Predators.

That's what they look like, like predators.

The thing is, I'm nobody's fucking prey.

Maybe they're more like lions looking for a lioness to mount.

I smile slightly.

I know what I agreed to here. The thing is, I want it. I want them. I always have, ever since we met in elementary school and things were good. Well, maybe neutral. Then bad. And now … they're whatever they are. But I always wanted to belong; I craved it.

“Do you have condoms?” I ask, and Vic snorts.

“You have a one-track mind, Bernadette,” he says, sighing and looking up at the sky with those dark eyes of his. I think they're actually brown, but they're so shadowed and full of pain that they look black. The eyes of a bully. I glance away and pick at the grass with one hand, holding my beer in the other.

“Not particularly. I just know what you want from me. And like you said, a deal's a deal.”

Victor throws his head back in a roaring laugh, and the other guys chuckle along with him, all of them except for Aaron who glares at me with eyes the color of the sun-dappled oak leaves behind his head.

“Really, Bernadette, it doesn't have to be all bad. I'm a skilled lover. The rest of the guys are … adequate.” Victor flashes a sharp, dangerous sort of grin. He leans forward in his plastic lawn chair, like it's some sort of throne. The way he sits in it, it could be. He exudes confidence, like he owns the damn world. Pretty lofty for a guy who lives in one of the worst parts of town with an unemployed drunk for a father. But Vic Channing, he could have whatever he wants in life—even if he has to take it by force. “And we both know you're not a virgin, so what does it matter?” Vic tilts his head to one side, that shadow-purple hair of his sliding across his forehead. “We have plenty of time for sex, so don't worry about it. When I want it, I'll let you know, and you can service me then.” He smiles in a way that gets under my skin, makes my black-painted nails curl into the grass so hard they're filled with dirt.

“Thought you didn't use condoms anyway?” Hael asks, taking two puffs on the blunt and passing it over to Oscar. He waves it away, and Callum takes it instead.

Victor smirks.

“I don't.”

My mouth drops open, but he cuts me off with a look. My chest is heaving, but I don't look away. A stare is a challenge I can take on, one that he can't exactly punish me for. I'm not doing anything that goes against the bargain we made.

“So what's the deal with this brunch thing exactly?” I ask, feeling them all start to stare at me again. It's unnerving. Like, maybe I could fight off Oscar or Callum or something, but all five of them? Including Vic and Hael? They could do whatever they wanted to me, and I couldn't stop them.

Hell, they did it before, didn't they? And they were much smaller then, back in tenth grade. They're all huge now, properly filled out. Men instead of boys.

I exhale and release my grip on the clump of grass.

“Some bullshit upper crust, society type garbage,” Hael snorts as Vic takes a drag on the joint and passes it over to Aaron. “Doesn't make much sense to me.”

“Heh. You are not fucking invited, asshole.” Victor turns to look at me, his eyes half-lidded from the weed, his beer half-empty, and a fresh cigarette in his hand. “You'd ruin any chance of me getting ahold of my inheritance.” He stares at me some more, and I can feel it, this tension between us, hot and sticky, and desperate to be snapped. At least when he orders me into his bed tonight, I'll want to be there. “It's a luncheon with my egg donor and her bitch friends.” Vic reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet box, tossing it onto the grass beside me. My brows go up as I grab it and crack the lid.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask, staring at the diamond engagement ring.

“Your wedding ring,” he says, and like, all of that anger comes roaring back again. Sex is one thing, but I did not agree to this shit. My eyes narrow, but Vic just keeps staring at me like he doesn't notice. “You'll come to the luncheon as my fiancée, please my mom, and marry me, so we can collect my inheritance.”

“You've got to be freaking kidding me,” I snort, but he frowns.

“Not even close. You're not going to pitch a fit about this, are you? Because it's blood in, blood out in Havoc. Do you have a problem being my wife?”

“I …” I start to answer honestly, but I don't want Victor to know how much this bothers me. The sex is one thing, but marriage? I don't want to be legally bound to this prick-hole. “Yeah, whatever. Do I get any of the money?” I look him straight in the face, and he raises a brow, like I've surprised him.

“We'll split the cut, sure, we always do. We're fucking family.” Victor throws his feet up onto the small green plastic table in front of his chair and smirks at me. “Welcome to the family, Bernadette.”

The boys order pizza and then gather in the living room to smoke more pot and watch South Park. The house is a lot better on the inside than the outside. I expected burn marks on the tables from meth spoons, holes in the walls from angry punches, and the stink of garbage. But it's not like that at all. Instead, there's a candle burning on the table, no sign of trash or dirty clothes on the floor, and humble but serviceable furniture.

Hael pulls me onto his lap, and I find that we have a completely different chemistry than I do with Vic. With Vic, it's like … a hot summer day when you're soaked in sweat and all you want is water and cool, silken sheets. That's Victor. Hael is … like a fireworks explosion waiting to happen. Dangerous, unpredictable, but damn pretty to look at.

He massages my hip with his hand while I try to watch the show. But I can't. I can't think about anything other than that tattooed hand of his smoothing across my flesh.

I'm not sure, exactly, what we're supposed to be doing here, but if smoking weed and watching TV fulfills my Havoc requirements, then fine.

“Maybe I'll take you in the bathroom real quick?” Hael whispers, his mouth teasing the shell of my ear. “See if that sharp mouth of yours is as good at sucking cock as it is at being snarky.”

“I get her first,” Vic says, with this unshakable calm but overwhelming certainty. He doesn't have to raise his voice or look at Hael to get his point across. He's the goddamn boss.

Hael makes a frustrated sound under his breath and pushes me off his lap onto the couch cushion. I sink into it, the scent of pot and beer permeating the fabric.

“We need to go look at dresses,” Oscar reminds the group, pushing his glasses up with a middle finger. He smirks at me, his eyes taking me in in a way that's both appreciative and analytical. “What are you? A size eight?” My brows go up, but I don't answer. It's clear he's not done. “Thirty-eight, G cup.”

My smile is wicked sharp.

“Wrong, actually. I'm a thirty-eight triple D.”

Oscar lets out a smooth, dark sort of laugh and then shakes his head.

“No, you're not. You're much larger than a triple D. Have you ever had a proper fitting?”

“Do you get custom made leather shoes from a fucking cobbler? Or hand tailored suits from a master craftsman? No, asshole, I've never had a proper fitting. My bras are from Walmart, and this is the biggest size they have.”