Night and day.

At the very least, it’ll be an interesting social experiment. At best, it’s the start of a whole new motherfucking life.

For all of us.

For our fucked-up little Havoc family.

Tom Muller is the same sleazy-ass salesman who leered at me during that very first breakfast meeting with Ophelia. That was also the same day that Victor practically gave me an orgasm under the table and then chased me into the upstairs bathroom to finish the job.

Tom Muller is also the fucker who stabbed a shotgun into Aaron’s crotch and threatened to sell him to perverts—oh, and all of that right after he aimed a gun at his son’s head, a son that he either abused himself or allowed his fucked-up friends to abuse. Maybe even collected money for the privilege.

I’m scowling already, but Aaron is shaking with fury. The first thing he does is slip up behind Tom like a shadow and slam his palm into the surface of the countertop where the fucker’s nursing what looks like his third drink of the night. Tom startles violently, dark eyes flicking over to Aaron before drifting back to the rest of us.

“Hello asshole,” Aaron hisses out, curling the fingers of his other hand around the back of Tom’s neck. He looks about this fucking close to slamming the older man’s head down as hard as he can, just to see if he can’t crack his skull.

“I’ve got a protective detail,” Tom blurts, gesturing with his beer and spilling a good portion of it across the pink laminate surface. We’re inside Wesley’s, our usual drive-in haunt, the one that sits across the tracks from the Fuller High drive-in. During freshman year, my boys—before they were the Havoc Boys—would come here to toss Molotov cocktails into the backseats of the Fuller football team’s cars.

Aww, nostalgia.

Too bad none of that will help Tom any.

“What’s your point?” Victor adds, sliding in on Tom’s other side. “Do you think we care? That we couldn’t kill you and make it look like an accident?”

“Besides,” Aaron adds, blending his voice into Victor’s in a way that just comes too naturally to be faked. They might disagree a lot, and they might fight over me a bit, but they love each other regardless. They’re family. They were always meant to be family. “That’s not a protective detail, you moron. They’re fucking tailing you.”

Aaron releases Tom roughly enough that the asshole splashes his drink all over his lap. Aaron takes the stool on Tom’s right while Victor occupies the one on his left.

Behind me, Hael, Oscar, and Callum grab a table, and I join them, sitting on the side closest to Tom so that I can hear and see everything. My eyes scan the room, but there aren’t a ton of people in here right now. The few patrons still milling about are either well-trained Prescott High kids who know better than to bother us, or crew members.

“Remember when I told you that you’d die choking on blood?” Aaron asks casually, ordering a strawberry milkshake and managing to look like a total asshole as he slides the metal straw between his lips. “You are this close to realizing that fate.”

“What do you want from me?” Tom snarls, looking like a kicked street dog with its teeth bared. He thought he had the upper hand with Aaron tied up in his cabin. And now? Even Ophelia has betrayed his ass.

“Bet ya twenty bucks that he asks for cash up-front,” Hael murmurs, sipping a vanilla shake and watching the exchange over the rim of his metal cup. Cal has one elbow leaned on the surface of the table, head resting in his hand as he snacks on a basket of fries. Meanwhile, Oscar is on his iPad, acting like he’s not a part of this conversation when, in reality, he’s the one who told Aaron and Vic exactly what to say in the first place. “Right now. Today. Bet he says it just like that, too.”

“You shouldn’t be making anymore bets,” I tell him, flicking my gaze in his direction. He flashes a sharp grin at me because he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. Us. The Eldorado. Our oral sex bets … “Not when you’ve just finally paid yours back.”

“But I did pay you back—and it was epic,” Hael starts, leaning toward me and flashing one of his signature cocksure grins. “Bet you didn’t expect the ass play part though, huh?”

I give him a look as Cal chuckles and Oscar finally lifts his eyes from the screen of the iPad.

“Ass play?” he queries, in such a mild way that I know he’s immediately fascinated by the idea.

“Dude, you don’t get to take credit for the ass play when I was the one that shoved my finger up your ass first.” I quirk a brow to emphasize my point.

Hael roars with laughter, interrupting Aaron and Vic’s conversation with Tom. Both of my boys glance back at us, wearing similarly wry smiles.

“I didn’t come here to listen to your whore talk about anal,” Tom growls, and then Aaron is grabbing the man by his hair and wrenching him off the stool. The elderly owners of Wesley’s—those poor parents who lost their Prescott High alumnus son once upon a time—act like they don’t see any of this happening.

Even the adults in the Prescott neighborhood know who we are. Eventually, every person in this city will know. That, or they’ll remain blissfully ignorant because they walk in the light and have no need to see us creeping through the shadows.

Aaron shoves Tom to his knees and, at a subtle nod from Vic, removes a pistol from his belt. He presses it up against the side of Tom’s head. There are no cameras here, and we have—I glance at my phone—about nine minutes left before the cops catch up to us.

“Call my girl a whore again,” Aaron says, his face hard, his green-gold eyes honed-in on his prey. “I’ll wait.”

“What do you want from me?!” Tom wails, sounding frustrated and broken and sad. To be quite frank: I couldn’t give any fucks less how the bastard feels. He sells girls. He abuses his son. He was in love with Ophelia Mars, of all people.

“All we need you to do is include one of our girls in the group you’re sending to Kay’s on Friday. That’s it.” Vic leans in close, and I swear I can hear him growling under his breath. “And don’t you fucking dare ask me something asinine like and why should I? If you do, I might lose my shit and decide to shove the broken pieces of that beer bottle down your throat.”

“Send your girls to Kay’s?” Tom repeats, blinking stupidly in Vic’s direction before flicking his eyes up to Aaron’s face. He must know how close my lover is to pulling that trigger, just for the hell of it, and immediately softens his approach. “The GMP will kill me. I can’t betray them. And you shouldn’t either, not if you want to finish up high school.”

Aaron puts the gun away and then bends down beside Tom.

“I think the problem here is, you’re acting as if we asked you to send one of our girls in the group. Let me rephrase it so that you can understand: you will send one of our girls. Nobody has to know about it. Even the GMP won’t know what’s happening.”

“Mason will,” Tom chokes out as I check my phone yet again. We have six minutes left. Fuck.

“Six minutes, Aaron,” I warn, and he curses. We need Tom to get the fuck out of here before our police escort shows up. His police escort was left back at a café in town where one of our crew members shoved Tom out the restroom window and drove him here to meet us. The clock is ticking on that, too.