“Girl,” he says, turning the song up and then opening the door and revealing the bloodred leather interior. “Your man doesn’t say shit if he doesn’t mean it.” He lights up a cigarette and raises his red brows in Sara’s direction. “Officers.” He turns back to me, effectively dismissing them as unimportant. “Get that tight ass over here and check out your new ride.”

He steps back and holds out a tattooed hand to indicate the driver’s seat.

Personally, I’m rooted to the spot, as if the ivy spilling down the side of our rental house has trapped my ankles, bound me to Prescott soil so I can feel the dark but vibrant energy of the neighborhood.

“Probably stolen,” Constantine murmurs, but I ignore him. If he’s stupid enough to think the Havoc Boys would bring a stolen car around with the VGTF on our dick, then there’s really no reason to worry about him at all.

“Hael …” I start again as Megan sings about being a bad bitch.

“Blackbird,” he warns right back, reaching out and snatching my wrist. He yanks me up against him, putting his lips up to my ear and sucking the lobe into his hot mouth. My hands come up of their own accord, fingers curling in the front of his t-shirt. When he left this morning, I assumed he was checking on his mom. This … I did not expect this at all. “Stop questioning your good fortune. Sometimes, good things happen. Just smile and say thank you baby, yes I’d be happy to suck your dick later and call it a day.”

I smack him in the chest, and he laughs, but we both know that we each owe each other oral sex. Regardless of the giving and receiving, neither of those scenarios is a punishment for either of us. As I bury my fingers in his shirt, dragging the neckline low enough that I can lick the Hot Rod ink on his chest, my eyes close and I summon up the memory of us fucking in the front seat of the Camaro. Or on the hood of it in Aaron’s driveway.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, thinking of the fuzzy pink dice he got me for Christmas. They’re admittedly hideous, and totally tacky, but I see now that they’ll go perfectly on the rearview mirror. “Actually, it might be the most beautiful thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

I press my face into his chest as he bands his tattooed arms around me. As always, he smells like coconut and motor oil, like grease-stained Prescott dreams dotted with vintage cars and inked hands and scrappy determination. Havoc owes its existence to Hael as much as to anyone else because without him, and his constant desperation to maintain cheer, to joke around when everything else seems to be falling apart, this would never work. He tempers the rest of us with a strength I don’t think even he knows he has.

“Shall we go for a drive?” he asks, and I nod, still pressed against him. Really, there are a lot of other ways I’d like to thank Hael Harbin—most of them involving either my pussy or my mouth wrapped around his dick. Unfortunately for both of us, the decorous officers of the Violent Gang Task Force are still standing here.

“Come inside for a minute,” Cal murmurs, moving up to stand beside us. As he does, and his heat joins with Hael’s, I start to wonder about combinations of boys. Like, does a Hael/Cal sandwich taste any different than a Hael/Vic sandwich? What about a Cal/Oscar with a side of Aaron? Will they enhance each other’s flavors or just cancel each other out?

Only one way to find out …

“Inside,” Hael says, working his jaw briefly. “Okay.” He leans down and kisses my cheek with an affectionate ferocity that leaves me trembling slightly in my pj’s. Hael Harbin makes me feel safe, and excited about life, like we might do something crazy at any moment. Hold hands and dive into an ice-cold stream. Wake up at five in the morning to make pancakes. Pack an overnight bag and jump on an international flight. “Let’s go inside for a moment so you can get dressed? Then we’ll look at the car.”

I pull away from Hael just in time to see him lift a dark gaze and a scowl on the officers. They’re standing there, looking around the neighborhood and making notes on Sara’s phone. They even write down the license plate of the Eldorado which annoys the fuck out of me.

As Hael puts a hand on my lower back to guide me away, I catch a glimpse of said license plate, and my lips twitch. It’s a specialty plate featuring the infamous Crater Lake. Oh, and it’s personalized. Frankly, I’ve always thought of people who get personalized license plates as big fat douchebags, but …

“HAVOC?” I choke out, disbelieving the ability of the Havoc Boys to actually get such a thing printed on a license plate. At first, I wonder if that’s such a good idea, advertising my gang affiliation to the world. But then I remember that it’s motherfucking tatted on my knuckles, that you couldn’t miss the Havoc Boys if you tried. Besides, whenever we’re about to do something illegal, we just steal a different car to use during the crime.

“HAVOC,” Hael confirms as he guides me up the walk and inside, past a shirtless and still-smoking Victor. Vic closes the door behind Callum, flicks a lock, and then scoots over to peek through the curtains.

“So goddamn predictable,” he murmurs as I try to pry myself away from the spell Hael seems to have cast over me. “They’re putting a tracker on the Eldorado.”

“Before they even finished parking, Constantine hopped out and stuck one to the Bronco and the Firebird.” Hael pauses and gives Vic a grim sort of look that very clearly says apologies in advance. “They tagged your Harley, too.”

“Motherfucker,” Vic growls as I strip off my pj shirt right there in the dining room, flashing my tits to all three boys present and startling a fourth when Aaron comes down the steps and pauses in the foyer.

Dragging a white t-shirt over my head, I shake my hair out and pretend like my nipples aren’t so hard that they hurt. Or that they’re not showing through the fabric like two fresh pink roses—complete with thorns.

Aaron’s eyes catch on my breasts before he reluctantly drags his gaze up to my face, swiping a hand over his own and shaking his head at me. I just smirk right back at him.

“A tracker, huh?” I murmur, moving over to peek out the curtain beside Vic. “What do we do about that? Borrow cars to get around?”

“No,” Oscar says, also joining us from upstairs. “We’ll use the trackers against them. Guide them where we want them to go.” His razor-sharp mouth tilts up at one corner, and his eyes sparkle with all the ways we might fuck with the cops without actually committing any crimes. “It might be advantageous to do a few experiments, see if we can’t lose them, and if we do, how long until they catch up to us.”

“Which Bernie and I are very happily going to do as soon as they get the ever-loving fuck out of here,” Hael says, and this time, he just throws the curtains nearest him open, cigarette clenched between his teeth as he waves at the detectives with a tight smile on his full lips. “Not very subtle, are they?”

Aaron huffs as he slumps into a chair and then hops right back up as it creaks and groans beneath his bulk.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, shoving chestnut hair back from his forehead with clear annoyance. He could probably use a haircut. Not sure if I’m going to allow him to get one though. I sorta like his hair longer. “What need would they have to be subtle? We know they’re after us; they know we know.” He shrugs his big shoulders. “Anyway, Bernie.” Aaron turns that piercing gaze of his over to me, the colors of his irises a mesmerizing blend that the artistic side of me is dying to recreate with a brush or a colored pencil. Except, my talent lies in poetry, right?