“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.

There’s not a single one of us who hasn’t suffered in our family life, who hasn’t been betrayed by somebody that was supposed to love and care about us. That’s why we’re all—Victor included—okay with sharing Bernadette. She’s the center of the wheel, and we’re just spokes. But it takes all of us to keep the fucking thing rolling.

My body is thrown violently into the back of the seat as Bernadette turns the wheel to the left so sharply that we end up making a full U-turn, right there in the middle of traffic. There’s no hesitation when she shifts gears and rockets off down the street while the cruiser struggles to find a break in the traffic to follow after us.

“Well, fuck me,” I laugh as Bernadette grins, taking another wild left turn as we jostle down a street covered in potholes. She might be a new driver, but I don’t have to tell her the ins and outs of south Prescott. We take a narrow alley next, then another right. The racetrack isn’t too far off now. “You must be really eager to get to Pussy Point, eh?”

“And you must be really eager to not get any pussy when we get there,” she retorts, slowing briefly as we near the dirt road that leads to the racetrack. One look at her face is all it takes to know that she’s reliving that awful moment when Aaron crashed the Camaro and was dragged out of the driver’s side window. He could’ve died then. Callum could’ve died on the day of the shooting. Things are rough for Havoc right now.

“If you’re not ready …” I start, because even if Oscar and Bernie had sex at the funeral home, that doesn’t mean she wants me pawing at her hot pink pants and pressing my lips against the side of her pale throat. Of course, I can’t handle things staying too serious for too long, so I just grin and steer the conversation in a different direction. “I’m more than happy to just rub one out. Vic still has that video of you and me, in the master bedroom. I caught him jacking off to it just the other day.”

Bernadette snorts like she doesn’t believe me, but then her green eyes flick my direction as if for confirmation.

“Really?” she asks, sounding surprised. Not as surprised as I was when I opened the bathroom door and walked in on that shit. Victor just stared right back at me, stroking his cock a few last times before coming all over his own hand. Getting kicked out of the room that day twisted my raw anger into something ferocious. And then finding out that he’d had a threesome with Aaron of all people, when the two of them are like oil and friggin’ water, that undid me.

Might still be a little salty about the whole thing. Vic is supposed to be more than a leader; he’s supposed to be my best friend. Then again, seeing him masturbating to that video must mean he wasn’t as bothered by the whole thing as he pretended.

“Really,” I confirm as Bernie slows a bit, taking us down the curving road onto the track and then past it, toward the old campground and the suburban street just beyond it. From here, it’s a straight shot to the Butte.

“You don’t always have to pretend, you know,” she tells me finally, even after I’ve twisted the volume on the radio so Bonnie Tyler can sing about “Holding Out for a Hero”.

“Pretend about what?” I ask, but even if I act like one sometimes, I’m not an idiot. I know what she means. You don’t have to pretend to be cheerful all the time. You don’t have to joke around when you’re pissed off. You can be honest. The thing is, I don’t feel like I have a right to. Oscar had a much harder life than I ever did. My mom might have some mental health issues, and my dad might be a murdering sack of trash, but other than being homeless for a while, what else is there?

“Hael, don’t play that shit with me.” Bernadette guides us up the steep, winding road toward the Butte. I’m not worried though; it’s plenty wide enough to make up for any rookie errors. Plus, there’s a metal railing along the right-hand side. Worst case scenario, she damages the fresh paint job. The thought makes me cringe, but I needn’t have worried: we make it to the top and into the empty parking lot without issue.

Bernie turns the ignition off as I pull out my phone, setting a stopwatch to see how long it takes the police to catch up to us. There’s always the faint threat of the GMP, but with our cop buddies, the assault rifle I’ve got in the trunk, and Bernadette’s scrappiness, we’ll be okay. Victor wouldn’t have allowed us to leave the safe house if he didn’t agree.

“Three minutes,” I say as the car ticks and cools around us and Bernadette adjusts her gaze from the beautiful vista in front of us and over to my face. She isn’t done with that bit of conversation, about the pretending and all that.

“Hael,” she warns as I lift my eyes from my phone screen to glance over at her. “Seriously. You can be real with me. With us. You don’t always have to be chipper and happy and smiling all the goddamn time. That must get old?” She phrases this last bit as a question, but I’m not quite sure what to say. Does it? Even I don’t really know the answer to that.

Blackbird seems content to wait, taking off her seatbelt and leaning back against the bloodred leather. She throws her legs over the top of mine, and I groan as my cock twitches in response. Even that casual touch is enough to ignite all the fire in my blood.