“Ah, there it is,” Cal says cheerfully, “he just broke.”

I wonder how long the boys plan on leaving Neil in there until they let him out, lead him into the woods, and execute him.

“Death is too sweet a release for some,” Callum adds, nodding as he grabs a pair of shovels and then offers one up to me.

I just stare at him.

“Wait …” I start as the boys—including Vic and Oscar—step forward and start to shovel dirt. “Is this … are we really doing this?”

“Do you like it?” Vic asks, looking up at me with sincerity in his dark gaze. “Your wedding present?”

It’s then that I know they’re serious.

We are burying Neil Pence alive for the crime of rape. For the suicide—or murder—of Penelope Blackbird. We are burying him alive for making me feel scared and unwelcome in my own home. We are burying him because he is a monster.

I fall to my knees in the dress, collapsing next to the hole and putting my forehead on my arm as I start to hyperventilate. After a moment, Aaron comes over to crouch beside me, rubbing my back in soothing circles and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. If I listen really hard, I can hear Neil screaming as dirt piles on top of his shiny black coffin.

“I’d say, based on the size of Neil and the size of the coffin, that he has about twelve hours of air if he chooses to use the tank,” Oscar explains, continuing to shovel. I wonder for a brief second if they might just be doing this for dramatic effect, and that we might dig Neil up later.

But … no.

No, that’s not what’s happening.

This is it.

The final chapter of my book that includes Neil Pence.

And I do nothing to stop it.

It takes a while for the boys to finish filling in the hole, patting it nice and flat when they’re done, helping blend it into the landscape. Callum gathers leaves and twigs, scattering them over the surface, until it’s hard to tell that there was ever a disturbance here at all.

I crawl forward, laying my body across the grave and putting my ear to the dirt. The echoes of Neil’s screams travel up to me, as faint as my sister’s cries in the night after he visited her bedroom. My fingers dig into the dirt and I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears.

I lay there until the screaming stops, and then for another hour beyond that.

The boys are patient, parking their beautiful inked bodies on nearby tombstones, smoking cigarettes or joints, passing around a bottle of whiskey.

Aaron stays beside me the whole time, his hand on my back for comfort.

After a while, Neil starts to scream again, and I realize that he is not going to use the knife. Because he’s desperate to keep living, to keep hurting people, and he won’t give the world even a small favor by killing himself.

I sit up and the boys still around me.

“Today, I become queen of Havoc,” I say, my eyes on the dirt beneath my knees. On Neil’s grave. A place that nobody will ever visit, that they’ll walk over and ignore, just the way it should be. I lift my eyes to find Hael’s. Then Aaron’s. Vic’s. Oscar’s. Callum’s. “And I won’t share my crown with anyone.”

Nobody challenges me as Aaron helps me to my feet, leading me away from Neil and toward the parking lot.

I’d stay longer, but then, we have a wedding to attend.

Sorry, Neil.

The nice thing about burying a monster alive is that you don’t get any blood on your clothes.

I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror in the disheveled downstairs parlor of the old house. There isn’t much left to indicate the antique splendor that used to fill the space. No, instead it’s just so much urban rot.

“You sure you’re okay?” Aaron asks, leaning up against the old peeling wallpaper and lighting a cigarette. He’s beyond handsome in his tux, but then, aren’t they all? My Havoc Boys. I might be getting married to Victor today, but I can never really be just his, can I? We’re a family, me and my former tormentors.

“I’m okay.”

My lips twitch, and I lean in toward the old mirror, reaching up a single black-painted fingernail to scrape at a bit of stray pink lipstick near the corner of my mouth. It seems a strange color when paired with the black dress and its raven-feather neckpiece, especially being married here, in the woods of an abandoned mansion.

But I chose that color for a reason. I dye the ends of my hair for a reason.

Pink was Pen’s favorite color and since she can’t physically be here with me today, I want her here in spirit. Oscar already offered to hold a séance for me, to see if we could talk to her, but I don’t buy into voodoo magic and bullshit.

You buried a man alive this morning, I remind myself, trying to stay humble, to stay grounded, to remember to be human. Reaching over to grab my phone, I see that it’s been about six hours since we buried him. That means he’s got about six hours left. Six hours to change my mind.

Only … I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.

“Hey, Bernie,” Pen says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. I’ve always resented her being taller than me. I frown and wrinkle my nose when she kisses me. I do that because I believe, like all little sisters do, that she’ll be here forever to take care of me. Right now though, I’m an asshole sophomore and she’s the kind-hearted senior who panders too much, worries too much, cares too much. “You know I love you more than the moon loves the stars, don’t you?”

And I did. And I still do.

My hands clench in the shimmery black fabric of the gown.

It was supposed to be a fake dress for a fake wedding for a fake marriage. The thing is, I love Victor too much. He loves me too much. Havoc is too important to me. I could never give it up.

“I know, Pen, and I love you, too. More than the sun loves the clouds. Wish me and Vic—me and Havoc—luck. I have a feeling the honeymoon is going to wreck me in the worst way possible.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, but really, it’s just a courtesy knock. There are too many holes in the walls to pretend like Callum can’t see me and Aaron in my makeshift dressing room.

“We’re ready,” he says, smiling at me in that way of his, like pain is pretty and the world is a fragile monster with hungry jaws. I like it, though, his smile, because it also says that he doesn’t care about any of those things. If Callum Park loves something or someone, he will, quite literally, murder the world. “Are you?”

There are so many shades of meaning to that question, but I nod anyway, standing up and turning around so he can see me with my hair and makeup done. We hired one of Stacey’s girls to do it. She wasn’t bad, but she’s no Ivy Hightower.

I wet my lips.

Nope.

No more thinking about business today. Business was yesterday. Business was watching Ms. Keating (who’s now in the hospital, thanks to Vaughn) get pistol-whipped. Business was being chased by the Thing through the cemetery. Business was putting him in an early grave.

“I’m ready,” I say aloud, offering my arm to Aaron. I haven’t looked outside yet to see who’s actually come for the wedding, but it doesn’t matter because the Havoc Boys will be here. That’s enough of an audience for me. Although … part of me would have loved to see Pamela’s face when Aaron walks me down the aisle.