The men make a sweep of the cafeteria and even though it kills me to sit so still, to hide in shadows when I can hear gunshots and I know people are dying, I do it. I use the shadows as a blanket, and I wait for the right opportunity.

One of the men sticks his head around the statue to look for me. He doesn’t think I have a gun. What an idiot.

I lift the weapon up and fire once into his face.

It’s gruesome, and I end up wet with blood, but I don’t hesitate. I don’t think about it. I don’t let myself feel sorry for him. Instead, I get up and sprint for the doors that lead into the hall.

I’m not three steps outside the cafeteria doors when James crashes into my right side, surprising me and knocking the weapon from my hand. We end up in a tangled heap on the floor, his hands scrabbling for my throat. I get the briefest of looks at his face, at the stark violence carved into every feature. He thought he could use me to lure my boys out of the school earlier, but now he knows better.

If he can, he’ll kill me here—and he won’t hesitate like I did with Kali.

Because he managed to surprise me, James has the upper hand, using gravity to his advantage to lock his fingers on my wrists and push them into the ground. There’s a dead kid lying nearby, some freshman that I only recognize because I once saw him hand a bag of weed to Victor on the front steps of Prescott High.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I push back at James with a scream, preventing him from pinning my arms the way he wants to. When he gets frustrated and goes for my throat, I let him. As soon as he lets go of my arms, I shove by thumbs into his eyes. He screams in rage and agony, putting all of that fire into his grip on my throat.

As soon as I start to choke, I think about Kali, about how I might’ve let her go if she’d fallen to her knees and begged the way Billie did. I’m not without mercy.

I’m also not a little bitch either.

I shove my thumbs even deeper into James’ eyes with a choked gasp, the sensation making my stomach churn. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to do, but I keep on the pressure until he rears back with a wail. If he were a bigger man, or I were a smaller girl, I might not’ve had the reach to get him.

Keep moving, Bernie, don’t stop.

I shove up to my feet, wrenching the second gun from my waistband, but James grabs my ankle and yanks me down to the floor before I can take a shot at him. My head hits the ground hard, and I see a flash of stars before I finally regain control.

I roll to the side and away from James. He’s got blood all over his face, so I’m not sure he can even see me, but I’m not taking risks. I snatch up Mr. Darkwood’s doorstop. It’s a piece of rock, some polished crystal thing that he got on a trip to Yellowstone. I could give two shits less, but I am grateful to have such a heavy object at my disposal.

With a scream, I smash the item into James’ face until he falls backward. And then I climb to my feet, aim the weapon at him, and pull the trigger.

Once, twice, three times …

When a familiar hand grabs onto my arm, I jump and nearly drop the pistol to the floor.

“Bernadette,” Vic says, his face grim as he yanks me around to face him. Blood runs down the side of his face as he presses his lips into a thin, grim line. “You got our guns, princess. I’m proud of you.”

“Where are my other boys?” I ask, but he just shakes his head. I don’t know what that means. Does that mean he doesn’t know? Or that they’re dead? But there’s hardly any time to process it because Victor’s bending down and retrieving the gun I dropped when James tackled me.

“Come here,” he murmurs, opening one of the lockers and shoving me inside of it. Vic slams the door as I slow my breathing, listening to the sound of him as he hauls his body up to lie on top of the bank of lockers. It’ll provide him some cover. Not a lot, but some.

The rest of the GMP’s murder squad shows up just seconds later; I can see them through the slats in the locker door. They must really be afraid of Victor, to send their men to a high school. And you know what? They should be. They should be terrified because someone like Vic, they don’t mellow out as they mature; they darken in their very soul.

Both Vic and I remain silent as the men sweep the hall, pausing only to examine James’ body.

“Maxwell is going to be furious,” one of them hisses, looking back at the others. “How the fuck did this happen? These are high school kids.” His voice is incredulous and full of venom.

High school kids.

No.

Havoc.

One of the men lifts up James’ body and tosses it over his shoulder before the group turns and leaves the way they came. For several minutes there, neither Vic nor I moves. As soon as he thinks it’s safe, Victor jumps down and lets me out of the locker.

Panting, I look around at the bodies on the floor, trying my hardest not to think of James’ ruined face. We’re not going to just walk away from this, now are we? There are bodies everywhere, and witnesses, cameras and … Both Victor and I look at one another as the sound of sirens echoes in the distance.

“Shit,” he murmurs, looking down at the gun in his hand. He takes mine from me, opens his locker and shoves both of them inside. At the last second, he withdraws that red box that I haven’t seen since Snow Day.

Carefully, he opens it and lifts out the crown he bought me with two, bloody hands. I turn back toward the front entrance, heart racing, blood spiked with fear. Part of me wants to run; the rest of me knows there’s no way in hell I would ever flee a scene like this.

This is my school; I defended it.

Victor steps up behind me and places the crown on my bloody head, dropping it into place and then taking his rightful place by my side. He lifts his arms in the air, palms out, and then lowers himself to his knees.

I do the same, dropping to the ground as the sound of sirens descending on Prescott High colors the air like the sound of screaming, incessant and shrill.

“I told you not to worry,” Victor says, and I glance his way just in time to see him smile.

Police cars fill the street outside, officers scrambling out and hiding behind their doors, guns raised. Not a minute later, another car pulls up and both Sara Young and Detective Constantine appear.

“Worry about what?” I whisper back, my words barely audible over the shouts of the officers, the wailing of Prescott students, and the distant echo of gunfire from the remaining members of the Grand Murder Party.

“About being queen,” Vic says, just as the officers swarm up the steps and into the building, and we end up prone on our bellies, covered in blood and surrounded by corpses.

And all the while, the crown stays right where Victor put it, on the top of my head where it fucking belongs.

To Be Continued …