Hael stands up suddenly, and I gasp. There's a look on his face that just tears me into pieces.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and moving over to the passenger side door. He opens it, despite my constant bitching about chivalry, and I slide in. With that dark expression riding his handsome features, how could I refuse? Besides, I've never sat in a car this nice before; it's disconcerting.

“Where are we going?” I ask, but Hael just slams the door behind me and then jogs over to the door that leads into the house. He yanks it open, shouts something inside, and then hits the button to open the garage door. The sea greets us, glittering blue under a surprisingly cheerful sky. It's still cold as fuck, but at least it looks pretty. “What did you just say?” I add as Hael climbs in and starts the engine. At the sound of its admittedly satisfying growl, he puts his forearm on the steering wheel and leans his forehead against his tattoos.

“I'm gonna come in my jeans, Bernadette. Did you hear that? Not as pretty as that signature shriek the models from a few years back had, but I'll take it. Not bad for a turbocharged engine, am I right?”

“You may as well be speaking French to me again,” I say, wishing with all my heart that he would.

“Pourquoi est-ce que tu me poses des questions qui me poussent à me dévoiler, Blackbird?” Hael murmurs, lifting his head up and smiling at me. His right arm is closest to me, and I can't help but smile at the checkered flag tattoo, the racetrack, the colorful cars and pretty girls lounging atop them. “I told Victor that I was going to teach you to drive. Sorry, cher, but I'm not putting all that work into the Eldorado so you can park it in Aaron's driveway.”

Hael sits up and then pauses a moment to connect his phone to the Bluetooth sound system. He surprises me by choosing Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas. He puts the top down and then slips his sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them over his beautiful face.

“Ready?” he asks, but my throat is suddenly tight, so all I can do is nod. “Then let's fucking go!”

Hael slams his booted foot down on the gas, and I let out a small scream of delight as we peel out of the garage and take off down the curving driveway. It ends in a road that hugs the sand for a while, and I throw my arms up, letting my head fall back as sunshine streams across my skin.

That flickering firefly inside of me goes nuts. There isn't a soul on this earth who doesn't love a sun-drenched convertible ride along the beach. Add in the adrenaline from knowing we stole the Ferrari and the beauty of Hael motherfucking Harbin on my left, and I'm drowning in unconscionable bliss.

Hael doesn't bother with directions or anything. Instead, he just follows the curving road that kisses the shore. Even his playlist is fun, full of classic rock that makes me smile.

“Really, Hael? Pat Benatar?” I ask as “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” comes on. He just shrugs his shoulders, driving with his left hand while his right reaches over to caress my bare knee.

“Marie likes classic rock,” he says, referring to his mother. Just that little tidbit, pulled out of his past and chucked at me like a stone at a window, makes me want to open it wide and see what's out there. I need to understand each Havoc Boy the way they seem to understand me; it isn't fair.

“Your mom seems nice,” I hazard, but Hael's expression just sort of … locks in place? Like, it doesn't seem as genuine as it did just a second ago. He has so much darkness inside of him; I just want to understand. “Even if she has problems, she loves you.”

“You think so?” he asks, but in a detached sort of way. Since I can't see his eyes behind the lenses of his sunglasses, it's impossible to tell what he's thinking.

“I know so,” I say, turning in my seat so I can look at him more closely. “Your bed was made; your sheets were clean. Even the rug on your floor was freshly washed and laid out nicely. You can look through someone's faults and find all the good things, if you want to. You can also search out the bad. We just have a shit ton of bad in our life, Hael, so if there's good to be found, we may as well grab it.”

“Whoa,” he calls out, lifting his hands up so that neither is touching the steering wheel. My adrenaline spikes, but he grabs on again at the next curve. “What happened to my cynical little Blackbird? Did Aaron infect you with his lovey-dovey life juju joy or something?”

“I'm just trying to help you,” I say, exhaling sharply. “I'm just trying to get to know you, Hael.”

He doesn't say anything for a while. Instead, he reaches out and restarts “Carry on Wayward Son” again. Fine by me. Not only do I like this song, but it also reminds me of the South Park episode Guitar Queer-O. Too fucking funny.

“Here,” he says, jerking the wheel and causing the tires to squeal across the pavement as he sends us flying into the dust of a vista point parking lot. Hael shifts the car into park and then shoves his sunglasses up his face as he turns to look at me. “We can switch places, and I'll give you your first proper lesson.”

“I feel like you're ignoring everything real I'm trying to say to you,” I tell him as the song drones on in the background. Hael glances away, toward the edge of the cliff and the glimmering sea beyond its ragged edge. There's a small wooden fence to keep sightseers back, but really, you could drive a car right off this thing and into the water.

“Yes, I did think about killing Neil once. I waited outside a motel room with a knife.” Hael looks back at me and smiles. It's more like one of Callum's smiles, a bit of happy tinged with a whole lot of sad. “Aaron talked me out of it. Penelope was already dead, and we weren't going to let Neil hurt you. I should've done it, though. But I was being selfish.” Hael turns away from me again to stare at the ocean. “I've always been selfish, Bernie. Still am. Even now, I'm considering fucking you on this car and telling Vic to shove it.”

My lower stomach muscles clench at his words, and I'm suddenly very aware of the way the robe is gaping open. My bikini leaves very little to the imagination. When Hael looks at me and lefts his gaze drift low, my heart pounds.

“Hael …” I start, because I love him. Just looking at him right now, sitting there with his bloodred hair gleaming in the sunshine, his full mouth twisted into a sardonic smile, I want to tell him that. He needs to know. I need to know how he really feels, too. But is this the right time? “We have to respect Vic.” I grit my teeth when I say that. It fucking kills me, but I understand Victor Channing even better than I understand myself. “He has to make the choice. You know that, don't you?”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Hael says, sighing and licking the salty breeze from his lips. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to him when he threw me out of the bedroom that day. No clue. But guess what? I had to choose fucking you that night, or I had to choose Havoc.” He looks me up and down again and shivers. I'm pleased to see goose bumps rise up on his muscular arms. “That's what makes us a family: we always choose Havoc. Victor will see it. Maybe he already does? He just wants to milk this honeymoon crap until it's old news.” Hael laughs, and the sound is at least a little less bitter than his smile. “So, instead of fucking on this Ferrari like I so badly want to do, we're just going to drive it, make love to the road, let the exhaust come for us.”