Since he just so happens to be the center of mine, I guess it really fucking does.

Stacey’s girls are willing to meet me at the nail art place down the block. And by nail art place, I mean that girl whose aunt will do your nails for like fifteen bucks and make it look like you paid three hundred at the stuffy Oak Park place with the weird French name.

“RIP, my love,” one of the girls says, eyeing her coffin-tipped pink nails with a frown and watery eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She dashes her hand across her face and shakes her head. “The nails are fly, girl. I just … it’s been hard without Stacey, you know?”

“It was all my fault,” one of the other girls says, her face swollen and mottled with bruises. Clearly, at some point recently, she got the shit kicked out of her. Worse than me, even. I’m guessing this is the girl that Stacey’s crew got back alive. “I picked the john. I … and I’m the one that told those GMP motherfuckers that I worked for Havoc.” She glances away sharply, braided hair swinging with the motion. “You sure you aren’t here to kill me?”

“I’m here to tell you that we want you in our crew,” I say, and several of the girls exchange glances with one another. They don’t seem nearly as surprised as I might’ve thought. I look up at the woman across from me, some gorgeous thirty-something that shapes my ragged ass nails into a feast for the eyes. Matte black, coffin-tips, each nail hand-painted with a filigreed letter pertaining to HAVOC and blessed with a jewel of some sort. On my right pointer finger, she pierces a hole through the tip of the nail and puts a ring on it that matches the ones I wear in my belly button.

“No surprise,” one of the others says, checking her purple nails over and tossing me a look that’s split between animosity and curiosity. As if she can’t help herself, her gaze strays over to Hael Harbin, sitting in a chair behind me and watching the proceedings with curiosity, like he’s never been around a bunch of Prescott bitches getting their nails did before. It’s sort of a thing in this neighborhood. “What else would you do? Considering you failed to keep Stacey safe. I thought Havoc was supposed to be our avenging angel, huh? Well, prove it.”

“Don’t talk to them like that, Tiff,” the first girl says, the one who was crying over Stacey. “They saved our asses. You think we all wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for Havoc? Besides, we’re the ones who robbed the GMP.” This girl turns to me, nodding her head, like she’s already made a decision. I vaguely recognize her as the chick that was grinding on that boy in the cafeteria that day, the day that Stacey officially dropped her Havoc request. “You got a plan, don’t you, Havoc Girl?”

“Maybe you need help working all that yummy Havoc dick?” another one of them asks. In total, there are almost a dozen girls crammed into this little apartment, watching me. And this is just the upper echelon of Stacey’s organization. Like I said, queen bee of Prescott High. With that title open and available, I know I have to step up and seize the crown. “How do you do it anyway, keep all five of those boys satisfied?”

I glance back to find Hael grinning at me. He folds his hands together behind his head and cocks an eyebrow. We’re only about three houses down from the place we’re staying, but I’ve got an entourage anyway. Victor is downstairs, a bit too … primal and male to fit into this crowd. It might be mixed race up in here—we have girls in every color of the human rainbow—but it is a distinctly feminine atmosphere. They might like to fuck Prescott boys, but they sure as shit won’t take any orders from them.

“With a wet pussy and a smile?” I suggest, and the girls howl with laughter.

“Bitch, you’re legendary,” Crying Girl says, nodding her head again. Her red hair has been shaved close to her head in mourning, but her nails are fucking fabulous. “I’m Vera, by the way. I’ll speak to the other girls, but I can’t see any of them turning down your offer. We have to have each other’s backs here in Prescott; you know that Stacey always had yours.”

A shiver takes over me, and I nod. Stacey really did always have our backs. Shit, shit, shit. I feel my face get tight and suck in a sharp breath.

“I do know that. Which is why we’re taking this seriously.” I withdraw my hands as Vera’s aunt sits back in her seat and leaves me to examine my nails. This is legitimately the best nail art I’ve ever had in my life. The matte black color matches the lipstick I’m wearing today, a shade known simply by the silhouetted bat swarm that covers the lid. It doesn’t even have a name, just a symbol.

Now, my nails as well as my knuckles say Havoc. I reach up and push a bit of red-tipped hair back from my forehead, turning around on the swivel stool so I can see Hael while I talk. He watches me do my thing, even as the girls take turns scoping him out. I wonder if any of them ever fucked him? I’m afraid to ask because, even though I’m a feminist in my very blood and bones, I’m also just a little bit animal. I get jealous much easier than I should.

“I need your help,” I start and a girl wearing huge falsies lifts her hand, perched on the edge of a sofa with her arm in a sling. I wonder if she got that injury during the shooting?

“If you want our help, answer a few questions first.” She grins, and I feel a bit of the tension in the room dissipate. I’m being offered an olive branch here, initiated into this circle of women even though I’m not entirely sure that I deserve it. “Which one of the Havoc Boys has the biggest dick?”

Laughter swirls through the air, riding the cool breeze from the open window on a cloud of sweet-smelling perfume and body spray. But even if they’re laughing, all eyes are on me and I’m expected to answer the question honestly.

My eyes flick once again to Hael’s honey-almond ones, but he’s just grinning back at me, hands still folded together behind his head, waiting. Obviously, he’s seen the other boys’ dicks, but I’m the only one well-acquainted enough with them to know for sure.

“Who do you think?” I snort, but Vera gives me a sharp look, and I know I’d better cough up answers here. This isn’t really about the boys though, is it? It’s a bonding exercise, a sharing of secrets, a building of camaraderie. “Are we talking length or circumference?”

“Both. Dish it out,” Vera says, snapping her fingers at me. Her eyes are the color of ice chips, pale, almost colorless, but with enough of a gray wash that she appears mysterious at first glance, almost otherworldly.

“Well, for girth, I’d have to say … Aaron?” I start, and I notice money exchange hands almost immediately. Ah, these bitches are betting on this. Even Hael chuckles as I shrug my shoulders. “And length … Victor.”

“Of course it’s Victor.” Tiff accepts cash from a few of the other girls, giving me a careful once-over.

“I’m hurt, Bernadette,” Hael moans, putting a hand to his chest like I’ve mortally wounded him. “But then, maybe these ladies are asking the wrong question? How about: who’s the best fuck?”

“Oh, good one!” Vera nods her head as she looks from Hael and back to me. I make extra sure to flip Hael off with my pretty new nails, and the girls titter like a flock of songbirds.