“Do you need the shower?” Aaron asks, sighing again.

Do I? Of course I do. I have Vic's cum between my legs, and I'm in desperate need. Those sheets in the master bedroom are going to be wrecked …

“That'd be nice, thanks,” I murmur, not expecting him to just climb out in front of me. My eyes slide over the hard, wet planes of Aaron's body as he wraps a towel around his hips and leaves the water running. He doesn't look at me as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. But I saw it. His dick was hard. And I can only assume it was because of me.

With a groan, I hop into the shower, scrub myself down, and climb out.

As soon as I’m dressed, I open the bathroom door to find Vic waiting for me, his forearms braced on either side of the doorjamb.

I freeze, but my heart doesn't get the memo. I can hear it pounding like a war drum.

“Bernadette,” he says carefully, running his tongue across his lower lip. His eyes actually look brown today, like some of the shadows have been stripped away. Make no mistake: when he smiles, angels cry. But he looks moderately less scary and that’s saying something.

“Are we doing … Havoc stuff today?” I ask, the words husky as I try not to stare at his bare chest or the bitemarks on his neck, the red welts from my nails on his arms and shoulders. I've thoroughly marked Victor Channing, and I haven't spent much time in front of the mirror today, but … I glance to the side and catch a quick glimpse of my face and neck. There are red hickeys on my throat, no doubt about that.

I glance back at Vic, and he shrugs, those muscular shoulders of his moving like well-oiled pistons.

“I think we've all earned a break,” he says, his eyes taking me in, absorbing me, wrecking me, ripping me to pieces without even trying. I'm completely numb without you. The last thing in the world I want to do is go home right now, but I don't want to be here either.

I need space from Vic.

“Okay.” It's the only world that'll come out. I've forgotten the English language.

“Bernadette,” he says in that way of his. “Are you trying to run away from me again?”

“I don't …” I pause when I see Hael leaning against the wall, watching us. His honey-brown eyes meet mine, and he cocks a little half-smirk that doesn't quite reach his gaze. “I need to figure out Halloween costumes—for Heather and for me. We're going to a stupid party, right?”

“As relevant as all of that information is,” Vic starts, his voice smooth and low, “it's not an answer to my question.”

“I don't need to run from you, Victor Channing,” I say, slipping under his arm and moving into the hallway. I pretend like I don't feel Hael's eyes on me either.

“You don't? Because you're acting like you can't get away fast enough.” He turns to look at me, spots Hael leaning against the wall, and frowns. “What?” he asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.

“Nothing. Brittany wants to meet me somewhere today to talk.” Hael rolls his eyes and pushes up off the wall. “But I wasn't sure, what with all those white trash weasels on our dicks, if I should go alone.”

“Take Bernadette with you,” Vic says, voice still solidly neutral. Guess we’re not going to talk about last night, and that’s fine with me. “She wants to get away from me; you want to piss Brittany off.” He shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't matter, but it does. He said as much last night. “Callum can tag along, too. When you're done, pick the girls up from their birthday party, and take Heather and Bernadette home.”

Victor heads down the steps without looking at me, and I can't decide if I just stood my ground or made a crucial mistake.

“You okay?” Hael asks, studying me. I'm dressed in dark jeans and a top that plunges just a little too far between my supposedly G-size breasts. “About last night …”

“I'm fine,” I blurt, interrupting him. I’m not ready to deal with last night just yet. “How's Brittany?” I don't mean the words to come out quite that snippy, but there it is. Guess I’m not a huge Brittany fan after all.

Vic would've noticed my tone, not sure that Hael does.

“Oh, same, same, always with the goddamn drama. She fabricates it to keep herself busy.” He comes over to stand beside me, and I can feel it, that crackle in the air between us that makes my palms sweat. “You sure you're okay?” he repeats, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Maybe you're the one who's not okay? Getting kicked out in the middle of sex …” Hael grits his teeth and shakes his arms out like he's shedding his frustrations from last night. I swear, I thought the two of them were going to spatter those walls with blood.

“Victor's intense,” Hael says, shrugging again, his brown eyes trained on my face. “Just sayin’. If you need to chat about it …”

“You're not about to be my coffee buddy,” I reply, taking a step back to put some space between us. “That's not really where our relationship's headed.”

“Where is it headed then?” Hael asks with a laugh. He puts a hand on the wall and leans in toward me. “Don't pretend you don't fucking like me.”

“I like fucking you,” I admit, tucking my fingers into my pockets. “I just don't want to sit and have a heart-to-heart with you.”

Hael laughs again and shakes his head, running his hand over his bloodred faux hawk.

“Sure, sure.” He gestures in the direction of the stairs with his chin. “Let's get out of here before Vic changes his mind. Hey Cal!” Hael starts down the steps and hops off the bottom one. “You down for a coffee break?”

I come down the stairs and pause, noticing Callum stretching in the sunshine that's streaming through the sliding glass doors. Just beyond the glass, I can see Vic and Aaron smoking on the back patio. They’re both tense, shoulders taut. I can’t wait to get out of here.

“Were you doing yoga?” I ask, and Cal shrugs, grabbing a wet cloth off the table and swiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Yep,” he says, and then he gives me a mysterious little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “When you're smaller, like me,” he nods in the direction of me and Hael, indicating my slight frame compared to Hael's bulk, “you gottta stay limber. Makes beating the shit out of meatheads much, much easier.”

I raise an eyebrow as Callum yanks on his blue hoodie, grabs a pack of cigarettes from the table, and a Pepsi from the fridge.

“Ready,” he says, and off we go.

The coffee shop Hael takes us to is on the ‘good’ side of town, and I can see as we pull up to the curb that it's a Fuller High spot. They've practically pissed all over it. There are thank you letters and photos from all the sports teams, profusely thanking the shop for funding student athletics.

I'm not even out of the car yet, and I'm scoffing.

“If the coffee shop’s owners really wanted to help teens realize their potential, they'd give their money to Prescott,” I say as Hael turns off the engine.

“Yeah, but then they wouldn't get to preen their feathers and praise themselves for being philanthropists while counting all that cold-hard cash the Fuller kids bring into the café.” Hael raises both brows and climbs out, drawing the attention of every snot-nosed, middle-class bourgeois asshole hanging out at the bistro tables on the sidewalk.