I mean, he does that shit all the time to me, doesn't he? When he's 'fixing his glasses'? Load of horseshit.

“So Mack is gay and occasionally fucks David. So what? Try harder, Bernadette.” Oscar takes another step toward me, and my heart begins to pound. All I can smell right now is cinnamon, sweet and spicy and so very Oscar. My body remembers his, and having him this close, I simply ache. Like the sea misses the shore.

I almost touch him, but I'm not keen on having my hand slapped away just now. I'm enjoying intellectually crushing him with ratchet gossip instead.

“So, why would Mack be picking Kali up from the school?” I repeat. “He's picking her up to be with David. I don't know what they're doing together—I can't imagine Mack would help his on-again, off-again lover pick up a Prescott girl for sex—but that could explain how the Charter Crew came to Ophelia's attention.”

I cross my arms under my breasts, noticing that Oscar's gaze strays for just a brief moment. I'm wearing a tank that says Not Keen on Men which is ironic and hilarious because, obviously, I very much am. It used to be Penelope's shirt, which makes me really sad because I wonder if she wasn't struggling with her sexuality. She never wrote about it in the journal, but then, it's mostly just a running list of the Thing's transgressions.

“That's a sound theory,” Vic muses, rubbing his chin yet again. I must've really got him thinking. He doesn't sound patronizing either, or like he's trying to make me happy because he wants me purring underneath him. “It'd make a lot of sense, you have to admit.”

Oscar turns away from me all of a sudden, like he can't bear to be within arm's reach of me for a second longer.

“What is Kali doing with David and Mack then, when they pick her up? We've trailed the LX on numerous occasions, but they've never once gone to Tom's place. Why?” Oscar's voice is now a Lucullan hiss, nice and smooth but very clearly displeased.

“Tacos are ready …” Hael suggests, trailing off as he sets the spatula aside. Callum moves forward and plops down at the edge of the counter, letting his scarred legs dangle over the edge.

“Because Ophelia and Tom are stuck-up, licentious filth?” Vic suggests with a loose shrug of one shoulder. He rubs his left hand up and down the bulging biceps of his right arm, drawing my attention to his tattoos. He has so many, and they're all so intertwined, that they look like a mosaic from afar. Up close, there's a wolf's yellow eyes hidden in the darkness of a whimsical-looking wood, an African painted dog stalking prey, and a hyena with its teeth bared.

Lots of wild beasts, all inked onto someone who I'd classify as a wild beast in his own right.

“Where is it that they do go?” I ask, and Oscar sneers at me, flipping open his iPad case again to access the information.

“The Oak Park Shopping Village. The mall near Fuller High. A Mexican restaurant.” Oscar pauses and looks up at me, cocking a perfect black brow. I wonder if he dyes his eyebrows, too? I mean, if his roots are blond … “Shall I continue? There's nothing on here that isn't inane. None of it is significant.”

“Did our guys stay long enough to see if David was with Kali and Mack when they got out of the car? Where did Mack drop Kali off afterward?” I ask, but then Heather and Kara come racing down the stairs with Ashley behind them. Alyssa comes last, looking reserved—understandably so.

I hope that the Peters—whoever they are—take good care of her. I hope beyond all reason that her mother doesn't know where she is, that she's looking frantically for her daughter. I hope that because I know that my mother wouldn't care. I know that Pamela, if put into a properly dire financial situation, would've sold me and Pen and Heather off like it was nothing.

“Is it time to eat now?” Heather asks, still wearing her black shorts, blue tankini top, and flipflops. It's far too stormy to hit the beach today, but the kids seem even happier with the heated indoor pool. Before we leave on Sunday, I'm going to push all of Marcus' exotic plants into the water and watch them sink.

“It's time,” Hael confirms as Oscar snaps his iPad lid closed. The way he looks at me, though, he knows we're onto something here. “Shall we eat in the formal dining room?” Hael oozes with a roll of his eyes.

“Turkey tacos for Thanksgiving is so weird,” Kara giggles, clamping her hands over her mouth. Aaron smiles softly down at her, putting his hand on the top of her chestnut hair for a moment. It's curly, like his, and she even has the same color eyes. He'd be a good dad. Eventually. Like, far off in some distant future that I may or may not make it to see.

No. You will. Bernie, you can fucking do this.

Finish the list.

Kick the Charter Crew's ass.

Get Victor's inheritance.

There's a checklist of things laid out in front of me, and I know that, in theory, Havoc always has business to attend to. There is no phew, we're all done, let's rest mentality with this group. But we always manage to find time to watch South Park and smoke, eat pizza and fuck. Shit, we even took the girls trick or treating.

Everything is going to be okay.

“Heather, can you get the platter with all the veggies?” I ask. “I'll grab some sodas.”

“Kara, take a small stack of those plates with you. Ashley, you and Alyssa can be responsible for the sour cream and salsa.” Aaron commands the children with an effortless ease, tossing me a smile as he hefts the majority of the plates into his arms (obviously, the Vincents wouldn't be caught dead with paper plates in their formerly immaculate home).

Everything is going to be o-fucking-kay.

I repeat that to myself, and for a minute there, I actually believe it.

You know, I just sort of forgot to add the fucking cops to my imaginary checklist.

Because nothing worth fighting for is ever easy, am I right?

On Saturday, I find Hael in the Vincents' garage, examining their Ferrari 488 Spider. He sighs when I come in, gesturing at the sportscar with one, inked hand.

“Can you believe I have to tear this car apart? Such a shame.” He taps the hood with his palm, and I get chills, remembering our quickie on the hood of his Camaro. “Of course, I prefer my baby any day, but this is pretty slick.” He puts a hand over his heart as I move up to stand beside him, crossing my arms.

“I hear this thing delivers a full seven-ten horsepower all the way to eight-thousand rpm. Shit, rumor has it that the Spider can go from zero-to-a-hundred-and-twenty-four mph in just seven-point-eight seconds.” I nod my chin, like I know what I'm talking about, and Hael turns to me with a cocked brow, a fresh cigarette halfway to his lips. “I say we dig deep into the throttle and find a set of switchbacks because the stiffer suspension and stickier Michelins make for a more capable chassis.”

“Okay, you almost had me at the horsepower thing, but I'm calling bullshit.” I grin as Hael lights up, takes a drag, and offers me the cigarette. “Where did you read all that, little bird?”

“Uh, Kelly Blue Book?” I offer up and Hael throws his head back in laughter.

“You tricksy little minx,” he growls when he drops his chin back down, so he can look me over from head to toe. I'm wearing a robe, but underneath, I've got on my swimsuit, the one Victor says he doesn't like but that he ravaged me in the last two nights. It's hot pink and skimpy as hell, with a skull and crossbones over the left breast. The bottoms are little booty-shorts, and I'd be lying if I said my cheeks didn't hang out a bit.