“Come on, boss, that’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?” Hael adds, but I don’t look at him either. He always acts on impulse, and even if he can be brutal in a fight, he’s too soft on women. Bernadette, in particular.

I crouch down in front of Aaron, putting us on eye level with one another.

“I think that Bernadette has had her chance.” Aaron’s mouth opens and closes in response to my statement, but he doesn’t actually say anything. Maybe it’s my eyes? Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I have no goddamn clue who the man is that’s looking back at me. My brown eyes seem black, like a reflection of my heart. “We did our best, but you know what they say: if you love something, let it go, and if it comes back, it’s yours forever.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Aaron grinds out, on the verge of angry tears. He wants to kick my ass right now, more than anything. Last night, when I was gripping my cock in my hand and dreaming of Bernadette’s narrowed green eyes and pursed lips, I wanted to kick my own ass.

She’s going to bleed for this; she’s going to hurt.

Ultimately, though, she’ll be right where she belongs.

“I strongly advise against this,” Oscar says, now standing at the bottom of the stage, inked fingers tight around the edges of the iPad, like if he squeezes it hard enough, that’ll erase all the feelings he keeps trapped inside. “The last thing we need in Havoc is a slice of trouble with tits.”

I rest my elbows on my knees as Aaron drops his hands to his lap. He’s shaking all over, murder in his eyes. He’ll never forgive me for this, but who cares? He hasn’t forgiven me for asking him to give up Bernadette in tenth grade. What’s so different now? He’ll never truly have her again, not to himself.

“We will have Bernadette,” I say, and I only use the word we because these boys are my family. My gang, if you will. We were here first, but our prologue was Bernadette. Apparently, she’s desperate enough to become our epilogue, too. Just … hopefully not our epitaph. “I will have Bernadette,” I emphasize, staring into Aaron’s eyes.

On the outside, I’m as calm as I always am. On the inside, I motherfucking burn.

Bernadette, Bernadette, Bernadette.

Her name repeats in my head like it’s on a loop, and my cock stiffens inside my jeans. I squeeze my hands into fists, and Aaron notices.

“You’ve never been able to accept that she really did love me,” he growls, and my smile turns into a maniacal smirk. I’m probably showing far too much teeth.

“I’m a jealous, selfish man, Aaron Fadler. And you no longer have the protection of the innocent. Your hands are just as covered in blood; your soul is just as dark.” I shrug my shoulders and rise to my feet before turning to Oscar. “Write it down.” I nod my chin at the screen of his iPad, but he doesn’t move to obey, not right away.

I’m vaguely aware of them arguing around me for a while longer, but I’m not listening.

Instead, I’m trapped in a nightmare I’ve entertained for years, one where Bernadette is looking at me like she hates me.

Like she did when she passed me in the hall today.

Like she did on the first day of school.

Like she did when I held her prisoner in my closet.

Some men dream when they sleep. Some of us live in nightmares, whether we’re asleep or not.

And if I can’t get Bernadette to see who I really am, then I’m afraid I’ll never wake up.

It strikes me suddenly, what I’ve just said, and a laugh spills from my throat.

“Boss?” Hael asks, watching me skeptically. I shake my head at him and rub my chin in thought.

“The discussion is over,” I say, letting my voice drop to a dangerous low, caught somewhere between a purr and a growl. Like I said, I haven’t felt fear—true fear—since I was five. I’m sure as shit feeling it now. “Bernadette is mine, or no deal.”

I hop off the stage and slap my palm on Oscar’s iPad.

“Write it down—now. I’m off to find our new girl.” I lift my hand up and keep going, shoving open the doors to the theater and storming down the hall. Students scatter in my wake, as they should.

When I first started this gang, others tried to copy me. Hell, they still do—just look at Mitch Charter. They can pretend to be inspired by me all they want, but they’re nothing. Poor imitations at best, plagiarists at worst. I’m content to watch them scrabble like rats for my crumbs.

Because I’m Victor Channing. This is Havoc. We’re OG, and everyone else can get fucked.

And Bernadette Blackbird … she’s going to be my goddamn wife if it kills me.

Which, thinking about it now, it just might.

Halloween night, Now …

Bernadette Blackbird

There are two sides to every story, but usually, only one of them is true.

According to my stepfather, my sister Penelope was a sad, lonely, little girl who was desperate for attention. It’s why she made up those lies; it’s why she killed herself.

Looking into his dark gaze, I can tell we both know better.

“Take a seat,” Neil Pence repeats, dressed in his uniform and smiling like only he can, like a gator who’s just scented his next meal at the edge of the swamp. His brown hair is disheveled, his stubble thick around those fat, worm-like lips of his. I’ve never wanted to see someone dead the way I do him. “That blood real?”

He knows it is. The question mark at the end of that sentence is just for fun. See, my stepfather doesn’t have hobbies like a normal person. He thrives on pain, discomfort, and repartee edged in violence. Asshole.

“Costume blood,” I say, worrying about Callum, about all the boys really. Wondering if Danny Ensbrook really would’ve shot me in the face if given the chance. Aaron is stone-still behind me, so I reach back and grab his hand. It kills me a little bit, to touch him like that, but there are bigger things at play here than our bullshit feelings for each other. “What are you doing in Aaron’s house?”

I don’t acknowledge my ex-bestie Kali Rose-Kennedy or our disgraced Principal Vaughn; they’re not worth my time.

Mostly, I'm concerned with making sure Aaron doesn't start anything violent just yet.

Or … maybe I'm the one most likely to start something violent? If I find out that the Thing laid a single finger on my sister, God help him. I'm more than happy to go down and take Neil Pence with me, engulfed in flames and enjoying the burn.

Anything to see him suffer.

Principal Vaughn watches us warily, and I can tell Havoc has done it: he's really and truly afraid of them … of us?

Us.

Havoc Girl.

Kali smirks at me, and I come to the understanding that if she weren't pregnant, I might just leap across this table and hit her as hard as I could in the tit. Maybe I still will? Her flat-ass boobs aren’t currently enveloping a fetus, now are they?

The worst part about the whole situation though, is the way Neil looks at me. He stares at me like he always does, like I’m a horse that needs breaking. He undresses me with his eyes, too. He does that to every girl—even his flesh and blood daughter. My mouth fills with bile, and the step-thing grins like a crocodile. He’s loving every minute of this interaction.