“Give me your keys,” I tell him, and he looks up at my face. “And your phone.”

“You don’t want my phone,” he says, and I raise a brow, forcing my right hand to grip the weapon even though it hurts. David doesn’t need to know what bad shape I’m in. “My dad tracks me. He has all of that parent-spyware crap installed, too. But I can drive you into town. Nobody has to know about any of this.”

I give him a look.

“You came all the way back here to give me a ride? Sorry if I call bullshit on that.”

“No, I came all the way back here because my dad called me and said he was having trouble getting ahold of his guy.” David pauses and glances over at the woods, as if he can sense the carnage I’ve left behind.

“Right,” I say with a harsh laugh. “And that makes me trust you so much more.”

“Look,” David says, turning back to me, his breathing picking up, hands curling and uncurling as anxiety rides him like a wave. He's so damn easy to read. “My father and his friends …” He trails off, but when he looks me in the face, I can see it. I’ve been victimized, too. It’s implied. “I can’t do much, but I can at least give you a ride.”

I tap the Glock against my thigh. Nothing is ever free. There is always a price. What’s the price here? Too much risk, Aaron, I tell myself, but I’m tired, and my adrenaline won’t last forever. Pretty sure I fractured my leg. Maybe my face. Probably my wrist and hand.

“You drive. I’ll hold the gun. Don’t disappoint me, David.”

We head over to the car—a blacked-out Lexus LX—and I pause.

I know this car, somehow. This is the car that’s always picking Kali up from school. In the driver’s seat, there’s another boy. Clearly, David wasn’t driving. That’s when I remember what Bernie said: David doesn’t drive himself anywhere.

“Oh, please,” the driver says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You think I’d help my boyfriend’s abusers? Get in the car. I’m Mack, by the way.”

I stand there for a moment, looking between the two of them.

“What about your phone?” I ask, wanting to call Bernadette, hear her voice, listen to her sigh with relief at hearing mine. We’re a tragic fairy tale, me and her. Childhood sweethearts rarely live to see the sunrise together.

“If I were you,” Mack starts, exchanging a look with David. “I wouldn’t take the risk.” He turns back to me. “I work for Tom; he spies on me, too. I watch plenty of gay porn on my phone though, so at least when he snoops, he’s got something to see.” The guy smiles at me, but I’m not exactly in a smiling sort of mood.

I just stare back at him; my face feels like it’s made of slate. Gray and immovable.

“Open the back door,” I say, gesturing with the Glock as David sighs and the other guy—Mack Holdman—taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

“At this rate, we’re only going to be able to make the after-party,” Mack grumbles, but I’m not getting in that SUV until I see that there’s nobody else hiding inside of it. After a quick inspection of the cargo area and the back two rows, I climb into the center seat and keep the Glock at the ready.

“If one of you does a damn thing to piss me off …” I start, but Mack just laughs as David shuts my door and then climbs into the front seat.

“Calm your dick, chestnut,” Mack says, starting the engine. “Trust me: we don’t like Kali anymore than you do.”

He hits the gas and off we go.

Either I’m making a huge mistake here which’ll cause my untimely death, or I’ll be arriving at the after-party in less than thirty minutes.

Checking the Glock’s magazine, I see that I have six shots left.

I’m in a mood, too, so these boys … they better pray for the latter.

Bernadette Blackbird

Kali leaves the building with Sara Young.

The sight of them together makes my teeth hurt. I can only imagine the lies that Kali’s spilling out that pretty mouth of hers. Thank you, Stacey Langford, for sewing that bitch’s lips together. It was way past due and unfortunately, too short-lived.

When they get into Sara’s Subaru, Vic and I follow after on the Harley.

“Will the others be okay without us?” I ask, thinking of Logan’s body and his two discarded mistresses. Vic nods, but he doesn’t have to state the obvious: of course they’ll be okay. We’re at Prescott High; this is our domain.

We climb on the bike and take off at a safe distance. Too safe, for my liking. Every now and again, I wonder if we’re going to lose them.

My arms curl tight around Vic’s waist, and I close my eyes. This is where I feel safest, where I feel most secure. In all the world, this is the only place I can truly be myself. Because Victor can’t see me, but he’s here. Because he doesn’t know if I cry.

I squeeze him even tighter, and he takes one hand off the handlebars, just to touch me. It only lasts a second, but that’s enough. That’s how Vic and I work. We don’t have to spell everything out in words. As soon as I said that fateful word—Havoc—I think we both knew.

We can never be parted, not without bloodshed.

A few blocks later, it becomes obvious that Sara isn’t actually going anywhere. She’s just driving Kali around in a random pattern.

Eventually, we end up back in the Prescott parking lot.

Kali gets out of Sara’s car, and into someone else’s.

“Whose car is that?” I ask Vic and he just grunts out a laugh.

“Kyler’s,” he says as the other Havoc boys meet up with us.

“Where do you suppose they’re going?” Cal asks casually, hands tucked into his pockets.

“The after-party,” I say, and Vic nods, kickstarting the engine.

“Meet us there,” he tells the others, and we peel out of the lot to head after Kyler.

The after-party is being hosted by none other than the infamous Stacey Langford. We didn’t even have to ask where it was being held—we were asked permission to hold it in Wendling. It’s a literal ghost town, built by the Booth-Kelly Lumber Company in the late 1800s. All that’s left of it now are a few crumbling stone buildings, including part of a jail cell. Mostly, it’s just a heavily forested area in the middle of fucking nowhere.

A rural neighborhood popped up fairly close by, but even those houses are abandoned now. Some people just can’t survive a pandemic when all the bailout money goes to greedy banks and corporate shitboxes. You can thank covid-19 and our corrupt government for the foreclosed homes that sit nearby.

Tonight, someone has strung the covered bridge with lights. Tinny speakers blast metal music, and students swarm the place. Not nearly as fancy as the Halloween party Stacey threw, but then, it’s Snow Day so nobody cares. Prescott students lay out lines of coke on the bare bellies of skinny Oak Valley prep girls and jocks from Fuller High with ripped abs.

Vic doesn’t bother to park along the edge of the street. Instead, he drives his bike right into the crowd, leaving them to part like the Red Sea. When we climb off, everyone stares at us.

“Let’s go, baby girl,” he says to me, taking my hand and leading me over to a cooler filled with drinks. Vic pops the top on a beer and hands it over to me, his eyes on Kyler’s car. There’s no point in trying to hide; they knew we were coming. Kali is sitting on the hood with Kyler standing nearby. As we watch them, Kyler throws a look over his shoulder and then flips Victor off.