There’s one mistake you don’t make at Prescott High, not unless you want me to ruin you.
Do not touch my beautifully broken Havoc Boys.
Harbin, Fadler, Channing-Blackbird, Montauk, and Park.
Death stalks the halls of Prescott High.
Once upon a time, my best friend betrayed me. For over a year, I let that two-faced bitch go.
But not anymore.
This time, she’s stirred up the devil in me.
We’re finishing up my list; we’re setting our sights higher; we’re taking control of this city.
The VGTF, the detective, the pretty young cop.
It doesn’t matter.
Because we are Havoc, and I no longer have limits.
My boys have corrupted me, and we’re more than happy to bathe in the blood of our enemies.
Table of Contents Table of Contents
Front Matter Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Signup for my Newsletter
Author's Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Victory at Prescott High Cover
I Was Born Ruined Cover
Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club Cover
Filthy Rich Boys Cover
Filthy Rich Boys Chapter 1
Keep Up With The Fun
More Books By C.M. Stunich
About the Author
Anarchy at Prescott High
Anarchy at Prescott High © C.M. Stunich 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.
www.cmstunich.com
Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.
this book is dedicated to the rotten bits inside us all.
mostly, it’s dedicated to the people who love us despite all that.
or because of it.
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Author's Note
***Possible Spoilers***
Anarchy at Prescott High is a reverse harem, high school, enemies-to-lovers/love hate/bully romance. What does that mean exactly? It means our female main character, Bernadette Blackbird, will end up with at least three love interests by the end of the series. It also means that for a portion of this book, the love interests are total assholes; there are also flashbacks of past incidents involving bullying. This book in no way condones bullying, nor does it romanticize it. If the love interests in this story want to win the main character over, they’ll have to earn it.
Might be hard though, considering the Havoc Boys are dicks.
If you’ve read my other three high school romance series—Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, Devils’ Day Party, or Adamson All-Boys Academy—then just know this one is a bit more intense, and character growth/redemption are needed more than ever. Stick with us. It’s fairly similar to I Was Born Ruined (the first book in my Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club series).
Any kissing/sexual scenes featuring Bernie are consensual. This book might be about high school students, but it is not what I would consider young adult. The characters are brutal, the emotions real, the f-word in prolific use. There’s gang violence, group sex scenes, and a school shooting.
None of the main characters is under the age of seventeen. This series will have a happy ending in the final book.
“Alright, darling, keep your head,” Victor tells me in a voice crafted of confidence and desire, possession and pain. He knows me so well, everything about me, really. He knows the darkest recesses of my heart, but he also knows that deep down, on the very inside, there is something about me that still wants to believe.
Believe the world is good.
Believe that love prevails.
Believe that there is justice.
I’m standing in the Prescott High School gymnasium, surrounded by people, watched by cops … and yet, all I can think about is how I’m going to flay Kali Rose-Kennedy and lay her to waste. I am done with her shit. And I am done with shit from people like Neil, and Eric, and Coraleigh.
Done. Done. Done.
“They’re all watching you,” Callum says, stepping up close, like a dark avenger in his black suit and crossbones cufflinks, with his imperfectly beautiful voice. “There are five police officers in here, Bernie.”
I’m standing there in that stupid pink dress—why did I pick this? It isn’t me at all, is it? No, it’s what Pen would’ve worn. But I … I am not my sister. And I never will be. As soon as I get my ass out of here, I’m dying the tips of my hair as red as the red, red motherfucking rose.
As red as blood.
As red as the blood I’m about to carve out of Kali.
She stares at me from across the room, and I swear to god, I can’t see anything else. If she hurt Aaron, God nor the devil will be able to save her. I wet my lips with my tongue as she turns away from me, threading her way through the crowd toward Sara Young.
Why on earth she would go back to a police officer when she’s already been labeled a snitch is beyond me. Sometimes people do stupid things, I guess. Sometimes people do really stupid things.
Fortunately for Kali, this will be the very last stupid thing she ever does.
“The fuck is she going?” Hael grumbles, swiping a hand over his face. My body shivers at his nearness, but I just stroke my lioness down and let her know that it’s time to hunt, not time to mate. Not yet. Maybe later, in Kali’s blood.
Shit, I’ve already been labelled the school bully for throwing Kali’s face into a locker, so I might as well tell the truth, right? If I’ve got the title, then I’ll earn it. Like I said, there are two sides to every story, but usually, only one of them is true.
“Cops, got it,” I say belatedly to Callum. Oscar’s eyes track my movements as I start off in Sara’s direction. With all his weird issues about touching people—you know, unless they’re on their period or tied up in his bedroom—I don’t expect him to touch me.
“Whatever it is that you plan on doing, run it by us first.” He puts his long, tattooed fingers on my arm, searing my skin with the type of mark you can never scrub clean, one that’s made up of desire and unfulfilled promises.
I just stare into his gray eyes for a moment before giving a brief nod.
My feet are moving across the floor before I even realize it, the boys trailing just behind. I continue to feel Oscar’s stare on my back, and I think about the way he put his hand on my head and told me he was sorry. Too little, too la
te, maybe, but I don’t care.
He’s mine, and we both know it.
He can be fucked-up; he can run away after sex; shit, he can trade barbs with me all day long.
That doesn’t take away from our belonging to one another. Signed and sealed, written in blood. Cannot be undone.
“Bernadette,” Officer Young says, her doe-brown eyes flicking past me to land on the boys. Like a murder of crows with sharp-sharp beaks, they scatter, dispersing into the crowd as if her presence has any effect on them at all. In reality, I know Oscar would put his revolver to Sara’s temple, pull the trigger, and not lose any sleep over it.
It’s up to me to act like a moral compass in this situation. Not that the boys have a terrible one, because they don’t. After all they’ve been through, despite the darkness in which they thrive, they do good for this city. Springfield could only be so damn lucky to have us run the underground.
Somebody has to do it, right? Why not a bunch of somebodies whose hearts actually beat? Who care for other souls beyond their own? Who actually have souls, I should say. We won’t sex traffic little girls; we won’t hurt bystanders; and I’ll be damned if we kill cops whose worst sin is that their hands are a little too clean.
Kali turns her toxic gaze to mine, and I swear on the devil’s perky tits that I feel something slash through me, like the fangs of an arachnid. Poison, poison, poison. I’ll admit: I’m a little sexist. After everything men have done or tried to do to me, I know the depths of their evil. Women, overall, are not nearly as bad. But when they are, they’re fucking venomous.
“Do you need something?” Sara asks, seemingly oblivious to the silent battle of wills taking place in this stupid dance. This stupid, motherfucking idiotic bullshit dance that I, for some silly reason, wanted to come to with Aaron.
I wanted to be seventeen for a night.
I wanted to be in love.
Instead, I’m going to soak my pretty, pink dress in blood.
I smile.
Kali senses my intentions; I know she does. Good. As she should. That’s my only regret in finding out that Coraleigh and her idiot husband Marcus had their heads chopped off by someone that wasn’t me: intent. They need to understand where I’m coming from, and why they’re being punished. But whereas Leigh was delusional enough to fool herself into thinking she’d done nothing wrong, Kali knows.
Kali. Fucking. Knows.
My tongue slides across my lower lip and tastes the waxy texture of my lipstick; it’s called Anarchy by the way, and it’s pink and vibrant and terrifying when paired with a rictus grin.
“Your makeup is definitely on point, Kali,” I say, cocking my head slightly to one side, like a wolf who’s scented weakness in the pack. Time to cull the herd, am I right? “Hides the fucked-up swelling from your stitches.” I run a finger round my mouth to emphasize the places where Stacey and her girls pushed their wicked needle to sew the bitch’s lips together.
Brilliant. Beyond brilliant. I should befriend Stacey Langford. She’s never treated me like shit, despite being Prescott’s queen bee, and I don’t think she’s ever screwed any of my boys. My eyes shift slightly to the right, finding Hael’s strong gaze in an instant. He stands out in a crowd, carrying this cloud of charisma that draws girls to his honey like flies.
Even though they know he’s off-limits, even though they know that I’m watching, still they come. If I didn’t have Aaron to worry about right now, I’d be cunt-punting and titty-slapping my way through their skanky asses. Well, the Prescott girls are all skanky—it’s kind of our thing. Fuller girls look like catalogue models. Oak Valley girls look like anorexic birds in designer dresses.
I turn back to Kali, but, despite the fire in her eyes, she flips the victim card again and tears appear, as if I started all this by calling Havoc on her. As if I sought her out and started bullying her for no reason at all. Fucking pathetic.
I cannot wait to be done with her. Honestly, I’ll probably close my eyes one day after her demise, wake up, and forget all about the ex-best friend who chose to betray me. And I’ll do it all from a bed filled with boys whose betrayal I have truly and utterly forgiven. How could I not, knowing how deep their roots go?
“You’re horrible,” Kali says, closing her eyes and putting her hand over her mouth. “You’re so horrible. Please, just … go away.” The little rat turns to Sara, as if the police officer gives a motherfucking flying fuck about what happens to either of us. “I don’t need you to hunt me down and keep bullying me, okay? I won’t tell the cops anything about your stupid gang.”
I laugh then because, come on, could her acting get any worse? Could her speech get anymore B-movie cliché?
“Listen, sweetheart,” I say, turning to Sara at the last second, as if my derogatory use of the word sweetheart could be referring to either of them. It’s not, though. I am now specifically speaking to the young officer. “Whatever nonsense it is that she’s feeding you, it has an ulterior motive. She knows that by coming to you, she’ll be confirming her status as a scum-sucking, southside snitch. She can’t go back to school after this; this is an endgame move.”
“Bernadette,” Sara says again, but her eyes slide to Kali like she hadn’t exactly thought of it that way. It’s because Sara—for all her faults—is not a bad person. So she doesn’t think like a bad person. She doesn’t imagine that everything everyone else does is plotted, vindictive, bullshit because that’s not how she operates. I’m here to make sure she fully understands Kali’s motives. “If you need to talk, we can set up a time. Kali was here first, and I’d like to honor her request.”
“It’s okay, Miss Young,” Kali says, softening her voice. God, I could kill her. I could just fucking kill her. I know in my heart that she had something to do with Aaron’s disappearance. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She did it; she is responsible. She snuck off at the race when Cal was exploding heads. It’s so goddamn obvious. “Bernadette … already knows.” Kali’s eyes flash triumphant as she puts her hand to her belly. To be quite honest, I’m not entirely sure she’s pregnant at all. It’d be just like her to fake something like that.
“Bernadette knows what?” Sara asks, looking between the two of us with obvious confusion on her face. She isn’t wearing her uniform today. No, she’s trying to blend in and be the ‘cool’ chaperone in a short yellow dress and heels. To be fair, I doubt she’s all that much older than us anyway. Twenty-five, at most.
“That I’m pregnant with Neil Pence’s child,” Kali says, sniffling and dropping her head. She puts her hands over her face as Sara—predictably—reaches out to comfort her, taking the sobbing girl into her arms and rubbing her back. Sara’s face hardens into something terrible, and I just know what she’s thinking. She’s imagining that Neil raped Kali the way he did Penelope. In all reality, their wickedness was perfectly matched. Neil and Kali, likely soulmates. That is, if they have souls at all.
“You knew about this?” Sara asks softly, and even though she’s now fully aware of what, exactly, snitches get stitches means, I can tell I’ve lost some credibility.
“Look, officer,” I say, tucking my hands into the pockets of my pink lacy nightmare of a dress. It’s so short in the front that I’ll have to be careful if I sit down. Or don some rings so I can straddle a bitch and punch the fuck out of her. Likely, my panties might show in that case which is fine because I wore some good ones tonight, some white lacy ones that Hael bought for me.
Again, if Aaron hadn’t been missing, I might’ve appreciated finding a lingerie box on my bed that read From the H in Havoc on it. Gah. I need less time fighting monsters and more time figuring out boys.
I smile.
“Kali’s been screwing like, a hundred different guys. It’d be impossible for me to figure out who the father of her kid was without a DNA test,” I continue, keeping that pretty smile in place. The barb works and Kali’s head snaps up, her fangs bared, eight eyes glittering as she rears her arachnid-like body at me.
; I am all about animal metaphors today, apparently.
“Like you can talk, letting five guys who hate you stick their dicks in your dry cunt,” she snarls, her words pitched intentionally loud for the room to hear. Things are quieting down around us as people start to eavesdrop. Good. I hope someone records this and puts it online. I’d gladly share every conversation I ever had with this girl with the entire world; I have nothing to hide. I did nothing wrong except maybe hesitate too long in clapping back.
“Oh, I can assure you that it’s never dry,” I purr, removing my hand from my pocket and running two fingers down between my breasts. Since I’m sure Sara is a bit of a prude, I keep my fingers at my belly button rather than going all the way for my clit. “And I wouldn’t need a DNA test anyway. We’re family. It’d just be a Havoc baby. You, on the other hand, don’t have any such arrangement. Does Mitch know about Neil, hmm? What about … Mack and David?”
As soon as those last two names leave my lips, I can see it register in her face: I’m right. She is meeting with Mack and David.
Also, she’s clearly furious about something else that must’ve happened before she got here tonight. Interestingly enough, I don’t think she’s all that butt-hurt over the guys Cal killed at the racetrack, the ones whose bodies we left behind.
Anxiety creeps up on me, despite knowing that the Charter Crew likely did away with their corpses. They can’t afford to be caught either. Still … I don’t like loose ends.
“Typical Prescott bullshit,” Stacey Langford says loudly, drawing the attention of the nearby crowd as she tips back a brown bottle labelled as root beer. It most certainly is not fucking root beer. Bet it’s not even beer. Vodka, probably. Or whiskey. We really like a cheap bottle of Everclear around here at Prescott High. Could be that. “Two girls trying to figure out who’s the bigger whore.” Stacey takes another swig, her blond hair crimped and hanging around her shoulders in thick waves. She’s got a mad nineties look going on tonight as she swipes her arm over her pale-pink painted lips, eyes locking on Kali. “But this isn’t even a competition: we all know what the answer is.”
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