Cal stares down at his fingertips for a moment, rubbing his thumb across them as he thinks about what to say.

“My mom is dead; I have no idea who my father is.” He looks up and smiles at me. “My grandmother raised me as her own son for years. I didn’t find out she wasn’t actually my mother until I was fourteen.” He shrugs his shoulders. “My real mom is dead, choking on ash and bone …” He trails off as my eyes widen, and I shiver. Jesus. Callum smiles at me again, crinkling up his eyes with the expression as he rubs at the scars on his throat. “Everyone thinks my grandmother killed her, but I don’t know the full story, so how can I judge?”

“Your grandmother …” I start, my mind reeling. Wow. It’s like we were all designed for each other by a cruel and unforgiving universe. Then again, there are very few students at Prescott High who have backgrounds that aren’t drenched in blood and secrets and bullshit. Callum’s story should be weird, showstopping, but it’s not. Not at Prescott. “Wow.”

“I mean, not anytime recently,” he explains, leaning a shoulder into me and gesturing with his hands. “Just before I turned three. So, it’s not as big a deal as it could be.” Callum pulls a package of peanut M&Ms from his pocket and pours some into his palm. He offers them up to me, but I put up a hand to turn them down. “My grandma was a prima ballerina in New York City once upon a time; she wanted me to be everything she wasn’t.” Cal stares at the candy in his hand with a faraway expression in his gaze. “What a disappointment I must be,” he muses, but not like he’s at all upset about it.

He knocks the candy back in one mouthful, chewing thoughtfully.

“Did you tell her your family was featured on a murder mystery show once?” Hael asks, and Cal laughs.

“Ah, that,” he says as I gape at him. “What? The episode came out when I was five, trying to pin my mother’s murder on my grandma. Nothing came of it anyway.”

“Why would your grandmother murder her own kid?” I ask, aghast at the idea of it. But then … Pamela, am I right? She’d have definitely murdered me and Pen and Heather if it served her well to do so. Oscar makes a sound of disgust from behind me.

“Rumor has it that Grandma killed her husband when Mom was thirteen, and made her help with the body.” Callum pours more M&Ms into his palm and flips a blue one into his mouth. “Apparently, my mom confessed everything to my aunt before she disappeared.” Cal slumps against his door so he can look at me better. “Do you feel sorry for me, Bernie? It looks like you do.”

“Of course I do,” I say, but Callum just chuckles again.

“Don’t. I don’t remember any of it. I’ve only heard stories.” Cal tosses another M&M into his mouth. “My grandma’s always been good to me. Not even sure if I believe any of the stories.” He pauses for a moment, his smile faded and his expression glazed over. “Even when I got my injuries”—he taps at one of his scarred knees with a hand—“and her dreams for me were shattered, she took care of me without complaint.”

“How have I never heard about any of this?” I ask, and Callum shrugs again.

“I wasn’t in danger with my grandmother, Bernie. Even though we’ve always lived in South Prescott, I had a good life. I got to dance. For a while there, I was the best. That’s a feeling you don’t ever forget.” Callum finishes off the M&Ms and then picks his rifle up off the floor, laying it across his knees. “What if our distraction doesn’t work?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly. I guess that’s his right; it’s his story.

I sit back as Oscar finally turns to join the conversation.

Much of our plan tonight involves the Charter boys paying attention to Aaron as he drives Hael’s Camaro into the first race.

Mitch, Logan, and the Ensbrook brothers don’t race until later. We just need to buy Hael time to get to their cars without being seen. He’ll do his thing, and then … well, hopefully the Charter Crew will be a hydra without any heads.

“It’ll work,” Oscar assures us, like he has any way to guarantee such a thing. “People are predictable. As soon as they see Aaron, they’ll be like sharks with blood in the water. The most important thing is that we make sure he gets out of there alive.”

My blood chills and I wring my hands together.

This is dangerous as fuck, but it’s also not something we can’t handle.

Mitch and his buddies should’ve known we’d always be a dozen steps ahead of them. They have Ophelia’s hired soldiers; they feel untouchable. It’s always a good feeling to bring your enemies down a notch.

I settle into the seat and close my eyes.

One day, I imagine we’ll have people to do this sort of thing for us. That is, if we play our cards right. But you don’t let your underlings know about all the murders you commit, especially when the cops are on your ass. And you most definitely don’t send a soldier to do a general’s work.

I open my eyes as Hael’s phone rings, and he answers it with the car’s Bluetooth system.

“What’s up, lover boy?” Hael asks, and I hear Aaron’s low laughter on the other end of the line.

“I’m in position. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Is that what you say to Bernie when you fuck?” Hael teases, spinning the wheel and taking a hard right. “Let me know when you’re ready, baby.”

“Screw you,” Aaron snorts back as Hael takes another right turn, and we see the bright red of the Camaro down the way from us. “Be nice to me or I’ll fuck up your car on purpose.”

“Don’t you even joke about that shit,” Hael growls, but he grins as he says it. “Give us a second to put Cal into place, yeah? Don’t be a premature ejaculator. Nobody likes a premature ejaculator.”

“Eat shit, Hael,” Aaron says, his voice giving me chills, even though he’s not present in the cab with us. “I’ll wait.”

“Wish me luck,” Cal says, climbing out of the car and taking his rifle with him. With his hood up to hide his blond hair, he disappears into the shadows within a few seconds, slinking off to give us the intel we need to make this work.

Hael taps his hands on the wheel in time with the music trickling from the speakers while Vic stares out the window like he can actually see where Callum’s gone. Oscar says nothing, still and quiet and enigmatic beside me.

“Cal just texted me,” Hael confirms after a few minutes, summarizing the message for us. “He says they’re all here: Mitch, Logan, Kyler, Timmy, Billie, and Kali.” Hael snaps his fingers. “Fuck yeah. All our birds, one stone.” He watches the screen of the phone carefully, light playing across his handsome face. “Alright, Aaron. They’re about to start the first race. Nail that throttle to the floor and redline it, motherfucker.”

Hael and Aaron leave the connection open on their phone call as I lean forward between the two front seats, watching as Aaron hits the gas, spraying mud into the night sky. The streetlights are bright white, almost neon, so I can see every drop as it spatters the windshield of our stolen car and Hael laughs.

“Asshole,” he murmurs, just before Aaron peels out, spinning the Camaro around the corner and shooting down the tunnel that leads to the track. He times it perfectly, flying out in front of the other cars as one of the Charter Crew’s girls waves a green flag and the race begins.