“Deal,” Cal whispers huskily against my ear. This time, he isn’t shy when he leans forward and captures my hand in his, running his tongue up the side of my throat. I shiver as he laughs and Hael leans over to smack him with his mask.

“Stay focused, dipshit, we’re almost there,” Hael says, putting his own mask on. Aaron does the same, and when I look back, I see that Oscar’s face is already covered. He isn’t wearing his glasses either, but I see a glasses case sitting on the seat beside him along with a compact mirror and a plastic contact lens case.

I wonder why he doesn’t wear contacts more often, but then … the glasses are so fucking hot.

I bite my lip and yank my own mask on over my face.

“Remind me what we’re doing,” I say as I look out the window, trying to get a gather on what neighborhood we’re actually in. Some no-man’s land between Prescott and a neighborhood known as the Whiteaker, if I had to hazard a guess. I know every inch of South Prescott, but the boundaries are a little blurry.

“Like I said,” Victor tells me, reaching down to turn up the music. “A reminder never hurts.” He hits the button for the sunroof and then adjusts himself so that he’s crouching in his seat. “Alright, boys, let’s show the Charter Crew that we’re not playing games. Don’t shoot until I give the word, and try not to kill anyone. We already have cops sniffing around our fucking school.” Vic pauses and glances back at us, giving Cal a meaningful look. It’s impactful, even with the mask in place. “Except you, Cal. You know what you need to do.”

Cal and Hael roll their windows down on either side of me while Aaron and Vic do the same in the front.

“Safeties off,” Vic calls out as the Escalade slows, and I look out the window to see a group of people standing around in the front yard of an artsy house. Looks like we’ve just officially crossed over into the Whit, a neighborhood built by artists, musicians, and drugs. It used to be suicide to walk around here in the middle of the night, but the place has had its character ramrodded by uptight millennials seeking cheap homes.

Still, the house we’re driving by is painted with a politically charged mural of men in camo dragging protestors with signs into unmarked vans. I shiver. There are sofas in the front yard and a giant statue welded out of twisted metal branches.

Not sure whose house this is, but I can very clearly see Mitch Charter, his sister Billie, and the remaining Ensbrook brothers in the crowd.

Callum stands up on the seat, the upper half of his body sticking out of the sunroof, and cups his hands around his mouth. He lets out a chilling howl as Victor and Hael lean out their own windows and Oscar and I join Cal by standing up and looking out of the sunroof.

“It’s all Charter Crew at the party, so don’t worry about who you hit.” Victor cranks up the music, and I recognize the song blasting from the speakers as the delightfully upbeat rock track “Degenerates” from the band A Day to Remember. Holy shit. It almost makes the moment seem even more morbid than it already is. “Ready?” Vic calls out as Aaron slows the Escalade to a near stop, leaving us to roll by, almost like everything is moving in slow motion.

Oscar and Callum extend their arms on either side of me, their pistols clutched in two steady hands. I do the same, sandwiched between them, my breath slowing as I focus on the scene in front of me.

Billie Charter is laughing hysterically at something, dressed in what’s very likely a stolen designer party dress. It’s the same teal color as the underside of her two-toned hair. She’s standing next to her brother and holding a red Solo cup.

She’s also the first one to notice us, turning her head and locking eyes with me, even with the skeleton mask on my face.

I let go of my gun with one hand—I think it’s a Glock 19—and run a single finger from the corner of my eye down to my mouth, in the same shape that Billie cut me on Halloween night. My fingers clasp back together around the gleaming black violence that is the Glock as I wait for Vic to give the okay.

“Alright, Havoc,” Vic calls out and I swear, everything in the world comes to a complete stop for the briefest of seconds. Here we are, just the six of us, dressed in the faces of grinning skeletons, wearing black hoodies and holding black guns. “Fire at will!”

My finger squeezes the trigger of the gun as my brain flickers back to a memory of the gun range.

“You see that, Bernadette,” the Thing whispered in my ear, his breath hot and stale, his leer a blade that cut deep into my soul. “How easy it is to make someone disappear? Just one, little squeeze and a good aim, and it’s all over.”

My first shot hits Billie’s Solo cup, sending beer splashing all over the front of her dress and into her face. I see her stumble back, mouth wide, attention on her ruined dress for a second before she looks back at me.

I’m aware this entire interaction is happening over the span of a minute or two, but it feels like an eternity, like each second is stretched out and lingering. I fire again as the boys’ bullets pepper the crowd, exploding a cooler, sending white stuffing flying out of the couch. My second shot goes wide, hitting the ground and knocking bits of dirt and grass from the lawn.

Cal howls again and fires off a perfect shot into the chest of a guy who’s lifting a gun of his own to aim at us. That’s when I take my third shot, hitting Billie right in the shoulder. Her teal dress blooms crimson with blood as she stumbles back and falls to her ass. That one’s for Aaron, I think, switching my aim over to Mitch.

But then the Escalade is shooting forward like a missile and I stumble back. Callum catches me and we drop back down to the seat together. My vision is blurry and my breath is coming in rapid pants as we squeal around the corner and rocket off toward South Prescott and the garage.

“Fuck yes!” Hael chortles, tearing off his mask and grinning. “Did you see the looks on their ugly faces? Holy shit, they were not expecting that.”

I push my own mask up and into my hair, heart thundering wildly. The adrenaline rush is intense, making my hands shake as I engage the safety on the pistol and lay it in my lap.

“Pretty sure I got Daren Matis,” Cal says, and I’m happy to hear that his breathing is just as frenzied and out of control as my own. He licks his lips and swallows to reign in the adrenaline. “He graduated Prescott two years ago, so at least we don’t have another missing student to worry about.”

“Perfect,” Vic says, grinning as he glances back at me. “You alright, Bern?”

“I’m good,” I respond, trying to get my shit together. Aaron checks on me in the rearview mirror again, his gaze so intense that I shiver. He smiles once and nods, and I feel a blush take over my cheeks. Even he took shots at the Charter Crew by leaning over with one hand on his gun, the other on the wheel, and firing out of Victor’s window. Seriously fucking impressive. “I’m really good. I broke Billie’s cup, ruined her dress, and pegged her in the shoulder.”

“Oh, hell yes,” Callum purrs as he chuckles, and I glance out the rear windshield to see if there’s anyone following us. Cops, Charter Crew, or otherwise. But there’s nobody there. You know, except for Oscar. He stares back at me, his mask now in his lap, his gray eyes unburdened by the black-framed glasses he seems to prefer wearing. “Where do you think Kali was?”