Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys Book 3) by C.M. Stunich

Author:C.M. Stunich [Stunich, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sarian Royal
Published: 2020-07-30T18:30:00+00:00

Aaron and I take our time smoking a joint and eating our food. We even put in another order for dessert, and our bitchy ass waitress brings over two sundaes shoved into plastic cups and covered in molten hot fudge.

“I think I burned my tongue off,” Aaron tells me, glancing my way as he starts up the Bronco. I grin back at him as I dig at the bottom of my cup for the last few nibbles of peanuts and ice cream. “But it was worth it.”

“So worth it,” I agree, trying to keep my face neutral. “And I don’t just mean the sundaes and the fudge. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” Aaron chuckles at me, his gaze sweeping over me as I glance back at him. We are not done tonight, not even close.

Victor stays the whole time, sitting on one of the picnic tables in front of the spot where his bike is parked. Pretty sure he’s watching over us which, unsurprisingly, makes me like him more. He leaves me and Aaron alone; he keeps watch.

That’s how Havoc is supposed to fucking work.

We might actually be able to wing this thing, huh?

Vic doesn’t bother to get on his bike and leave until he sees we’re doing the same.

Aaron brings the Bronco to a stop at the edge of the parking lot and then pauses, turning his head to look left, out his partially cracked window.

“What the actual fuck?” he asks as I crane my neck to see what he’s staring at. “Is that the Thing’s partner?” Aaron takes his time at the stop sign, and the other cars behind us wait their fucking turn.

They know who the ‘96 Ford Bronco belongs to.

I set my empty ice cream cup in the cup holder and then scoot forward for a better look.

Sure enough, there’s Sara Young, unmistakable with her bright blond hair and petite white face. She’s sitting in a maroon-colored Subaru with the headlights off, eating a burger. She’s not looking at us right now, but I can’t imagine a cop who lives in the Fuller area of Springfield goes out of her way to visit the southside grease pit known as Wesley’s.

Trust me.

If a cop started frequenting this place, we would all know.

“Do you think she’s following us?” I ask, but Aaron just turns back to the windshield with his lips pursed into a thin line. He says nothing as we very carefully pull out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road that cuts between two empty pieces of property. I saw the word property very loosely; these lots are nothing but shrubs, broken glass bottles, and graffiti proclaiming this to be Havoc territory.

“I would say …” Aaron starts as we finally hit the paved road that leads back into the suburbs between Fuller and Prescott where his house is. Headlights turn behind us, keeping a careful distance. It’s the motherfucking Subaru. “Yes. Jesus fucking Christ. Call Vic.”

I pull my phone out and dial up our fearless leader.

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