“Aaron, you are a part of Havoc. You’re the fucking A in the equation. How much money do you guys have squirreled away?” It’s difficult for me to gauge what the guys have going on finance wise. They all still live in relative dumps, Oscar and Callum don’t have rides, and yet, Vic gave me two thousand bucks and told me I have twenty grand to plan our wedding.

Our wedding …

Shit.

Just thinking about it gives me the chills.

“About fifty thousand,” he says, lifting those beautiful eyes of his to mine. They’re mosaics of color, like some wicked god dropped to earth for an afternoon to play with gold and green tiles. A lot of care was put into those irises of his. “We’d have more, but Victor likes to reinvest. We pay all our guys, too.” He shrugs his big shoulders and gives a caustic laugh. “Once he gets his inheritance, everything will be different.”

I exhale and take a sip of my drink, just to give myself a moment.

“Do you have any idea how much is on the line?” I ask, looking down at the ring on my finger. The temptation to run is still there. I think it’ll always be there, this sweet far-off promise of a life without worries, without bloodshed and pain. But I’ve made my bed here, and I plan to sleep in it—even if it’s a forever sort of sleep.

“Millions,” Aaron says, looking up at me. He leans close, one of his legs going between my own. I swallow hard, but I don’t say anything as his knee brushes up against the crotch of my pants. “So much money that it’s hard for me to hate the idea of you marrying Vic.” Aaron reaches out and slides his warm hand over the top of mine.

“Hard for you to hate it, but you still do?” I ask, and he smiles. This time, it’s a real smile, one that’s painted in shadows and darkness. He isn’t pretending to be the old Aaron, all soft fluffy clouds and sunshine. This time, he’s letting me see a little piece of who he’s become over the last few years.

“I hate it so much that it keeps me up at night,” he tells me, shifting his knee so that it rubs against me in a tantalizing sort of way. There’s a dam between us, one that’s going to come tumbling down. As soon as it does, I won’t be able to resist the flood. It’s going to sweep me away and drown me. “You as his wife, Bernie?” he says with another low laugh. His eyes meet mine, and a zing shoots through me, like a bullet pinging around inside my body, making me bleed, causing internal damage. Might be sort of fucked that that’s the analogy I go straight to, but I can’t help it. Aaron … he’s painful to look at sometimes, a reminder of things that could’ve been. “You were meant to be mine.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn back to my shake. Screw you for making me feel fifteen again, I think as I put my lips around the end of the straw. For some stupid reason, I turn my eyes to his just as I take the damn thing in my mouth.

“If you wanted me to be yours, why do you let Vic push you around? Stand up for me, Aaron.” I suck on the straw, and his eyes flash. Aaron reaches out, grabbing me by the elbow and yanking me off of the stool.

“I let him push me around because I feel like I don’t deserve you, Bernie. I let you go once; how can I ask you to come back?” He smirks at me, pulling me up against his chest. It’s impossible for me to miss the hard bulge pressing into my stomach. Aaron has a huge dick; there’s no hiding that. “But maybe you’re right? Maybe I’m thinking about this in the wrong way? I’m not the good guy anymore, and I can never be that person again. So, maybe …” He leans down and licks a bit of chocolate from my lower lip. “I just take what I want, regardless of whether I deserve it or not?”

“I’m not sure that I’d say no to that,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and low, like I’m in a bedroom, naked and wet, and not standing in a buzzing restaurant surrounded by my peers—most of whom I dislike with a passion.

“What if I were to tell you to get in the fucking bathroom?” Aaron asks, and I swear to god, something breaks inside of me. My numbness, my shields … the final piece shatters, and I’m left feeling like I’m floating. All of a sudden, I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel both vindicated and vulnerable, all at the same time.

“Sounds like you’re still asking,” I manage to choke out. Aaron wraps an arm around my waist and scoops the other underneath my knees, lifting me up into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. My breath escapes in a rush as I weave my arms around his neck.

“Stay out of the bathroom for a while,” he announces, loudly enough that everyone in that room hears him. “And if you think you can quite literally catch me with my pants down, I’m packing a .22 in my boot.” Aaron sweeps me toward the bathroom, kicking the swinging door in and setting me down on the counter.

My heart throbs painfully in my chest as he sweeps the stalls, checking to see if there’s anyone else in here besides us.

There’s not.

And there’s no lock on the door, but you’d have to be a total idiot to disobey a direct order from Havoc. You know, like Kali Rose or something. Queen of the morons.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask, and Aaron shakes his head.

“Luckily, we’re not far from South Prescott,” he teases, grinning at me and running his hand over his beautiful chestnut hair. “No condoms on me—I’m not goddamn Hael or anything—but I do have quarters.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his faded leather wallet and dumping several quarters into his palm. Aaron puts them into the dispenser on the wall, twisting the knob until a single condom falls out into the tray. Usually, you only see this sort of shit at, like, truck stops in the middle of nowhere or something, but like Aaron said: we’re close to South Prescott, the worst neighborhood in the city of Springfield, Oregon.

For once, I’m a little excited about that.

“If you really are pregnant,” Aaron says, pausing in front of me and leaning forward to put his face near mine. He puts a hand on either side of me, pressing our foreheads together, just like we did the other day, just like we did when we were kids … just like we did when we fucked in tenth grade that one time. “Then we’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you, if that’s what you want.”

“You’d raise another man’s kid?” I ask, certain that I’d visit a Planned Parenthood before I’d become a teen mom, but still …

“Well, this wouldn’t be another man’s kid,” Aaron says with a cocksure smirk. “It’d be a Havoc kid.” He kisses me hard on the mouth and I spread my legs to welcome him close. We press our bodies together, and this surge of need takes over me. It clings to my skin, heavy and sticky, as I frantically tear at Aaron’s shirt, trying to get it over his head. “Bern,” he groans, biting my lower lip and reaching over his shoulder with one hand. Aaron grabs the white tee in his fingers, breaking our kiss just long enough to rip it off and toss it aside.

My fingers play with his belt as our tongues slide together, like two slashes of heat, probing, digging, trying to stir up memories and create new ones, all at the same time.

“Aaron …” His name slips from my lips without my even meaning it to. Tears sting my eyes, and I do my best to swipe them away before he can see. Aaron stops me by grabbing my arm with gentle fingers. With his other hand, he reaches up to swipe away a single teardrop with his thumb. “Cut the sentimental crap,” I snap, but … that’s because my anger is a defense mechanism.