“Blood, everywhere,” I say with a harsh laugh, thinking of the scene back in the basement. How much of your blood can you lose and still live? It’s like, forty percent or something right? Four pints, a half-gallon … “It seems like someone tried to slit his throat. He says he doesn’t want a doctor though; he wants me to get Oscar’s medical kit.” I nod in his direction and he stands right away, sweeping past me with the smell of cinnamon to retrieve it from the cabinet. There’s something in the way he hands it over to me that makes me shiver. “And the extra saline from Aaron’s GSW.”

Oscar moves over to a different cabinet while I grab the plastic jug of orange juice along with a clean glass. Hael has already moved over and is leaning his elbows against the countertop, frowning and pissed all the way off. But not at me or Cal or whatever, for us.

“You think we need to knock his ass out and take him to the hospital anyway?”

I give Hael a look, but I don’t have to answer that question. If Callum dragged himself all the way back here, then this is where he wants to be. That, and I trust him enough to know the extent of his own injuries. If he thinks he can get through this on his own, then I believe him.

“Leave Bernadette alone to deal with him,” Victor commands, his voice smooth and easy, betraying none of the stress that he’s holding in his shoulders. Aaron glances briefly his way and then flicks his attention to me. Our shared knowledge of the miscarriage makes me twitchy, but I say nothing. “He needs to be left alone for now.”

“Understood,” Oscar purrs, leaning over and putting his elbows on the counter to match Hael’s pose. He stretches out like a cat and then reaches up with two fingers of his left hand, pushing his white glasses up his nose as he slides two silver eyes over to me. “Better hurry. When Callum gets in these moods, he’s unpredictable.”

“We’re here if you need us,” Aaron assures me, and I nod, taking my supplies up the stairs. As I go, I hear them immediately delve back into the thick of things. “Are we even okay here for the night if Cal managed to sneak in? I know he’s a god, but holy shit, Victor. He got past the feds while bleeding to death.”

“I’m sure our crew saw him coming and he asked them to keep quiet,” Victor rationalizes, and then: “I wonder how many members of the GMP he murdered on the way back? We’ll leave for the safe house in the morning.”

The safe house.

I wonder about that as I head straight for the boys’ room and find Cal passed out on Oscar’s bed. He’s bleeding all over those perfectly creased gray sheets, staining them crimson.

“Hey,” I whisper, crawling up on the bed and reaching out to put my hand against his forehead. His skin is cool and clammy, but he’s still breathing, blond lashes flutter as he finally cracks his eyes open. And then, despite everything, despite how far up shit creek we are right now, he manages a smile. “Are you sure you won’t go to the hospital? How much blood have you lost?”

“The neck wound was shallow; it’s stopped bleeding.” Cal forces himself to sit up with a groan, body quivering as he shoves up one sleeve of his bloodied hoodie to show me the fucking hole in his arm. “Gunshot from a forty-five. Went straight through.” He wets his pretty pink lips and then uses two fingers to spread the torn fabric near his shoulder. “Broken board got me here.”

“What the hell happened to you?” I breathe, my words calm but my hands shaking as I pour a glass of orange juice and hand it out to him. Cal takes it with a small nod of thanks, continues to smile at me, and then tosses the rest of it back.

I stare at him, and I can’t help but remember the first day of school when he sat down across from me at a table in the cafeteria. “Bernadette, right?” he’d asked when he damn well knew what my fucking name was. When he’d been stalking me.

If I were talking to any other woman besides myself—especially someone like my little sister Heather—then I would tell her to get the fuck away from these guys, run as far and fast as she could. Stalking isn’t sexy. It’s fucked-up. And yet, when Cal holds out his glass for a refill of juice, my heart just melts for him and I know that even if he is a creepy psycho stalker, he’s my creepy psycho stalker.

“I love you,” Callum tells me, just as I start to pour the juice. I end up sloshing an inordinate amount on the bed, but I guess it doesn’t matter since it smells like wet pennies and mud from the bottom of Cal’s boots. “You know that, don’t you? I’m sorry if I haven’t said it in so many words.” He reaches up and ruffles his angelic blond hair with his slashed and splinter-filled fingers. I’m going to need a pair of tweezers to get most of them out.

Cal downs the second glass of juice and passes it back to me while I consider my response to his statement.

“Callum …” I start, and he chuckles, reaching out for the medical kit. Flicking it open with shaking fingers, he removes a sterile wipe and begins to clean a spot on his inner elbow, swiping away the blood and grime. I reach out and snatch a pair of gloves, slipping them on before I take over the task from him. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you since I was eight.” I take an unopened needle from the bag, tear it open, and attach it to the saline bag.

I’ve done this before, but only on cats. Penelope once found a litter of abandoned kittens in a trash can on our street. She took them to the nearest vet but since we didn’t have any money, they refused to help. I guess the guy felt bad because he showed us how to give saline and sent us home with a bag and some needles. The kittens seemed to get better until Pam found them.

She drowned each and every one in the bathtub. When Penelope and I saw what she was doing … Only one cat was saved, and he lives with a nice family whose kids go to Fuller High.

Anyway, I check Cal’s inner arm for a vein and then do my best to slide the needle in with a single, easy motion. It’s as if my body can sense that the shaking isn’t helping either of us, and as soon as I touch that metal to Callum’s skin, my hands go as still as a surgeon’s. With the needle in place, I lift the bag up and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Say it to me,” he breathes, his face far too close for comfort. We can’t be like this, desperate and needing each other the way we are. Even though this is definitely not the time or place for it, I crawl into his lap and straddle him. He palms my hips with a long, deep sigh, closing his eyes as the fluids drain down the tube and into his arm. “Say it in simple words.”

“I love you, Callum Park,” I say easily, because I’m not at all ashamed of it. I love Havoc. All five of them. And if I ever tried to deny it in the past, it was only because I didn’t trust myself. Because I wasn’t being honest with myself. I won’t do that anymore because more than anything, I want to make sure I’m worthy of that fucking crown. “Now, don’t you dare fucking die on me.”

I rock against him, fully aware that neither of us is in any state to fuck. Doesn’t matter. If stirring up a little passion can help us both breathe easier then screw it. I’ll rub myself all over my stalker’s dick.

“I killed six men just to get back here,” he whispers against my mouth. But not like he’s looking for praise. No, it’s more of an … observation. “Nobody can keep me from you, Bernadette. Not even the world.”