Vic knows every person on that list because he's been around for so long, because the Havoc Boys have always been invading my life, one way or another. But he doesn't know about Donald Asher.

Nobody but me does.

I glance away, my eyes scanning the wall of foliage near the front of the property and wondering who the hell was in that car. One of the older men from the other night, one of the Ensbrook or Charter brothers, or someone else entirely?

Is that what Vic meant, fighting wars on multiple fronts?

And now, with my list, they'll be starting yet another one.

My eyes flick to the other four boys, wondering how thin I’m stretching them with my request. They don’t seem bothered, and I know they have other accomplices who aren't quite so … public about their affiliation with Havoc, but still, I wonder.

As I turn my attention back up to Vic's darkened gaze, I can see that he isn't playing around. What he said wasn't a suggestion, it was a command.

“You'll do what I say when I say it.”

But in this moment, I can’t imagine it, sitting here on the lawn with five men who are worse than strangers. Five men who were the little boys I'd gone to school with, watched from afar, worshipped. And then I'd finally, finally gotten one to myself in the form of Aaron. The perfect boyfriend, the perfect lover … turned tattooed asshole because life wasn't fair. And I’m supposed to just blurt my secrets out in the open?

“Later,” I say, mimicking Vic's reaction from the other day. His eyes narrow slightly, and I can tell I'm seriously getting under his skin.

“No,” he says, and my brows go up. Oh really? We're going to test the strength of the leash already? My lips flatten into a line as he stares at me, a brooding thundercloud gathered behind dark irises. On the outside, though, everything is calm, still. “Now.”

I rise to my feet and turn, heading for the house and intending to slip into the bathroom for a moment. What happened with Donald … the thought makes me sick, stirs up a dozen worse memories, two dozen. A lifetime of regret.

I barely register what I'm doing until I've passed the bathroom and found myself halfway up a small staircase, my palm skimming the rough-worn banister. A few steps later and I'm on the second floor, standing outside a small bedroom.

Vic's room.

My hand tightens on the newel post as his smell wafts over me—that musky mix of tobacco and amber—and the back of my neck prickles with the awareness of someone coming up behind me.

“Get in,” he says, and I hear the steps creak as he continues up them, forcing me to move out of the narrow foyer or end up brushing against him.

Besides, my subconscious must've sent me up here for a reason, right?

I step into Victor's room and shiver when the door slams shut behind me. There's a single bed in here, twin-sized, and a desk, a few random rock posters on the wall, and a locked closet.

The one I spent an entire week in.

My breath catches, and I take a step back, accidentally bumping into the man who put me there in that dark square of hell. His warm, hot hands land on my shoulders, and I jump.

“The fourth person on the list …”

“Donald Asher,” I say, letting the name fall fast and hard from my tongue.

Moving forward, I feel one of my Havoc nightmares all over again, the boys' firm grips on my arms and shoulders, the bruises coloring my skin as they dragged me across these very same floors and shoved me in the closet. How loudly I screamed, my nails tearing as I clawed at the door …

I wasn't sure I was ever getting out.

“Don't do that,” Vic says on the end of a long sigh, but I'm already moving, grabbing the handle of the door and yanking it open. Inside, there's nothing but a stack of empty shoe boxes and a few hanging shirts.

None of the pain I remember is there, hanging in the air like a poison cloud. None of the fear. I feel like the universe is spitting in my face, leaving such an empty, innocuous spot where I suffered so damn much.

Slowly, carefully, I close the door.

I'm stronger now, but part of being strong means recognizing when you've got a trigger and deciding if facing off against that trigger will truly bring you any peace.

Right now, I don't need the stress.

I turn around and put my back against the door.

“Don is a prep school student,” I say, and Vic's eyes narrow, his mouth tightening. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches me with that unyielding expression of his.

I stare right back.

Silence follows, leaving this dark, empty space between us, this gaping void that feels impossible to cross. I'm trapped here, in this impersonal little room forever.

“Get on your knees, Bernadette,” Vic says, his voice cold. He reaches down with one hand and flicks the button on his jeans. My own eyes widen, and I feel my pulse begin to race. It's not like I haven't sucked a dick before, but … “Well?” he continues when I most definitely don't rush to do what he's asked.

My jaw clenches, and I feel that familiar anger rush over me, that need to defy, to fight, to win.

“He goes to Oak Valley Prep. I still know how to find his dorm room. Not an easy task, considering the fact that he roofied me at the restaurant before we got there.”

The expression on Victor's face doesn't change.

“Bernadette,” he continues, sliding his zipper down. My eyes flick away before he can free himself, and I realize that I'm sweating. “You can't do it, can you?”

I pause and look back, only to find out that Victor's fixed his pants again. His face is a dark shadow, passing over the sun, cutting off all the light. He's terrifying.

“I—” I start, but I'm not about to back down. I knew what I was agreeing to when I made this deal.

“You made a pact with us, and you can't keep your end of the bargain, can you?” Victor's nostrils flare, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment. When he opens them, there's fire burning in his gaze.

“I can keep it,” I say, breathing hard and fast. “I've always wanted to fuck you anyway, just to see what it'd be like. It's hardly a punishment.”

Tossing white-blond hair tinged with pink over one shoulder, I strut forward confidently and cup the bulge in Vic's jeans. Or … there should be a bulge, right? Only he's not hard, not at all.

He's testing me, just like with the ring … My finger passes over the engagement ring without meaning to, and I realize with a sudden burst of clarity that Victor told me about the ring's value to see if I'd do exactly what I thought about doing: sell it and run.

But I'm not going anywhere.

“I want this,” I say, looking him in the eyes. He stares right back, and the edge of his mouth twists up in a cruel sort of smirk. Not like Hael's smirks though, something different, something darker, some hidden emotion that plays at amusement, but in reality is on the opposite end of the spectrum.

“Then fucking prove it,” Victor says, grabbing my wrist and forcing my hand back. “When I ask you a question, answer it.” The threat in his voice is clear, and I find myself shivering, even as his touch on my wrist burns. “Donald Asher, spoiled Oak Valley Prep brat. He roofied you?” I nod, but with Vic touching me, it feels so much harder to admit the truth. I should've just spilled it outside, when all the boys were present. “He raped you?”