Somehow, someway, I can guess how it’s going to end, and my stomach does a strange somersault, turning on a sudden font of nausea. If I hadn’t just taken another pregnancy test and saw that it came up negative, I might think I was pregnant. Again. A shiver takes over me as I blow on my nails—even though they’re already dry. Force of habit, I guess.

“Anyway?” I query, sitting back in the swivel chair and turning to face Vera. She’s dressed in a fuzzy pink sweater, cropped at the navel and decorated with a BlackCraft Cult label. Very cute, very Prescott. She probably stole it. “What?”

“I just wanted to say that getting paid to work for y’all is helping a lot of the girls out.” Vera shrugs her shoulders like it’s nothing, but it’s not. It’s what Stacey would’ve wanted and that’s important to me.

“You guys do good work,” I admit, and they really do. They tell us exactly where the GMP is at all times, via their sex work and through the grapevine of gossip that travels down from Portland. We have a pretty clear idea of where the bulk of the Grand Murder Party is at all times, where Ophelia is, where Maxwell is. If they remain in the state of Oregon, we have eyes on them.

Outside of it, well, that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?

“You’ve got a good thing going on,” Vera tells me, flicking her attention back to the window again. “I mean, besides having to deal with those hulking beasts on your ass all the time.”

Only, she doesn’t know that I just love the idea of those hulking beasts on my ass—like, quite literally on or in my ass. If we could just be together, eating pizza or fucking or talking at all times, I would be happy. The Havoc Boys are all that I need. Them, and Heather, Ashley and Kara. We don’t get to spend a lot of time with the girls since each interaction we have presents a risk, but I can at least see them every day—even if it’s from afar.

I leave Vera’s aunt a huge tip and we make our way downstairs, sweeping past the boys and down the sidewalk. Vera keeps hold of my elbow as we go and then leads me to her favorite lunch place, this scary ass hole-in-the-wall that serves barbecue sandwiches wrapped in newspaper.

It’s legit one of the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life.

I suck a bit of sauce from the tip of one finger, noticing that the boys are watching me like they’re on a hunt. Ignoring them, I turn in my seat until I’m facing Vera completely.

“I stopped by Stacey’s grave the other day,” she tells me casually, but the melancholy in her voice is impossible to miss. My heart gives a sharp and violent seize as I think about Stacey’s last moments, how she mouthed off to that GMP motherfucker right before she died. It was how she’d want to go out, I think, if she’d had to choose a way to go in that moment. “It was covered in flowers and tubes of lipstick and shoes and dresses …” Vera trails off with a sigh and then runs her hand over the top of her shaved head. There’s still a big ‘S’ shaved into the side opposite the anarchy symbol, and I can’t imagine that she’ll be getting rid of it anytime soon. Or, maybe like, ever.

“I really need to take a moment to visit my sister’s grave,” I say, shoving my fingers through my hair. Nobody ever contacted me about Pamela’s body. I’m not sure if that matters or not. Even if they had, I would’ve told the county to bury her. She doesn’t have any power over me anymore. Not a single person whose name was on that goddamn list can ever control me or hurt me or make me feel powerless again. “My little sister keeps asking and asking, but it isn’t safe right now. Shit, we can barely spend any time together as it is. When we do, it has to be in a private place where nobody else can see.”

The last thing I need is for the GMP to figure out where Heather is, who Heather is, and how much she means to me. Kara and Ashley, too, of course. That’d be my biggest fucking nightmare.

Vera reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze and a pat, her mouth pursed into that sympathetic so sorry, girl face she gets when she’s acknowledging other people’s tragedies. Every time we hang out, I see other girls come up to her with some problem or another, and it’s always this face that she gives them, one that recognizes pain and validates it.

“Graves are for the living, not the dead. So take your time getting over there. I doubt your big sister would want you to risk your own life to visit her corpse.” Vera shrugs, having put her wisdom out there in the most ineloquent way possible. I smile anyway and take another bite of my sandwich. “As far as your little sister goes, trust me: better safe than sorry.” Those blue-gray eyes of hers stare into her soda, watching bubbles pop. After a moment, she reaches out and gives it a stir with her straw. I bet she’s thinking about Stacey again, or about the other girl they lost after the robbery went bad. I don’t let myself think about what might’ve happened to that girl …

“So.” I set my sandwich down again, looking around the rachet fucking shithole we’re sitting in with its portable air conditioning unit dripping across the floor and the abandoned buffet in the corner, stacked with unused chairs. Ahh, Prescott. Classiest place on earth. “You called me here. What did you want to talk about?” I look at Vera expectantly, and she stares right back at me like I’m a crazy person.

“You just assumed I only called you here because I had business?” she clarifies, and it takes me a moment to think about it, but then I shrug.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess I did. It isn’t?” My stomach flutters strangely, and I realize I’m getting a friend crush. Like, maybe for the first time in years, I could be making a platonic friend. Oh, the boys are going to be so jealous … I take another bite of sandwich to disguise my total ineptitude for friendship. Let’s just say, it’s been a while. From sophomore year to the beginning of senior year, I was basically alone. Not even just that, but actively despised and hated, too.

“Girl, seriously?” Vera asks, and then she laughs, leaning back in her chair and giving me a long sigh as she looks me over. “Stacey liked you, you know.” I just keep eating my sandwich because I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that. It’s too sad in so many ways, to think that maybe Stacey felt a connection to me the way I did to her.

“Thanks.” That’s all I manage to get out, but then, we’re both Prescott bitches so we speak the same language. Vera can read all of the myriad things I’m trying to say with that one word. Thank you for telling me that. I liked her, too. I also thought we might become good friends.

“After this, come over,” she tells me with a small nod of her chin. “Hang out with the girls, drink a little. Relax. We’re just having a small casual birthday party thing for Tiff.”

Ah, Tiff, the one with the braids who hates me.

“She despises me,” I say, and Vera shrugs again, sipping her soda with a sharp grin building on her heavily painted lips.

“Maybe a little, but she never turns a Prescott girl down at the door. Come on, say yes.”

I think for a minute and then pause when Victor’s heavy hand rests on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. When I glance up at him, I can tell that he’s been listening in on the conversation.

“Go,” he tells me as Vera makes a scoffing noise. Like, I’m sure she thinks this is ridiculous, me needing permission from my harem of men to attend a Prescott party. But that’s not what this is about at all. Victor isn’t ordering me around or pissing testosterone in an alpha male show of dominance the way he does sometimes. Instead, he’s trying to be supportive. He wants me to go, to make friends. I can tell all of that in his one-word response, just the way Vera could with mine. “We’ll make sure you stay safe.”