“I'll have Hael give you a ride on his way back home,” he says, and then he starts to stand up. Instead of releasing my arms, I squeeze him a bit tighter and he pauses. I close my eyes against the cool, night breeze, the scent of the white roses in the yard carrying over to me.

“Whatever reason you had for keeping that video from me, it wasn't good enough. It wasn't your choice to decide what to do with it. It was mine.”

Vic stays quiet for several seconds, and I wonder if he's going to bring up the thing with Aaron today. Between all the bullshit at the Harbin house, I'd almost forgotten about that. Almost, but then there's a sore spot inside of my heart where Aaron sits, and it's quite obviously bleeding. I take one of my hands away from Vic's waist and press it against my chest.

“That's where you're wrong, Bernadette. I'm the boss here, no matter how you feel about it.”

A scowl forms on my lips, and I swing my leg over the side of the bike. Victor grabs my wrist, but I shake him off, spinning to face him with a sneer.

“You might be the boss, but you told me there were no lies in Havoc, no secrets. Tell me then, what did Kali give you guys that was so goddamn special that I deserved to suffer for it?”

“It wasn't just about the price she paid, Bernie,” Vic tells me, turning slowly to look at me as he pulls out another cigarette. Smoking seems to be a nervous tic of his. I must be making him nervous a lot as of late. “It was about you. You were attached to Aaron; you were too attached to us. We needed to show you this wasn't a life you wanted to live.”

I just stare back at him. On the outside, I'm stoic as fuck. On the inside, I feel like I've just been hit with a tidal wave, like cold, frothing waters are raging around me, like my legs could be knocked out from under me at any moment.

“You said you wanted me here, even though nobody else did,” I repeat, trying to understand the inner mechanics of this group. For some stupid reason, I thought I'd pegged their motivations. Silly me. I don't understand Havoc at all.

“After I saw what you'd become, I knew,” Vic says, lighting up and watching the stars flicker to life in the black velvet sky. “I knew we belonged together. Before that, you were too sweet, too soft. This life would've eaten you alive.” He glances my way. “I was willing to let you go. Not anymore. I'm going to marry you, Bernadette.”

My heart stutters in my chest, but I refuse to let Vic get to me, not right now.

Somebody has to stand up to him. It might as well be me.

I cross my arms over my chest, the pulse in my head throbbing as I try to rationalize what he’s just said to me. “It was about you.” They tortured me, not for Kali, but to get rid of me? I can’t decide if that makes the pain I suffered worse … or better?

Goddamn, I must be irreparably broken.

“If you can get Pamela to agree to sign off on it,” I quip back, running my tongue across my lower lip and tasting the waxy texture of my lipstick. “If, after everything I’ve learned in the last few days, I agree to it.” Vic turns to look at me, anger building in his dark gaze. I stare right back at him, and I refuse to flinch. “And if that's the case, then remember, there won't just be a king in Havoc; there'll be a queen.” I turn away before he can respond, shaking as I head across the grass toward the front door.

It's unlocked, so I let myself in, ignoring Aaron's stare as I pass by.

“Welcome back, Bernadette,” he says, but I don't look at him. Instead, I gather Heather from upstairs, promise the girls I'll make good on my promise about the makeup, and head outside to the Camaro.

I need some time away from the boys to think.

Even if it means going home to my worst nightmare.

To fight him, I'll have to become one myself, but I'm not afraid, not anymore.

Pamela is waiting for us when we get home, sitting on the living room sofa with a fan of stolen credit cards on the coffee table in front of her, her laptop open beside them. I see an order confirmation from Nordstrom on the screen, thanking her for her fifteen-hundred-dollar purchase. Guess at least one of those stolen Visas had some room on it.

“If you're going to steal credit cards and commit felony fraud, why not get your daughter some new shoes?” I quip as Heather heads up the stairs to her room. The Thing isn't home just yet, but he will be soon. I'm curious to see what his next move will be, now that he knows I'm plotting against him. I'm going to have to be extremely careful for the next few weeks, watch my every move. If I hit him, he'll send me to juvie faster than you can say sociopathic pedophile pig.

“I taught you manners, Bernadette,” Pamela says, lifting her martini to her lips. She rarely drinks, but when she does, her fights with Neil get even worse. They deserve each other. “Don't you talk to me that way.”

“What way?” I ask, coming around the table with my ratty backpack slung over my shoulder. “Like I think you could do better? That you should do better? Why is it okay for you to waltz around in stolen pearls, but you can't at least pinch Heather some new shoes?”

Pamela waves her hand absently in my direction, her attention focused on the screen of her brand-new iPhone instead of on my face.

“If it's that important to you, take a card and order some shoes. I don't care.” She gestures at the credit cards on the table, but I know that if she's being that generous, it means they're all used up. I've never once had Pamela gift me with anything, not even a piece of something she's stolen. After a moment, she finally looks up at my face. It's clear from her expression that Neil hasn't told her shit—not even that he's possibly gotten an underage teen pregnant. “What? You think you can stay out all the time, ignore my calls, and I'll start showering you with gifts when you deign to return home?”

I just stand there for a moment, staring at her. Her nails are long and red, the pearls around her neck real, her hair coiffed and freshly dyed from a recent salon visit. Pamela's clothes are designer, the gin in her martini top-shelf. She even sits on a beautiful silk couch, but it all looks so strange, paired with the dirty off-white walls of the duplex, the water-stained ceiling, and the open kitchen with its ‘70s cabinets. We live in a shithole while Pamela drapes herself in luxury. She's the epitome of selfish.

“You know why I don't come home, right?” I ask, and Pamela laughs, casting her green-eyed gaze my direction. I hate that I have her eyes, that I have her lips, her curves. I hate everything that ties us together. She can't make me forget that once, when I broke a plate on accident, she forced me to sit outside in the cold in nothing but my underwear while I watched her and the Thing eat a hot meal inside with Penelope and Heather.

Pen tried to sneak me some chicken later, but the Thing caught her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her away before she could unlock the sliding glass door. I always wondered what happened after that, but she never told me.

Now I know.

I recognized her outfit in that video as the one she had on that night. Everything about that dinner is engraved inside my skull, carved into my bone, a storybook in ivory without a happy ending.

The sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway is unmistakable, but instead of running to my room like I usually do, I stay right where I am, facing off against Pam.