“Detective Constantine is here and looking for Bernadette,” Vaughn simpers, slinking up to us like a kicked dog who’s finally found its rightful master. Best he remember not to bite the hand that feeds. Victor very briefly glances in his direction. “He’s waiting in Ms. Keating’s office.”

“Tell us about the officers out front,” Vic says casually, lighting up a cigarette. Vaughn cringes, but what is he going to do? We cut all the fingers on his right hand off. He most certainly isn’t going to be calling Victor to the office for smoking on campus.

“The police think Prescott students were responsible for the riot on Friday,” Scott whispers, almost conspiratorially.

“Imagine that,” Vic responds coolly as we breeze right past the Charter Crew and turn the corner.

“Fucking snake,” I hear Kali Rose-Kennedy hiss from behind me.

She has no idea.

“One of their officers is missing,” our disgraced principal continues, struggling to keep up with Vic’s long strides. Somehow, even though I’m quite a bit shorter than him, I manage to find a way to keep pace. “Neil Pence.” Scott looks right at me, brown eyes frightened, like he knows more than he’s letting on. “Your stepfather. His cruiser was found flipped over and burned, but he hasn’t been seen since he stopped by the school …”

“He’s been missing ten days?” Victor clarifies, even though he knows. He knows because we buried my stepfather alive with an oxygen tank and some food. Because we are monsters and that’s what monsters do: hunt other monsters.

“You haven’t talked to your mother since then?” Principal Vaughn asks, as if he thinks I have some sort of normal relationship with Pamela. I just laugh, but it’s not really funny at all, is it?

“My mom and I don’t get along.” I wiggle my fingers to show off my ring and, because of my intended double entendre, Vaughn flinches and rubs at his sling. “I’m married now, legally emancipated. I owe her nothing and vice versa. I’m sorry to hear about Neil.” Callum chuckles at my words, and I grin.

“Constantine’s going to start pulling students in as soon as the first bell rings,” Vaughn warns as Vic pushes open the graffiti-covered doors to the cafeteria. We’re here early, to take advantage of the free breakfast. We never make it for breakfast, but today is special. We need to make sure the entire Prescott student body is aware that the boys they saw escorted out by an FBI-sanctioned task force are back.

The law is nothing in the face of Havoc’s wrath.

“Fuck the detective,” Vic says, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he glances over his shoulder at the principal. “We don’t have anything to hide.”

This time, when Victor laughs, the entire cafeteria goes silent, and the sound rings out like a death knell.

Hope the Charter Crew is ready for us.

There’s one gang you don’t piss off at Prescott High, not unless you want them to destroy you.

Too late, Charter Crew. Too motherfucking late.

This time, when Detective Constantine calls me into the office, I don’t have Vice Principal Keating to protect me. Vaughn, as simpering and weak as he is, isn’t going to stand up for me, not even if he’s resigned to being Havoc’s pet. I’d have to essentially give him orders to get him to obey, and I can’t do that in front of the detective and his two uniformed lackeys.

“Ms. Blackbird,” the detective says when I walk in wearing my pink leather jacket, black leather pants, and high-heeled boots. I know what I look like, with dark liner smudged around my green eyes, my lips painted as red as the red, red motherfucking rose.

“Mr. Constantine,” I reply, because calling him detective every time I address him just seems passé. He isn’t smiling today. Gone is the good ol’ boy persona he put on before. This time, he is truly pissed.

“Have a seat,” he says with a deep sigh, indicating one of Ms. Keating’s two student chairs. I can’t help but look at the spot where she collapsed after Neil hit her, where he started pistol-whipping her, where she bled.

I look back up at Constantine’s face with his metrosexual beard and baby smooth skin. But even all that self-care can’t hide the bags under his eyes. He’s tired, and he’s frustrated, and I can tell he hates me—even if he doesn’t want to admit that to himself. He’s the good guy; he couldn’t possibly hate a teenage girl, right?

Then again, he’s just like Neil’s partner, Sara Young. Almost too good for their own good. Now, Ms. Keating, she is #goals for sure. I wish I knew how she was doing, but there’s little about it in the news and although rumors abound on the Prescott High social media circuit, that’s all they are: rumors.

“I hear you were married just before the break,” Constantine says, watching me with a completely different expression than he wore the last time we spoke. “A little young, don’t you think?”

The detective is suspicious as fuck.

Rightfully, he should be.

That doesn’t change things though.

I yawn and shrug, lifting up my hand to show off Vic’s grandmother’s ring. Vaughn cringes, yet again, but the detective barely spares him a glance. Even a goody-two-shoes like Constantine can sense how weak our principal is.

“If you had to live with my mother, you’d do anything to get out.” It’s a common enough excuse. Lots of kids at Prescott High get married, just so they can legally escape their awful families. I’m not the only person who’s gotten hitched during the school year.

“Mm,” Constantine murmurs, glancing over at one of the uniformed officers behind him. The man pulls out his phone as the detective turns back to me. “Do you mind if I record this conversation, Bernadette?” he asks, and a flash of anxiety spikes through me. I show nothing, shrugging my shoulders as if this is any other Monday. Shit, at Prescott High it kind of is.

“Sure, why not?” I say, slouching in the chair, fully aware that I’m sporting a tattoo I didn’t have the last time I was here. Oh, and a jacket that’s clearly gang-related. Doesn’t matter though. There isn’t a student at this school who doesn’t know I’m a part of Havoc. That, and I’m married to their fucking leader.

“Excellent. We’re just waiting on one more person …” Constantine begins, trailing off and then smiling as the door opens behind me. “Ah, there we go.”

“Sorry, the line for coffee was insane,” a semi-familiar voice says as Sara Young appears on my right, holding a Dutch Bros cup and looking down at me with an expression that I can’t quite seem to dissect. “Hello, Bernadette.”

“Miss Young,” I hazard, because I’m not exactly sure what I should be feeling right now. Don’t panic. Havoc knows what they’re doing. I have to trust that the guys wouldn’t lead me into a situation that I can’t get out of. I’ve had very little of that in my past—trust, that is—but I’m all in here. There is no going back.

The pretty young blonde takes a seat on the desk beside Detective Constantine—god only knows what his first name actually is. I bet it’s Joe. Yeah, it’s probably Joe. Or John. John motherfucking Doe. He’s so unassuming and average that I’d forget everything about him but for his meticulously plucked facial hair.