Forrest turns away and heads up the front walk while I reopen the driver’s side door of the Camaro and slide onto the leather seat where Bernie and I fucked for the first time. My mouth twitches and I can’t resist pulling out my phone to select “Fire Up the Night” by New Medicine. Ahh, sweet, sweet memories.
“Anything interesting to report?” Oscar asks, silver gaze focused on the iPad as he plots and schemes and calculates risks in that way of his. I find it annoying as shit, but Bernie practically wets her panties when he hisses insults her way. Guess the hate-sex must be pretty hot, huh?
“VGTF is bringing cadaver dogs to Tom’s property,” I say, and Oscar pauses. After a moment, he shrugs and turns back to the iPad. When I glance over, I see that he’s working on our applications for Oak Valley Prep.
Ugh.
Prep school?
Gag me with a motherfucking spoon.
The thought of attending that prestigious shitbox makes me queasy, but I can see the merits in it. Protection, for one, and in a much nicer place than our Prescott rental. Two, a diploma which Vic needs more than any of us. I’d say he could go alone, but we can’t afford to be separated, not right now. And three, we can keep an eye on that Trinity bitch.
Looks like Blackbird might get to see me in one of those preppy uniforms after all.
“This could be good for us,” Oscar says, echoing my thoughts. I nod and start the engine, glancing over my shoulder as I pull out of the driveway. The next-door neighbor is staring at me like I’ve just walked out of a racist HP Lovecraft novel. The guy was a kook, but he came up with some weird shit.
I flip the woman off as I drive by.
“Provided we’re not executed before graduation, yeah, I’d say it could be very good for us.”
I head down the hill and back toward the safe house, the police cruiser following slowly along behind me.
Hael Harbin
“How’s Brittany?” Bernadette pops off as soon as I step inside the mildew-ridden safe house. I swear to fuck, if I get, like, black mold disease or something from staying here, I’m going to ram a Prescott High pennant flag down Maxwell Barrasso’s throat.
I pause in front of her, parking my hands on my hips. Fuck, this girl is sassy. She’s popping her gum and glaring up at me from emerald eyes, a pair of hot pink leather cigarette pants molded over her plump ass, and an old Prescott High gym tank that probably belongs to Vic clinging to her full breasts. It’s so oversized and loose that her tits are practically hanging out the top and sides.
“Oh, Brittany,” I murmur, leaning over her and smelling that intoxicating peach and vanilla scent, the one that makes all five of us so crazy that we’d dedicate our lives to creating a gang just to protect it. That’s commitment right there. “So good at sucking dick, I swear, I never wanted to leave.”
Bernie slaps me across the face. It’s mostly teasing, but a little bit serious. Very Prescott. If I had, like, a varsity jacket or something, I’d lay it over her shoulders to claim her. Since there’s nothing like that around, I grab the pink leather Havoc jacket and slip it onto her beautiful shoulders.
My cock stirs in my jeans as I step back and look her over, head cocked to one side.
“You want to take the Eldorado out and see if you can’t get the hang of that stick shift, little bird?” I glance up as Victor comes into the room behind her, his dark eyes on mine. Back when we were thirteen, we made a pact to protect Bernadette but keep the romance out of it. Obviously, that didn’t last. We just can’t seem to help ourselves around her. But sharing isn’t easy for someone like Vic or Oscar or even Aaron.
But me, that’s something I can handle. Besides, the more times I offer to participate in a threesome or an orgy, the more sex I get. Win-win, baby.
“Try to see if you can’t lose the cops for a bit as Oscar suggested,” Vic starts, his hand tightening on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Seems like he takes a second to gather himself and then relaxes his hand before dropping it to his side. “And if you do, time it and see how long it takes them to catch up.”
I nod, tossing the Camaro’s keys into the air and grabbing them in my palm when they fall back down.
“I’m sure Oscar will fill you in, but Brittany said the VGTF is taking cadaver dogs out to Tom’s. It’s only a matter of time before they see … what the GMP is doing with all those dead Charter kids.” I chew on my lip for a moment as I watch both Bernadette and Victor take in that information.
“What … interesting news,” Vic muses, likely wondering if we made any mistakes on the forensics side. A stray piece of hair. A fiber from a distinct item of clothing. Dirt from a very specific place. There’s always a chance that the feds connect some of those murders to us. But there’s also a really good chance that they don’t, that they blame another gang for violence they deserve to be blamed for anyway. Consider it repayment for all the crimes the GMP committed that they’ve gotten away with, all the girls Mason’s killed.
My throat gets tight.
Fuck. That’s my worst nightmare right there, that something happens to Bernadette, that somehow, our selfishness and our need to keep her gets her killed. Nothing in our life so far has been filler; it’s all been brutal necessity. And we all deserve that, don’t we? A little fluff, a little fun, quiet moments to color the in-between.
“Super dope,” I agree as Bernadette grabs my arm and lets me lead her to the door. Losing a police tail during a driving lesson should be fun. But I think Bernie’s up for the challenge. “You miss me while I was gone?” I ask, and she gives me a very characteristically Prescott eyeroll.
“Miss you while you were up at Brittany’s fancy house, pretending that her baby bump belongs to you? Of course not. I wasn’t jealous at fucking all.” Bernadette looks me over skeptically and then swats at me as I move to open the driver’s side door for her. “No chivalrous shit, remember? We talked about that.”
“Well, you fucked-up with Kali. So I get to open your damn door a time or two. Get that tight ass in the front seat and show me you’ve got the ovaries it takes to drive a fucking stick shift.” I move over to the passenger’s side and hop in, loving the way her hand roams over the bloodred leather beneath her perfect ass. With the other hand, she grips the steering wheel in a way that tells me I made the right choice. I might not be good at a lot, but I can tell what person needs what car and vice versa. There’s something spiritual to it, like the wheels are your wings or some shit. “Do you know what to do?”
Bernadette exhales and nods, glancing back at the dash.
“Push the clutch down, start the car, release the brake?” she asks, her voice this throaty purr that reminds me of black-painted fingernails dancing down the length of my cock. I shiver and wet my lower lip, nodding as she does just that. We end up exiting the driveway in a jerking, halting manner, but after that, it goes much smoother.
“A natural,” I say as Bernadette snorts and then manages to get us going at the next stop with a bit more ease. “Like I said, natural.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see our usual two-up of uniformed officers following patiently along behind. If I don’t think Bernie can handle outrunning them, we’ll stop and get a shake or something so I can take over.
“Any special destination in mind?” she asks, eyes scanning streets she knows just as well as I do, despite the fact that she’s never driven them before. I haven’t forgotten that beautiful red ten-speed bike she used to ride before joining Havoc. Besides, nobody survives past adolescence in Prescott without at least learning some of the local geography. It could very well save your life one day.
“Mm,” I start, mulling it over for a moment as I fold my hands together behind my head, closing my eyes against the cool breeze. It’s still winter, sure, but we’re verging on the edge of spring. It’s a hell of a lot warmer today than it’s been in a while. “What about … the Butte?”
“The Butte?” Bernadette retorts with a harsh laugh. “Are you kidding me?” I open my eyes just in time to catch her looking at me. She very quickly returns her attention to the road. “Hookup Point, you mean?”
“Only Fuller kids call it that,” I retort with a snort of my own. “We’re not in some black-and-white fifties movie. Say it like a Prescott kid.”
Bernie rolls her eyes at me as I grin.
“Pussy Point?” she says, but almost like it’s a question. “I’ve never actually been to Pussy Point. Let me guess: it’s rumored to have a special sort of magic that makes girls drop their skirts?”
“According to the biggest lesbian to ever attend Prescott High—Mara Chan—yes.” I slide one arm along the back of the seat as I scoot closer to her, taking advantage of the bench seat in the front to press our thighs together. The heat from her body percolates through me, and I shudder, sucking in a sharp breath as blood rushes to my cock. “She told me once that Pussy Point was a sure thing.”
“Why not call it Cock Point?” Bernadette challenges, flicking the blinker on and sending us in the direction of the racetrack. In order to use that shortcut, we need enough of a head start that the cops won’t see us. Otherwise, the secret will be out, and we’ll have fucked Prescott kids from using that shortcut for generations. Not a legacy I want to leave behind. You know, if there ever is a Prescott High again after this. “Because I can tell you: if I take you up to the Butte, you’re a sure thing.”
A laugh explodes from me, like a blackbird taking flight. See? I can do metaphors, too, even if I’m nowhere near Bernadette’s level of poetry.
“You’re an unholy little nightmare, you know that?” I tell her, but my voice is laced with affection. Seeing her sitting there in those hot pink pants, her tattooed left hand curled around the steering wheel, I’m filled with something I call dark bliss. It’s like, even though the whole world is fucked, even though bad shit happened and bad shit will continue to happen, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in this moment. My girl, the car I worked my ass off to restore for her, and us. Havoc. Together.