Apparently, I’m not the only one here who thinks that was a weird thing to say.

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?” Hael asks, shaking his head and shoving his sunglasses up and into his red hair. He had to cut his date with Brittany short, and, since he only has four passenger seats in his car—I rode with Vic on the Harley—he had to drop the bitch off here before he could come to the police station for the girls and Aaron.

Brittany’s inside now, sitting on the couch and scowling as she browses TikTok videos on her phone.

“It’s a Shakespeare quote,” Oscar replies smoothly, clearly annoyed at us for having to explain his intellectual prowess. “Which you’d know if you actually managed to pass your classes. It was a reference, to explain our current situation. Victor?”

Vic is watching Aaron carefully, like he expects him to fly off the handle at any moment and go batshit. He rubs at his chin, proving that he’s already deep in thought.

“Our plans for this weekend don’t change,” he says, and Aaron turns on him, the joint toppling from his parted lips.

“The fuck?” he asks as Callum kicks a leg up onto the plastic table between us and lights up another joint. He offers it up to Aaron, but he’s not paying attention to anyone but Vic.

“We need to be proactive, not reactive,” Vic says, which is probably true. My attention shifts to Aaron. Every fiber of his being screams violence. It’s written in the tenseness of his muscles, the tightness of his jaw, the clench of his teeth. “Next weekend, we will deliver a package to the Ensbrook place. I have something nice in mind.”

“They could’ve hurt the kids,” Aaron snarls, shaking as he bends down to grab his discarded shirt. He drags it over his sweaty face, leaving bits of grass on his skin. I imagine if I were to get close to him, he’d smell like fresh grass and new sweat. My body tingles and I shift uncomfortably in my chair. “They could’ve killed them. Shit, they almost ran Bernadette over.”

Vic glances briefly in my direction, but quickly turns his focus back to Aaron.

“And they’ll pay handsomely for that—in time. If we start reacting to every little thing the Charter Crew does, that means they own us. Unfortunately for them, that’s not the case. We are the masters of this city, Aaron.”

Aaron just scowls, spitting at Vic’s booted feet as he storms past and into the house. He heads straight for the staircase, pounding his way up. Even over the distant buzz of the neighbor’s lawnmowers, I can hear his door slam upstairs.

He’s in his room which, oddly enough, has sort of become my room when I’m here. Not sure what to make of that, but I like sleeping wrapped in his sandalwood and rose scent too much to bring it up lest I get banished to the room with the bunkbeds. Come to think of it though, after my marriage to Vic, I’ll probably be sleeping in the downstairs bedroom with him.

“We’ll need to procure Aaron a new vehicle,” Oscar says absently, one, long finger sliding across the screen of his iPad. “I’ll schedule it for next week, when we deal with Bernadette.”

“Deal with me how?” I ask, but Callum’s smiling, so it can’t be all that bad. He lifts his hand up and flashes me his knuckles with the word HAVOC scrawled across them. He wiggles his fingers at me, and my own hand throbs in response. I cradle it to my chest, desperate to hide the sudden beating of my heart. Somehow, the idea of getting that tattoo makes this all seem more real, like … once I take that step, I can never go back.

“I’ll take the girls to school for now,” Hael muses, his face falling. “But they’ll have to deal with Brittany’s bitching on the way. Speaking of, what do you want me to do with her?”

“I already explained we had plans for tonight,” Vic says, turning back to his best friend. “I don’t give a shit if her date was cut short; shit happens. Take her home.”

Hael works his jaw for a moment before turning and heading back into the house. It only takes about five seconds before the screaming starts.

“God help me, but I hate that woman with a passion,” Oscar says, setting his tablet aside and steeling his inked fingers beneath his chin. He looks ridiculous, sitting out here in the sunshine in a suit and tie. He also looks dangerous as fuck. “We should kill her after the baby is born.”

I choke on my own spit, but Vic just rolls his eyes, making me question whether that statement was serious or not. He did flat-out admit to me the other day that Danny wasn’t their first body in the ground. How many others are there? I wonder if I should even ask.

“Finish that joint, and then get up. You and I have errands to run,” Vic says, nodding his chin in Cal’s direction. I wonder if the two of them have talked about what happened between me and Callum at the studio, or about what I did to Kali. I’m not about to ask because that’ll give Vic exactly what he wants: confirmation that I can’t get him out of my head, no matter how hard I try.

Cal salutes Vic with the joint and then takes a long drag, passing it over to me as he sits up. Our fingers brush, but I keep my body’s reaction as hidden as I possibly can. But to deny there’s chemistry there? I once read a book, some time loop story called Devils’ Day Party, where the main character said, “Lying to other people is insane; lying to yourself is suicidal.”

Pretty sure she was right about that. Oh, and her name was Karma. Talk about hitting readers over the head with metaphors, am I right?

“Bernie,” Vic says, crouching down in front of me. This zing passes between us, making my breath catch in my throat. Fuck you, Victor Channing, I think, but I can’t make my lips say the words aloud. “You and Oscar are going to run an errand of your own.” He reaches out to take my hand, pressing something into my palm. I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of burning, certain that every place his fingers touched must be blistered beyond recognition. When I look down though, everything is as it should be, but for a single key. “Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, princess.” He leans forward, cupping the back of my head and pressing a scalding kiss to my lips before he stands back up.

“You and I have an errand to run?” I ask, looking askance at Oscar and doing my best not to curl my lip. Callum rises from his chair, leaning down to whisper against my ear before he goes.

“Good luck,” he says with a small chuckle, disappearing into the house with Vic.

“And then there were two,” I say, saluting Oscar with the joint the way Cal did to Vic. He stares at me with a wrinkled nose and a deep frown, like one might stare at a pile of dog shit. “What is this key for?”

“Well,” he says, reclining back in the chair and letting his long body stretch out like a cat’s. That’s what it is, what he reminds me of. A fucking housecat, one who’s well-fed but kills for fun, one with sharp claws and glistening canines. The thing is, for his threats to be effective, I’d have to be a mouse. Maybe, once upon a time, when the Havoc Boys chased me through the woods, I was one. Not anymore. “Despite the fact that you’ve barged into a smoothly running operation and thrown it entirely off its rails, Victor wants to continue with your list. I suggested we step back from it and deal with more pertinent matters, but apparently your cunt is made of glitter and rainbows.”