I smile as Cal hands the joint back. For a moment there, everything is easy and casual, just two teenagers hanging out on an abandoned lot.

Then Callum’s entire demeanor shifts, and he steps around me, like he’s protecting me from something. The sound of a car on the empty country road echoes to me just a few seconds later.

Eric is here.

I mean, we did send him an invitation.

The thing is, when I took Todd’s phone from Vic’s hand and put my lips near the speaker, I almost thought Eric would recognize my voice.

He didn’t.

“Your daddy says that if I’m a good girl, you’ll give me some money. I could really use some money to help with the rent.”

Gag.

The other thing I was worried about was that I might sound too old for his perverted tastes.

Guess not.

Cal and I stay where we are, hidden by the tree as Eric parks near the front porch, climbing out to look up at the house with a wary expression. I watch him from where I am, a lioness on the hunt.

He looks exactly as I remember him: like some sort of Ken doll with bleached-out skin and white-blond hair. When I was eleven, and we first met, I thought he was handsome. He skeeves me the fuck out now, even from all the way over here.

“He’s going to bolt,” I whisper to Cal, my eyes taking in Eric’s stiff form, his hand still resting on the door handle of his Mercedes.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees, his big body curled over mine, watching, protecting. I feel so goddamn safe with Callum Park at my back. Invincible. We exchange a look and he nods, slipping away and crouching low as he runs across the field on my left.

“Eric,” I call out as sweetly as I can, stepping out from behind the tree and pitching my voice high and clear. He turns around to look at me, face flashing with triumph … and then fear.

No … not fear, terror.

He’s terrified. Because he recognizes me as soon as he sees me. That much, I’m sure of.

When he spins around, desperately grabbing at the handle of his car, Callum is just there, crouching on the roof like a spider.

“Hello Eric,” he says, and then he grabs the back of Eric’s head and smashes his face into the side of the Mercedes, leaving him to crumple onto the ground in a heap.

I walk slowly over to my perpetrator as the other Havoc Boys come out the front door, slow and casual and fully confident in me and Cal to handle the situation.

“Let’s get him inside, shall we?” Oscar asks, slipping out of his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down. His gray eyes meet mine, and I can tell that we’re about to take a step forward together. Not sure what that step will entail, but it’s coming.

And quick.

I asked the Havoc Boys to show me all their secrets.

Guess that’s why that old adage exists: be careful what you wish for.

Eric is on the floor bleeding, his eyes wide as he stares across the narrow space between him and his father. Between the two of them, he’s the most clearly fucked-up, his skin bloody and raw, his fingers broken, his shins smashed with a baseball bat.

I haven’t moved from my spot near the door, letting the boys do the work. This is, after all, my request. My reward. Eric molested my sister, tried to molest me. He rapes little girls. I feel nothing for him, nothing at all.

“How many girls have you raped and killed, hmm?” Oscar asks, bending low and digging the barrel of his revolver into the front of Eric’s skull. “I’m sure you don’t know an exact number, but guess what?” Eric whimpers, closing his eyes as blood runs down the side of his face and into them. I hope it stings like hell. “I do. I’m very good with numbers, Mr. Kushner. I fucking love numbers.” Oscar grinds the weapon in until Eric lets out a scream, moving his arm back just enough to shut the man up. “Numbers don’t lie, but people do. In totality, Mr. Kushner, I’ve estimated that you’ve murdered thirteen underage girls.”

Oscar rises to his feet suddenly, moving the gun away from Eric and over to his father. Eric lets out a whimper of relief, but Todd begins to weep silently.

“I don’t think he’s killed anyone,” Oscar continues, gray eyes darkening to a near-black pitch behind his blood-spattered glasses. He gestures in Todd’s direction as the other boys look on in silence, letting the man I’d sort of written off as Havoc’s, uh, IT guy, elevate this shit to another level. “But he knows what you do, and he lets you do it.”

“He’s my son!” Todd screams, thrashing in his bindings. “I’d do anything for him.” He probably thinks he sounds strong as he struggles, eyes focused on his only child. He doesn’t. He sounds weak, and my stomach churns.

I’m still in the process of contemplating the whole scenario when Oscar lowers the weapon, so that it’s pointing directly at Todd’s head … and fires off a single round. The sound of it makes me jump, like a car backfiring in an enclosed parking garage. My ears are ringing so badly that it takes me a good two minutes to realize that Eric is screaming.

Havoc has just shot and killed Todd Kushner.

On the inside, my spirit writhes a bit. I don’t know how to process any of this.

After Don and Scott, I didn’t think … But then, I remember Oscar’s risk assessment. Three percent. Good odds for a killing.

Aaron sidles closer to me, putting his arm around my waist and dragging me close. His scent is so strong that when I bury myself against his chest for a moment, all I breathe in is rose and sandalwood. The sharp copper scent of blood disappears for the briefest of instances, but then I look up and see the body and time starts up all over again.

“Anything else you’d like to say Eric before I shoot him in the face?” Oscar asks mildly, unmoved by the situation. At least, on the outside. On the inside, a little boy with broken glasses and round-tipped scissors is screaming.

I stare at him for a moment before I push away from Aaron and move over to stand beside Eric. Crouching down, I reach out and swipe hair away from his bloodied forehead.

“Please,” he sobs, shaking, his hands bound behind his back, his ankles lashed together. “I don’t like to hurt people. I just have needs that can’t be met any other way.” I smile, but there’s no mirth in the expression. My fingers find the scar above Eric’s eye, where I hit him with the metal truck.

“You changed my life for the worst, Eric. Foster care was my escape, away from my mother, from my rapist stepfather. You stole that chance from me, from us.” Closing my eyes, I imagine a different world, one where Pen and Heather and I found a loving home, somewhere safe, and we all made it to adulthood without the marks of monsters on our skin.

I open my eyes.

I’m surrounded by my monsters now, but at least I hold the leash of some very pretty ones.

Shit, but did you really think they were just going to execute the Kushners? I didn’t. This is next level. There must really be some sweetness left in me somewhere because it still hurts, in a weird way. If murder only sparked joy in me, I’d be worried. But also, I feel no regret.

“Please, please, Bernadette. Please. I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore. I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” Eric is sobbing now, snot running out of his nose and over his lips. His spittle is foamy; he’s definitely hurting. Also … he must sense that he’s not walking out of here, right? Like I said, monsters always know to look for other monsters.