“I'm not afraid to sully myself to make things right,” I admit, flashes of that awful video playing in the back of my skull. I can never unsee it. I can never shake those horrible images. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back. The Thing will get what's coming to him. No matter Havoc's other faults, that I don't doubt. “But I have to ask …” Hael reaches down and tucks a strand of white-blonde hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering at the pink-tipped ends. “Is it true that Vic is the only one who wanted me in Havoc?”

Hael hesitates, like he's debating the merits of answering me, when the door opens. Of course it's Vic, and he doesn't bother to knock. He looks around the room like he's familiar with it but hasn't been here in a long time. Memories flash across his face, a flicker of nostalgia that makes me hate him just a little bit less than I love him.

Ugh.

Fuck.

Of course I love Victor Channing. I always have. From that first moment on the playground, he took my heart in his hands when he shoved that brat down the slide for me. Victor Channing punched me in the face between first and second period for saying Bernadette Blackbird was hot. I can't forget that even when they were kicking the shit out of me during sophomore year, they were still on my side.

Which means that whatever price Kali paid must've been good.

“We should go,” Vic says, his voice a thread of ice and steel. He gives Hael a look. “He just pulled into the driveway.”

“He?” I ask as Hael grits his teeth, exhaling and nodding sharply.

“My dad,” he says, giving me a look that communicates volumes without a single word. “We don't exactly get along.”

“Is it true that he cut you up with a hunting knife?” I ask, pointing at the scar on Hael's arm, the one that goes from fingertip to shoulder. That's the rumor at Prescott High, that his father did that to him. But then, rumors at Prescott High are a lesson in the game of telephone; they grow leaps and bounds with each fantastical retelling.

Hael licks his lips and gives a curt nod.

“Yeah, something like that …” he starts as an unfamiliar male voice sounds from down the hall. Oscar's smooth, cool reply comes in response, and a shiver traces down my spine. “Tell ya more later, Blackbird, I promise.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze as he moves past, and Vic and I exchange a look.

“You're not going to like Hael's dad,” he tells me, and I cock a brow, so done with his bullshit I could scream. We're going to have to have it out soon, Vic and me.

“Why’s that?” I quip back, popping my hip out and putting my hand on it.

“Because he murdered a pregnant prostitute,” Vic replies with a sardonic smile. He moves past me and down the hall, leaving me to gape behind him. A million questions slither through my mind, but I'm not about to miss out on this interaction. I move down the hall as quick as I can, expecting to find a man like my stepfather, a wolf in wolf's clothing. The Thing never tries to hide what a monster he is. He feels protected, by his badge and his brother's law degree and his father's gavel.

Instead, I find a slender man in a baseball cap, smiling as he pulls the hat from his head and holds it against his chest.

“Long time, no see, son,” he says as Hael stares at him from across the width of the small living room. The sweet smell of creamed butter and sugar wafts out from the direction of the kitchen. It's at odds with the tension in the room, reminding me that not everything is as it seems. The air smells sweet, the sound of Hael's mother's humming is comforting, but the look in Hael's eyes promises there's much more to this happy, little story than he's letting on.

“I mean, that's what happens when you go to prison,” Hael retorts, shrugging again, like this is no big deal. He plasters one of those cocksure smiles on his face, putting a bit of swagger back in his step.

“I've been out for damn near a month, and yet, you haven't bothered to see me,” the man—his name was Martin, wasn't it?—smiles as he glances from his son to Vic, then over to Oscar and me. “Do you want to introduce your new friend?” Martin continues to smile at me, like we're old buddies. “I remember the others. Victor and Oscar, right?”

“Guess the meth hasn't rotted your brain the way it did your judgement, huh?” Hael asks, throwing out a laugh. He gestures back at me. “This is Bernadette. We met a long time ago, right after you went to prison for the first time, and Mom and I were homeless. Spent the night in the same homeless shelter.”

Something strange and dark flashes across Martin's face, and I can see that the smile on his lips isn't the whole story. There are monsters buried underneath all that nice.

“Let's go,” Hael says, but then his mother comes out of the kitchen in her apron, wielding a wooden spoon covered in cookie dough.

“Ne me laisse pas fiston,” she pleads, her voice cracking a bit, like she can't bear to see her son go. I have no idea what she's saying, but it's pretty clear she wants Hael to stay here. He sighs heavily and nods, murmuring something to her in French that makes her smile.

“I gotta take Oscar back, and I'll come home,” he promises, giving Martin a look. “Wouldn't want to leave you home alone with him very long anyway.” Hael takes off for the front door, letting it slam into the wall on his way out.

“Lovely to meet you, Bernadette,” Martin says, nodding as we pass by. He seems nice enough on the surface, but we all know that what lies beneath could be a vastly different story.

Sitting on the back of that bike, my arms wrapped around Vic, I'm forced to confront everything I'm feeling. How can I sit here and smell him, that musky mix of leather and bergamot that makes my heart flutter and melts the ice around my heart, and not evaluate everything that’s going on inside of me?

Maybe, if I were to dig a little deeper, I'd realize that the reason I'm so upset with Havoc is because I wanted to trust them. I wanted to believe that I really was a Havoc Girl, that I was a part of the gang. But finding out they kept something so big from me, it seems impossible.

“Are you planning on going home tonight?” Victor asks me after we park on the curb in front of Aaron's house and he kicks off the bike's engine with his boot. He doesn't move, so neither do I, waiting with my arms wrapped around him as dusk settles over the quiet neighborhood. A child's laughter drifts back to us from down the street, a potent reminder that even if it feels like everything is going to shit in my own life, other people are still living theirs.

It doesn't seem fair, somehow. But, like Hael just said, life definitely isn't fucking fair. If it were, Penelope would still be alive, and my stepfather would be rotting six feet under.

“I kind of have to, unless you're willing to move on the Thing tonight. If I don't bring Heather back soon, Pamela will call the cops on me again.” Vic nods, but I'm guessing his lack of a response is all the answer I need. They're not going to move on Neil, not tonight. Technically, I could probably stay here until tomorrow; it’s only Saturday.

But if Neil came to find me and the boys, that means he senses a threat. Monsters always know to look for other monsters in the dark. Maybe if I come home a day early, Pamela will chill, and she won’t poke the bear before we’re ready? Or maybe you just need space to think because the guys pissed you the hell off?