Stacey cups her hands around her mouth and howls; the sound picks up across the room until nearly half the crowd is reverberating with the cries of Havoc.
Sara looks so confused. Some of the cops have their hands on their guns. I wish I could say they wouldn’t dare pull them in a room full of teens, but … eh. There’s private security here tonight, too. Always is, when this many Oak Valley assholes are in attendance. They won’t interfere unless one of their rich patrons is in trouble though.
I let my own head fall back, releasing a howl that joins in the chorus. When I drop my head back down, I see that I’ve truly and utterly done it. I’ve pushed Kali’s buttons in just such a way that I know for certain that this will end tonight.
Tonight, tonight, tonight.
Stacey passes me her bottle of root beer, and I take a drink. Holy fuck, that burns like fire. Whiskey, it is most definitely whiskey. Cheap, nasty, likely stolen whiskey. I take another swig as I turn away from Kali Rose. I’m not done with her per se, but I also can’t beat a bitch in front of a cop, so …
“Is it okay if I stop by your place for coffee again?” I ask, pausing to glance back at Sara. We exchange a long, studying look, and she dips her chin briefly in acknowledgement before turning back to Kali.
I can feel the nutcase’s eyes on my back as I turn and weave my way through the crowd.
Stacey stays close by.
Maybe she thinks we should be friends, too?
“Hey, so I know this is bad timing …” she starts, and I give her a look, remembering the way she stared at me on the first day of school, when I let that terrifyingly beautiful word slip past my lips. Havoc.
“I hope you know what you're doing,” she said to me.
A better choice I never made.
“And with that lead-up …” I start, feeling my boys gravitate back toward me. They’re in orbit. I am the sun. I close my eyes for a moment to just soak that shit in. When I open them, I find Stacey’s eyes flicking around to catalogue and acknowledge each of them. She isn’t dumb, never has been. She’s known since moment one which side the winning one was.
“Havoc,” Stacey says with a long-suffering sigh. She cringes slightly and steals the bottle back from me. “One of my girls has a problem she needs assistance with. It shouldn’t be too far out of your realm. It just … might require some extra care.”
“Request recorded,” Oscar says, appearing like a ghost beside me. He’s wearing a black button-down with white skull and crossbones cufflinks, boots, and black slacks. I stole five—check it—five of these outfits for my boys. It took me three different stores, and a hell of a lot of moxie, but I did it.
And yet … one outfit sits unused and waiting on Aaron’s bed.
My heart splinters and shatters briefly, and I double over, putting a hand to my chest. To anyone else, it might look like I have heartburn or something. In reality, I’m aching for Aaron so badly that I can’t breathe. Where are you, Fadler? What has she done with you?
“We’ll dig into this a bit later,” Vic says, the sound of his voice soothing some of my demons. Even if it doesn’t seem like it at times, he cares about Aaron as much as I do. I know he does. Whatever it takes, whatever the outcome, we’ll find our ‘A’. After all, HBVOC doesn’t really spell anything, now does it? “We have shit brewing tonight.”
“Oh, everyone knows,” Stacey says with a loose shrug. Her sleeveless dress catches the light and ripples with sparkles. “I’m not the first or only person to notice that Aaron is missing.” She pauses, her attention sliding to me, not unsympathetically. “I’ll let you know if my girls see or hear anything.”
She peels off from our group as Hael and Callum slide in on either side of me. Oscar looks briefly annoyed by Hael’s shoving between us, but it only lasts for a second, and I’m left wondering if I imagined the entire thing.
“What was that all about?” Vic asks as I lift my eyes to his. Those crow-black eyes are endless; they draw me in and take my breath away. If only I had the time or leisure to swoon and fall into his arms.
“Kali admitted to Sara that she’s carrying Neil’s baby,” I say with a loose shrug of one shoulder. “That is, if she’s even really pregnant at all. Or telling the truth. We all know the girl is a first-class liar.”
“If she’s going to the cops, that means she’s in a different position today than she was last week,” Vic muses, and Callum nods, reaching up for a hood that isn’t there since, you know, he’s wearing the outfit that I asked him to wear. He scowls for a brief moment and then cringes.
“Right. Like she has no intention of sticking out the rest of the year at Prescott.” Cal exhales, blue eyes scanning the crowd. They’re always moving, those pretty, blue eyes of his. I can’t imagine a single threat getting past him.
“Or of pleasing the Charter Crew,” Hael says, frowning. He snaps his fingers and glances over at Oscar. “I haven’t seen Mitch tonight. Have you?”
“No. He hasn’t shown up yet,” Oscar says, licking the corner of his lip. “And he wasn’t injured at the racetrack.” There’s a small pause here before Oscar smiles tightly. “Unfortunately.”
We all seem to turn as one unit, scouting out Logan Charter in the crowd. He, too, was unhurt at the race. Things did not go as planned. The only positive I can discern in the whole mess is that I’ve finally snapped. My brain is painted with murderous watercolor, just red and black and violent.
“Bet he knows where Mitch is,” Vic muses, sliding his own tattooed hands into his pockets. I think about that day in tenth grade when the boys all showed up with fresh ink on their pretty hands. Instead of wanting to break their fingers the way I should have, all I could do was close my eyes and imagine those inked digits digging into my hair, pulling my face close, tracing the upper curve of my lip. Vic tattooed Oscar who tattooed Hael who tattooed Callum who tattooed Aaron … Victor tattooed himself. Explains a lot, huh?
You’re missing a part of that story, Bernie, I tell myself, my throat closing up. Callum tattooed Aaron who tattooed … you. I flex my fingers before turning to Victor. He’s the leader, after all. He should have all the answers.
“Logan is surrounded by Charter Crew; Kali is snuggled up to a cop. What’s our next step?”
“Follow me,” Vic says, and because the other boys know as well as I do how goddamn competent he is, we do. Because Aaron needs us, and I have a bad feeling that his time is running out.
Aaron Fadler
I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here, playing the odds, running through different scenarios. None of them are good, to be quite honest with you. I’ve been a part of Havoc long enough to understand how we work.
Bernadette and the others, they’ll go to the winter formal; they’ll start shit with the Charter Crew. But even though I know they’re well-equipped to kick ass, so what? As far as I know, only Ophelia, Tom, and Kali know where I am. And Kali could very well die before Havoc gets an answer out of her. She could run.
Best case scenario at this point is that Kali dies in her quest to murder Bernie, and I’m left here under Ophelia’s care. At least I won’t be raped. That, and I’ll have more time to figure out a way to escape.
Closing my eyes, I pull in a deep breath.
I might try to break my hand to get out of the cuffs, but it’s gonna fucking hurt. That, and if my plan fails, I’ll be in even worse shape than before. If only I could reach my goddam boot to get my shoelace.
As I’m debating the merits of giving that plan a try, I hear the sound of a car’s tires on the gravel drive and pause. Somebody’s here. I just hope to fucking god that it isn’t Kali. I clench my jaw until my teeth hurt, adrenaline pumping through me as I strain against my bonds one last time and then relax my body like I’m thoroughly defeated.
Not even close.
I would move heaven and earth to get back to Bernadette.
“Dad!” a voice calls out from downstairs, and I freeze. It’s a guy’s voice, probably around my own age. D
ad. Is this Tom Muller’s son? What’s his name? David?
That’s right.
David fucking Benedict.
The guy who had sex with my girl because I wasn’t around to meet her needs. I grit my teeth so hard I’m surprised that none of them crack. Just the thought of her sleeping with someone outside of Havoc makes me want to start breaking necks. Inside of Havoc … I’ll deal with those feelings later.
“Dad, are you home?” the voice calls again, and then the door is opening and David is pausing in the threshold, his hand on the knob, his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ,” he chokes out. I make myself smile, even though the situation is anything but smile-worthy.
“Hello David,” I say, trying to pitch my voice low, the way Victor does, like he’s about to go on a murderous rampage but never does. Have to say, I’m pretty damn proud of myself for the way David shivers in response. “Mind undoing these cuffs for me?”
“Why …” he starts, but then he just steps into the room and closes the door behind him, putting his back to it. Already, I can see sweat beading on his face. His brown eyes flick back and forth in nervousness. He very clearly wasn’t aware that I was being held hostage in … well, wherever this is. A cabin of some sort, I guess. I know all about remote cabins: Havoc has one that we use on the regular. It’s how the boys were able to drop Danny’s body off, change, and meet Bernie and me back at the house so quick. It’s all of five minutes away from the house where Stacey held the Halloween party.
“Why am I tied up in your house?” I ask, trying for a casual shrug and cringing when my body protests the motion. Being tied up like this for so long fucking hurts. That, and I’m not exactly sure what happened when Kali hit me with her car. “Good question. Why don’t you unhook me, and I’ll get the hell out of here.” I try to keep the vitriol out of my voice, but it’s tough. I’m pissed. And as much as I know that Bernie can handle herself, that she’s got the rest of Havoc with her, I’m worried.
Kali is nothing if not a tricksy little rat.
“This is … holy shit, this is insane,” David murmurs, pushing up off the door to come stand beside me. He’s wearing a white tux, so obviously he’s planning on heading to the winter formal. We can’t be that far away from town then, right? He rakes his fingers through his gelled back hair, and I frown. Those fingers, on Bernie’s hips, on her breasts, inside her … Breathe, Aaron. You’re not an animal, man. You can handle this. “I can’t be involved in this. I don’t want to be involved in any of this.”
“If you let me go, you’ll be spared when Havoc takes their final wrath from your dad and Ophelia,” I say, and I mean it, too. We’re not evil, despite rumors to the contrary. Actually, I think we’re more than fair when it comes to dealing with liars, thieves, and underground scum.
David just stares at me like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Funny that, considering I feel about the same way. He moves toward the bed, like he might really let me go, but stops short.
“I can’t let you go,” he says, cringing slightly. “If my dad finds out …”
“Whatever it is that your father will do to you is nothing compared to Havoc’s malice,” I tell him, and I mean it. He’d be lucky to get knocked around by Tom in exchange for escaping Oscar’s long-fingered hands. “You know this is wrong, don’t you?” I ask, trying a different tactic. “All of this, just so Tom and Ophelia can get their hands on money that rightfully belongs to Vic.”
To be honest, I think if Vic could surrender his inheritance to Ophelia and wash his hands of her, he would. But he knows as well as the rest of us that his mother won’t stop there. If she gets that money, it’s game over.
“I don’t know anything about anything,” David whispers, and I can see from his expression that he’s absolutely terrified. “Kali came to me at a party. We hooked up once. And then … shit just got weird from there. I really have no idea what she does for my dad and Ophelia.”
“Well then, don’t compound that error by leaving me here to die,” I snap, noticing that David flinches like a kicked puppy. Wrong tactic. He’s too weak to yell at; he’ll just run. “Listen, David,” I start, but I don’t get to finish my sentence. Instead, we both freeze at the sound of another car outside.
Shit, fuck, and goddamn it.
“Oh, crap,” David murmurs, turning and fleeing the room, leaving me to lie there with fury building in my belly. Bernie was right about Kali, about David. All of it. Not that I doubted her, but if I live to get out of here, I want to see her rub it in Oscar’s face.
The distinct sound of the front door opening and closing travels up to me, and I close my eyes to better focus on the murmur of voices downstairs. After a minute, there are footsteps on the stairs and the door to the room is opening. Tom is there, with David just behind him.
“In the room, son,” Tom says, holding that same shotgun he leveled on me when I was in the trunk. David hesitates long enough that Tom steps back and then rams his son in the spine with the gun, causing him to stumble. “Now.”
David complies, slinking forward and pausing next to the bed. He looks down at me with true fear coloring his gaze.
“Kneel,” Tom tells him, and then David starts to murmur. It takes me a second to realize that he’s praying. He’s fucking praying. The boy falls to his knees and Tom puts the barrel of the shotgun right up against the side of his son’s head. David is shaking now, but he just keeps murmuring those quiet prayers. “What have I told you about snooping around, David?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” David whispers, his eyes squeezed shut. “I forgot my jacket. I was just … grabbing my jacket. I promise.” Tom moves the shotgun away, putting the end of it against the floor.
“You’re not going to start running your mouth, are you?” Tom asks, but David shakes his head vigorously.
“I wouldn’t. I won’t.” He opens his eyes and looks at me with an apology hiding somewhere behind the fear. “I just want to go to the dance.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tom snaps, and David scrambles to his feet, taking off while I’m left to lie there in a prone-ass position, as helpless as the day I was born. Anger rushes up to clog my throat, but I’m not stupid enough to mouth off against a psychopath with a shotgun while all four of my limbs are handcuffed to the wooden frame of a bed. Strength and bravery don’t come from outright defiance; you have to temper that shit with intelligence. “You.” Tom laughs as he takes the shotgun and presses it against my flaccid cock. A cold fear runs through me, but I take a deep breath and look the man in his dark eyes without flinching. Monsters feed on fear. There’s a reason the villain never just kills the protagonist, right? Because death is boring. Fear, on the other hand, is something that can be consumed and licked like dark chocolate. I remain still. “You’re a little old, but I bet we could still find a buyer with a dick this big. Fluff up that chestnut hair on your head …”
“When your time comes, you’re going to die choking on blood,” I respond coolly, and Tom laughs. He jams his gun against my dick again and pain shoots through me, causing my vision to go splotchy. Oh fuck, that hurts. But I don’t flinch. I don’t do anything. Instead, to deal with the pain, I just think about my girl. At the very least, this arrangement we have with Bernadette … if something happened to my cock, she could still get her needs met with Havoc, and we could still be together. The thought makes me twitchy, so I decide not to even go there.
“Big talk for a man chained to a bed with his dick hanging out,” Tom says, shrugging his weak-ass shoulders. “But don’t worry. You’re not worth much without a cock.” He swings the shotgun up to his shoulder and then moves over to a dresser on the opposite side of the room, removing a small box and gesturing at me with it, as if I care. “Forgot the engagement ring,” he tells me, cracking the box and smiling. “I’ll be asking Ophelia to marry me tonight.”
“Gotta make sure you’re legally bound before she gets her money, eh?” I ask, and Tom laughs.
“Damn straight, kid,” he says, sm
irking at me as he tucks the ring in the pocket of his slacks and then runs his palm over his meticulously styled hair. Looks like he was aiming for that fifties greaser look but failed miserably. Trust me: any Prescott boy worth his weight in salt knows how to get his hair slicked back properly. This ain’t proper. “I’ll be back with some benzos, so enjoy your last few hours awake.”
Tom slams the door so hard that the framed pictures on the wall rattle. One of them—some hideous oil painting of a buck—falls to the ground.
Benzos.
Benzodiazepines are a type of drug which includes rohypnol aka roofies aka the date rape drug.
Motherfucker.
My breathing quickens, and I tilt my head up to look at my wrists. The cuffs are attached to these thick ass wood spindles, but there’s a better chance of me getting them free than if I try my feet. The footboard is solid as fuck, and I am not sitting around to wait for Tom Muller to drug me. No goddamn way.
“You can do this Aaron,” I say aloud, taking slow, controlled breaths until my pulse has slowed. “For Kara, for Ashley, for Heather … for Bernadette.” Bracing myself, I yank on my right arm as hard as I can. Pain shoots through me, blinding and hot. I can feel my bones and joints protesting, but I don’t care. If I have to chew my own arm off like a coyote trapped in a canyon, I’ll do it.
I’m getting out of here.
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
I close my eyes and think about that night when Hael and I took Bernie’s dress from her. She fought like a wildcat, scratched up our arms and faces. I remember getting back in the car and seeing Hael put his face in his hands.
“What are we doing, Aaron?” he asked me, his voice muffled by his palms. I didn’t know what to say to that. “If she wants to live this life with us, who are we to stop her?”
Anarchy at Prescott High Page 2