Hael hands Callum a crowbar, but before he can even try to use it, I step forward and grab the handle. It swings open and the boys exchange looks in the dark behind me.
“Posh school, a different sort of hoodlum. They probably think the front gate security is enough.” I step inside and find an elaborate hallway with wood floors, brick walls, and stuffy paintings of old white dudes. More than likely, rich old, white dudes. My lip wrinkles—because who the fuck actually likes misogynistic, money-hoarding dinosaurs?—and I step aside to let the others in.
We head straight for the curving staircase to our left and up, to the hallway where Don’s bedroom is located. I notice that we're all fairly good at keeping quiet, a throwback to dark childhoods and blending into shadows. It's a hard-won skill, but it comes in handy as we slip down the hall and pause in front of room 219. Don’s room. The room he invited his friends to, to have a taste of southside whore. My mouth fills with bile, and my eyes close. My whole life, I feel like I've been running from men and their greedy hands, their hungry cocks.
And to escape them? To punish the ones that'd already done me wrong? I sprinted into the arms of the enemy. We'll see how this works out, won't we?
Donald Asher, the rich dickhead I dated because, for some stupid, silly reason, I thought he would be better. Hah. Anyway, his door is locked. I guess monsters always know where to look for their brethren in the dark.
Kneeling down in front of Don’s door, Callum pulls a lock picking kit from his bag, and I get the idea that he's the master of breaking and entering amongst the Havoc Boys.
In two flicks of a fucking lamb's tail, the lock is disengaging with a click, and the door is swinging inward.
My pulse is racing so fast I have to seriously consider if I might pass out.
“We got this,” Aaron whispers as he moves around me, that distinctive rose and sandalwood smell of his wafting in the cool air. Like some sort of SWAT unit, all the boys but Oscar move into the room on tiptoes.
“This should be interesting,” Oscar murmurs, gray eyes glimmering in a stray shaft of moonlight, his mouth in some semblance of a smile, albeit one that stings like acid. The lenses of his glasses—I notice he’s wearing a completely new pair tonight—catch the light as he glances briefly over at me, tucks his iPad against his side, and then holds a single hand out to indicate that I should enter the room.
With a deep breath, I do.
As soon as I enter that room and smell that awful cologne, memories come flooding back, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming.
Donald is lying peacefully in his bed, his snoring eliminated by some special surgery that his father's company funded the research for and now sells to the public for exorbitant prices. Oscar carefully closes and locks the door behind us, giving Victor the nod he's been waiting for.
“Wake him up,” Vic commands, and Hael flashes a sharp, cocky grin through the bottom hole of his ski mask.
“My pleasure,” he purrs, putting his hands around Don's neck. The asshole's brown eyes fly open, and his lips part to scream. But whatever Hael is doing is keeping him quiet. “Struggle too hard, and I'll snap your neck.”
“And keep your mouth shut,” Aaron adds, stepping naturally into his own role. Vic remains cold and emotionless, the untouchable leader of the bunch. His ebon eyes slide to mine.
“Let the boy talk, and if he screams, you know what to do.”
“Got it.” Hael loosens his grip ever so slightly, and Donald begins to choke dramatically, causing Callum to chuckle.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Don demands, the whites of his eyes a dead giveaway to his fear. Honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised to find he'd pissed himself the way Kyler did. When he finishes scanning our group however, something changes. Rage twists his relatively handsome expression into something truly ugly. “What is this, some sort of shakedown? If you all leave my room right now, I'll consider dropping the breaking and entering and assault charges you're facing.”
This time, it's Vic who laughs. The sound is low and dark, truly terrifying.
“You think you have room to negotiate here?” he asks, and the sound of his voice strikes fear into my heart. Regardless of that fiery kiss on the rooftop, I'm terrified of Victor Channing. “Truss him up like a pig and take him out to the roof.”
“You wouldn't fucking dare,” Donald snarls, but Oscar is already reaching for the coil of purple rope Cal’s got slung over his shoulder. When the rich asshole goes to shout, Aaron clamps a hand over his mouth and leans in.
“Last chance before we choke you to death.”
“I'd do it, too,” Hael says, all smooth and cocky. He's like … the jock-y football player from a good school, but reversed. Same shit-eating grins, over-confidence, and healthy swagger, but wrapped in tattoos and pain instead of money and a letterman jacket. “And I'd enjoy it. Nothing I love more than showing a rich asshole that he doesn't own the world.”
Aaron releases Don's mouth, and Oscar makes quick work of tying him up. Next thing I know, the other guys are dragging Don through the window.
“What the hell?” I murmur, grabbing Oscar's arm. The way he looks down at my hand on the fabric of his suit jacket, I get the idea that I better let go and quick. “This is like a fucking repeat of what you did to me.”
“No, not even close. Consider it … an ode.” Oscar climbs out, and I’m expected to follow behind. Hands shaking, I do, and find myself watching as Oscar ties a rope around Donald’s neck.
They’re going to hang him?! I wonder, heart racing so fast that I feel dizzy. Right here, like this? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past them to commit murder, but … this is insane.
“Donald Asher,” Vic says, squatting down beside him as the boy who thinks he owns the world gets a nice, sharp taste of brutal reality. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I can pay,” Don simpers, his voice a broken, weak thing, so unbelievably pathetic that my lip curls. I can’t believe I actually dated this guy. But I was so desperate to escape my life, to get as far away from Aaron as I could, that it seemed like a good idea at the time. “Whatever you want, just name the price.”
Victor laughs, and the sound is truly nightmarish, an ephemeral darkness that blots out the brilliant moon. He reaches out and strokes Don’s dark hair from his forehead, almost mockingly.
“You think we give a shit about money?” Vic asks, tilting his head to one side, studying his subject. “Do you think that’s what motivates us?”
“Everyone likes freedom,” Don whispers, shaking violently. I smell an acrid scent on the wind that takes me a minute to place: he really has pissed his pants. Not that I blame him. I mean, when the Havoc Boys dragged me from my bed in the middle of the night, I didn’t wet myself. But then, I guess I’m made of tougher stuff. “Money can buy you freedom. I’ve got cash, hidden in the safe. If you let me up, we’ll go get it together, and then you can—”
Victor grabs a handful of Don’s hair and yanks his head back as Aaron finishes tying off the noose.
“You’re insulting my intelligence, Don,” he says, looking him dead in the eye. “We’re not here for money. Whatever you could give us, it’d be a pittance to you. You wouldn’t suffer, and that’s the most important thing here.” Vic sighs, like he’s frustrated at having to explain himself to this pathetic cretin. Meanwhile, I’m fairly certain I’m simultaneously having a PTSD attack and also enjoying the show. A deep, sick sense of satisfaction curls through me, and that’s when I know I’m truly evil, as evil as all the rest of them, my perpetrators and the Havoc Boys combined.
They’ve twisted me, warped me, made me in their likeness.
I swallow hard, but I don’t look away or close my eyes.
“And do you really believe that we believe that you’d let us go? No, a monster like you knows that as soon as you have the upper hand, you take it.” Vic smiles, but it’s not a pretty expression. The way his mouth looks right now, I can hardly believe that just a short while ago, he was burning me with it, searing me with heat. “As soon as we left, you’d have a private army on our asses.” Vic pats him on the cheek and stands up. “Besides, you know too much already. Do you really think you’re walking away from this?”
“What the hell is this all about? I didn’t do anything,” Don whispers, wiggling like a caterpillar in his bindings, eyes flicking nervously toward the edge of the roof. At some point, we’re going to be heard out here, and the gig will be up. But I stand there, and I make myself trust in Havoc. They weave cruelty, pain, and revenge like fibers in the dark, soothing cloth of reality.
“You’ve never hurt anyone?” Aaron clarifies, the blind rage in his voice making me do a double take. Whereas Vic sounds calm, cool, collected, my ex is giving off the impression that he actually cares. I mean, if he did, he wouldn’t have dumped me and turned on me in an instant, right? “In your short, miserable life, you’ve been nothing but a goddamn angel? You are a demon, Don, and you’ll die like a dog.”
“Takes one to know one,” Don bites out with one, last burst of sass, and Vic chuckles.
“Undo the ropes,” he says, and Oscar nods, moving to untie the silken purple bindings on Don’s wrists and ankles. Donald calms down for a moment, but only until he realizes that when Vic said to untie the ropes, he didn’t mean all of them. “Did you know that our friend here is a master at these silk ropes? He can tie them without leaving a mark. And what’s funny is that once the hubbub dies down, nobody will remember the spoiled, rich prep school kid who hung himself from the tree outside his window.”
“N—” Don starts to shout, but Hael’s already tossed the rope around the limb of the tree and pulled the knot tight. In the span of an instant, before I can even think to protest or wonder if I would at all, Vic is kicking Donald down the sloping roof and … off.