“Momentary lapse in judgement,” Oscar says, pretending he still cares about the episode playing on his iPad. I know him too well for that crap. His knuckles are pale; even with all the tattoos on them, I can see that. “Does it matter? We said she was our girl when she joined, so our girl she is, whether I like it or not.”

“Aren’t you a virgin though?” Hael asks, and I swear to fuck, I can hear the screen on Oscar’s iPad break when he squeezes it too hard. “Or should I say, were you a virgin? I mean, considering you’re most definitely not now.” Hael howls with laughter, but he clearly isn’t paying attention to Oscar’s temper. He has a long fuse, but when it burns down, he’s a fucking maniac.

“Hael …” I warn, looking between him and Oscar. Aaron looks crestfallen; Callum is clearly amused.

“You were a virgin?” Cal asks, cocking his head to the side like a puppy. “How did I not know that?”

“He never talks about sex; I just sort of picked up on it.” Hael folds his hands together behind his head as Oscar sets aside the iPad, rising to his feet, shirtless and furious. I just hope he doesn’t have a weapon on him.

“Picked up on it?” he echoes, moving across the gargantuan living room in bare feet and black sweats. “Because you’re such a filthy whore, you’re suddenly an expert at sex?” Oscar pauses in front of Hael, but neither of them is going to back down if they get into a thing, so I have to intervene.

Being the leader sucks ass sometimes.

“Lay off each other,” I order, before somebody starts shit in here. “This is my honeymoon, and if one of you fucks it up, I swear on the devil’s dick that I’ll cut yours off.” I take another drag on the joint as Hael moves a step back, opening one of the two undercounter freezers to search for more ice cream.

“Look, I wasn’t judging, just asking. If I could go back in time and save myself for the one, I’d do the same damn thing.” Hael bats his eyelashes at Oscar as I stab the tip of the knife into the countertop. Both boys turn to look at me, but I don’t have to say anything else: they know I mean business.

“What happened with Bernadette was a mistake,” Oscar repeats, but there’s a bit of strain in his voice that I’m not used to hearing. We look at each other and I know he knows I’m not happy with his obsession with her. He’s always been that way: clinically motherfucking obsessed. He also seems to hate her, but that part I don’t quite understand as well. “Now that she’s married to Victor, I assume we’ll all go back to having romantic lives of our own.”

“That’s not what Bernadette thinks,” Callum says, hopping off the window seat and moving into the kitchen. Hael tries to snatch the potato chips from him, but he almost quite literally skips out of the way to keep them to himself.

“She said she’d have no other girl in Havoc,” Aaron adds, pausing at the edge of the living room, one step down from the upper level where the kitchen is. The whole place is open and gaping, not a wall to be seen. I hate that open concept shit. I like a house where you could, say, live in the walls and nooks and nobody would notice you. “It’s pretty clear what she wants.” Aaron crosses his arms over his baggy pink t-shirt. It says Fuck Breast Cancer on it. Pretty sure Bernie gave it to him when they were dating freshman year.

“We are never adding another member to Havoc again,” Oscar agrees, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger. I’m damn near certain he does that when he’s annoyed but trying to maintain his temper. “That doesn’t mean we can’t fuck or date—with approval from the rest of us.” The sneer he levels on Hael is legendary. “Because your failure with Brittany Burr is still haunting us all. In fact, it almost got Bernadette killed.”

Hael’s face pales, his hand going white around the ice cream container he’s holding. He stares down at it with brown eyes, like he’s fighting to control his temper. He’s never been very good at that, at hiding his emotions, whatever they may be.

“Isn’t that why we agreed to have a Havoc Girl in the first place? To keep outsiders out?” Hael pops the top on the ice cream and moves over to another drawer in search of a spoon. “We’re all red-blooded men; we have needs. I just thought we’d finally, after all these years of bullshit, agreed to meet those needs with the one girl any of us has ever wanted.” He taps the spoon against the countertop for a moment. “She asked me not to sleep with another girl without telling her. What do you think that means?”

“I’m not giving her up,” Aaron says after several long minutes of silence. I flick the butt of the joint into the sink, my muscles tensing up as my gaze clashes with Aaron’s. We’ve had this feud for years, even if it was unspoken. He knows I’m his competition and, much as I’m loath to admit it, he’s mine.

They all are.

Goddamn it.

“We are not letting Bernadette break us apart,” Oscar growls out. His right hand, the one resting on the countertop, balls into a fist. Callum watches him the way an animal watches another when he knows he’s dangerous. Slowly, carefully, he shoves another chip into his mouth.

“She won’t break you apart at all if you stop fighting,” a husky voice says from the staircase. We all turn to look at Bernadette, her hair tousled from a proper fuck, her thighs bare and white and marked with bruises and hickeys beneath the hem of my t-shirt. She must’ve snatched it from the floor in a hurry to come down here.

I’m just glad she didn’t wear her wedding dress; it belongs to me now, and I don’t want another man to look at or touch her in it.

“Hey there, Bernie,” Cal says, putting on those bullshit smiles he only wears for her. He smiles like the old Callum, the one that had dreams of dancing. He stopped smiling like that for a while, but the expression is back. I should be happy about that, but I’m struggling.

I love my friends; I need my girl.

I slide a hand over my face as Bernadette saunters—doubt she even knows she’s sauntering—into the kitchen, yawning and stretching her arms over her head. The shirt rides up; we almost see her cunt. I growl without even meaning to.

“Why are you guys talking about me like I don’t have a say or an opinion?” she asks, commanding the room as effortlessly as she walks. I’m enthralled. Doesn’t take a fucking genius to see the rest of my degenerate friends feel the same way. Why shouldn’t they? They’re all dark and fucked-up and dangerous. Only a very special girl could handle us. Only a wicked angel could understand.

Shit.

Motherfucker.

I want to scream because I know I have two crappy choices: keep Bernie as mine (as she rightfully should be) or put our family and my friends over myself.

I’m going to have to share her.

I don’t like it, but then, I’m used to doing things I don’t like. Entertaining Ophelia, putting up with my father, digging up rotten corpses. That’s life, man.

There’s going to be a steep learning curve though. Can’t change a man in a night.

“Old habits,” Aaron says, before anyone else gets a chance to answer her. “We’ve been talking about you—but without you—since we were eight.” He watches her with an affectionate gaze as she moves into the kitchen. Without a word, I push the plate with the finished sandwich over to her.