I don’t look at Cal, but I feel that cold, icy anger sweep through me.

Why am I like this?

Is it because my father killed my mother, killed my siblings, and just barely managed not to kill me? A family wipeout, they call it. It isn’t as uncommon as you might think.

Living with the Peters for the past five years has taught me exactly how fucked-up I really am.

“She has access to Google, you know,” Callum says softly, obviously reading the directions of my thoughts based on my face.

“I’m a minor; my name has been withheld.” I stab the apple, creating a jagged slice that doesn’t fit with all the perfect ones lined up on the counter. My nostrils flare with irritation.

“Oscar, you don’t want her to find out some other way. Just tell her where you come from, where you’ve been. That’s all she wants.” Cal spins in a circle on the stool, tapping his bare heels against it as he comes around again. “She doesn’t care that you’re a monster. She likes them, O. She likes dark and scary things.” Callum wiggles his fingers at me, but I’m not playing with him today. And I hate being called O. He does it on purpose to rile me up.

“I’ve never fucked another girl because I didn’t care about other girls,” I say, and it’s strange, hearing those words come out of my mouth. “Because the things I want to do in the dark are dangerous. How can I expect to hold myself back when I don’t give a shit about the person I’m with?” I throw the knife in the sink, letting it clatter as I pick up what’s left of the apple and bite into it. I’m done with the meticulous cutting; I just want to eat.

Juice sluices between my lips and slides down my chin. With long, careful fingers, I wipe it off and suck it away.

Callum watches me for a moment, and then nods, like he understands where I’m coming from. I knew he would; I knew he wouldn’t judge. Hael, on the other hand, is absolutely eating up this virgin nonsense, acting like he has something to lob at my face in a fight.

“What do you do with them when you get them into those rooms?” Cal asks, putting another apple-cheese slice into his mouth. “I mean, why pick them up at all?”

I sigh and take another bite of apple, closing my eyes against the sweetness of my tongue. You should’ve eaten Hael’s hideous spaghetti dinner, I chastise myself. I’m not helping anyone by trying to hide that I eat, and I fuck, and I bleed like a normal person.

I told Bernadette I wasn’t human; I’m afraid I’m even more human than anyone else in this fucked-up little family. That scares me. It terrifies me.

“I tie them up,” I say, because I do. I bind their legs and their arms, and I look at them like a fucking serial killer, and I try to get myself worked up enough to fuck them. It never happens though. The darkness looms inside of me, and I know that if I start to let it out, I’ll go too far. I’ll hurt somebody, and I won’t be able to stop.

Only Bernadette can save me, and that isn’t fair. That’s not what I wanted, for her to stroke and pet and soothe demons and monsters, to swim in blood, and wreak havoc.

But … it’s too late now, isn’t it?

There is no going back for any of us.

“Now that makes sense,” Cal says, pointing a finger at me. “See? Why not just tell Bernie that? She hates you for running off after you guys made love. You hurt her, Oscar. And I don’t mean by leaving bruises on her throat.” He gives me a warning look that very clearly says he won’t hesitate to hurt or kill me in order to protect Bernadette. Makes me like him more, not less, to be quite honest.

“Make love,” I hiss the words out like they’re poison, but I can’t deny it. I have no idea what came over me that day. Maybe it was the sight of blood because I’m a fucked-up individual? Or maybe it was because her face was so soft and sweet, a bit of innocence still left underneath all of that bossy bitch she throws around like it’s nothing? For whatever reason, my carefully crafted resistance broke, and I did the one thing I’ve always wanted to do.

Touch her, feel her, kiss her.

I exhale again, and Callum smiles.

“She doesn’t know what you’re thinking, O,” he tells me, nodding his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re all so used to operating around Bernadette and for Bernadette, that we forget to work with her.”

“You sound as stupid as Aaron right now,” I say, pausing when I hear a stirring from the couch. My gaze flicks toward Bernadette’s sleeping form as she groans and shifts onto her side, hugging a pillow close to her chest. Hael is on the couch opposite her, an episode of South Park muted but still flickering on the TV.

“You’ll feel a hell of a lot stupider than that if you don’t tell her the truth. And sometime soon.” Callum puts his palms on the counter and stands up, wincing slightly. He hurts everyday that he dances, or fucks, or fights, but he never stops. He never lets his pain win.

Me, I let it rule me, and I hate myself for it.

I say nothing as Cal limps his way up the stairs.

Because I know he’s right. I know it; I just have to get up the courage to do something about it.

My fingers curl around another apple, bringing it to my lips for another too-sweet bite of flesh. My face hurts, and I wish I hadn’t been on a sidewalk in public, so that I could’ve killed the last two remaining Ensbrook brothers.

It’s been all about sex around here lately; I’m ready for a little violence.

I get my wish at around seven in the morning, my temper hot from not sleeping, my body aching from having to look at Bernadette flounce around the house in short-shorts and a tank top that dips too low while she gets the girls ready for school.

“Put some clothes on,” I growl at her, and she whips around so fast that her long hair hits me in the face. The scent of it makes me want to scream. My hands ache to touch her, but I keep a scowl fixed firmly in place. It’s too early, and I’m far too cranky to take any of Cal’s advice today.

But I am considering it.

Truly.

“You know what? Whenever you tell me to put clothes on or act decent or cover up, it just encourages me to do the opposite, Oscar Montauk.” She glares up at me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’s standing so close. Back up, you little wench, I think, gritting my teeth and wishing I could teach her some fucking propriety. We’re far too near to each other; when she breathes, her breasts brush against the front of my chest.

She doesn’t know that I ask her to cover up because I can barely control myself. It isn’t her problem, but it makes me furious at myself because I know it’s all me. Self-inflicted. Stupid. Bernadette is here to stay; she’s a part of Havoc. These things are signed and sealed in blood, and, like Aaron, I just have to accept that this is reality, that the freedom I fought so hard to give her is now gone.

It’s just this, her and us and her bouncy tits and her ass hanging out of her shorts. It’s her fiery expression of rage, the way she pops her hip out, the way she smirks at me.

I turn away before I break under that stare and look at Victor.

He’s much easier for me to handle; we understand each other.

“I just got a text from our boys. The police were called to the Vincents’ home in Oak Park. They’re dead, Victor.” I deliver this information with as much feeling as a weather report. Bernadette balks at me, but honestly, I’m just irritated. That horrible social worker is dead, and she did not suffer the way she was intended to. A muscle in my jaw twitches in irritation. “It’s a bloodbath, quite literally. The walls were dripping crimson, according to the police scanner.”