others under the white glow of the lights when a text from Callum comes in.

  Hael is working on Mitch’s car. Give us a warning if we need to retreat early.

  I exhale, but I don’t text him back. Responses are for vital messages, not just to say okay.

  “Hael is tinkering,” I tell Aaron, listening to the rapid pace of his breathing.

  “Fuck yeah,” he purrs, clearly enjoying the rush of adrenaline. My nerves are fraught with tension, but I try to stay relaxed. If I got freaked-out during every risky activity we did, I would be an anxious mess. “Looks like my funereal gift to Mitch and his friends is a serious case of crushed and shattered pride.” Aaron’s laugh echoes through the phone as I watch him own the track, beating the Charter Crew at their own game.

  They must be furious.

  During the next lap, this little zippy Porsche comes to a screeching halt, spraying mud in the air like a fireworks display.

  “What the fuck?” I murmur as I watch it back up toward the center of the track. There’s a wall of tires all the way around the inner ring but for one spot that looks like it was hit recently and just hasn’t been repaired yet. The driver uses that spot to back his car in. “Hey, Aaron, watch the white Porsche,” I say at the same time that Oscar opens my door, gray eyes cold.

  “I’ve just told Hael and Callum we’re done. Aaron,” Oscar leans in toward the speaker, “get off the track now and head for the campground.”

  “Roger that,” Aaron says, heading for that same road we took before, to escape from Officer Young and her ridiculous Subaru.

  Our boys up the hill are telling me there are more cars coming down the campground road; tell Aaron to head for the woods instead. Cal’s text comes in at about the same time as Oscar curses under his breath, looking down at his own phone. Vic remains on the roof, rifle at the ready, watching and waiting.

  “Scratch that,” I say before Oscar even gets a chance to. My heart is racing like crazy, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m so fucking scared right now, but I can’t let that fear control me. The situation is immediate, and dire. “Go for the woods, Aaron.”

  “I hear ya, Bernie,” he grinds out, turning the Camaro so sharply that it fishtails for a moment before he regains control. “Son of a bitch.” Aaron guns the throttle and heads for a small patch of open space between the trees. It’s a tight fit, and if anyone else were driving, I’d probably be worried. But like I said, I saw Aaron navigate up the hill to Vaughn’s cabin in the pitch-black without scraping the paint of the minivan. He can do this.

  Unfortunately, he doesn’t make it that far. While we’ve been barking out instructions and checking our phones, the white Porsche has reversed all the way to the other side of the center circle, turning around and then plowing through the wall of tires to get back to the track.

  “Aaron, the Porsche,” I call out, but there isn’t much he can do. He’s going too fast to slow down, and the road is surrounded by fencing on the left side for a good quarter of the track before it opens to the woods. With the Porsche waiting on the right, and the other cars behind him, Aaron’s only choice is to go forward.

  He guns it, but whoever’s driving the white Porsche is ready. They shoot onto the track and clip the front of the Camaro, causing it to spin in the mud, tires churning uselessly.

  “Aaron!” I scream, even though I know I can’t help him from here. I watch in horror as the rear end of the Camaro slams into the fence, and the other cars swarm around it like flies to a corpse. Shit, shit, shit. I shove my way out of the car, but Victor is already cursing and hopping down from the roof. He takes off running with his rifle by his side.

  “Stay here!” he commands me, but I’m not about to let Aaron be curb-stomped by Mitch’s crew.

  “Bernadette,” Oscar warns when he sees that I’m about to make a break for it. I ignore him, taking off after Vic with the phone clenched in my hand, my gun bouncing against my back. I can hear Oscar’s footsteps as he curses and follows after me, grabbing onto my arm just as the window on the driver’s side of the Camaro is smashed in.

  The Charter Crew converges as Aaron is yanked out of the broken window and thrown to the ground in a sea of angry fists and boots. Even from here, I can see blood.

  “Let go of me, Oscar!” I snarl, trying and failing to pull from his grip. He jerks me back, wrapping an arm around my neck and effectively trapping me against him.

  “Just wait,” he snaps back at me, his own heart thundering like crazy against my back. That terrifies me, feeling Oscar’s pulse race like that. He’s acting like everything’s under control, but his heart and his breathing say otherwise.

  Callum appears like a specter on top of the fence. Likely he’s just
climbed it. He doesn’t hesitate before rising to his feet atop the narrow metal pole. Without a second of hesitation, he lifts his rifle up and shoots one of the boys in the back of the head.

  Blood spatters everywhere, showering the rest of the crew in crimson.

  That gives them pause.

  “What the fuck?” one of the guys growls out, whipping a semi-auto out from his waistband. For a split second, I have a straight view to Aaron, lying in the mud and bleeding. As I watch, he struggles to his feet, taking advantage of the confusion as he pushes up to a standing position and takes off like a shot.

  He’s clearly injured but running off adrenaline as he sprints for a rusted hole in the fence and dives underneath, scrambling to his feet and continuing on without a hitch. I breathe a small sigh of relief as Oscar releases me, but this isn’t over yet, and we both know it.

  Victor is now standing next to the fence on our side, waiting to see if it’s worth it for him to start running over there. But Cal just adjusts the barrel of his rifle and shoots the boy with the gun directly in the face. It’s fucking brutal; he is fucking brutal. He starts to pick them off one by one as they shout and scatter, deciding it’s better to flee than to try to shoot him.

  As soon as he has an opening, Callum hops down, yanks open the door to the Camaro and climbs in. Off he goes, heading into the woods after Aaron.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Victor snarls as pandemonium breaks out on the racetrack. He turns back around and comes jogging toward us, clearly furious at me for even having made it this far. “Where is Hael?” he snaps, just before our redheaded friend appears from the direction of the snack bar area.

  “Man, what a clusterfuck. I got one car done. One.” Hael grits his teeth, but there’s no time for us to sit here and lament the failure of our plan. Instead, we haul ass back to the Mercedes, climb in, and book it the fuck out of there.

  Our front tires have just barely hit the road before we hear the explosion.

  “You think we actually managed to get anyone with that?” Hael asks, but nobody answers him. I’m too busy calling Aaron and Callum, one after another. I think Oscar and Victor are doing the same.