“Are you okay?” Heather asks as she approaches me cautiously, dressed in an orange and black Halloween sweater. Neither my little sister nor Aaron’s girls were allowed to wear their costumes to either school. Makes me sad. I remember how everyone used to get dressed up, and we’d have Halloween cupcakes and candy during class. Guess times have changed a bit since I was in elementary school, huh?

“I’m fine,” I say, pushing up off the van and signing the school monitor’s little clipboard. I throw open the back door and hold her backpack while she climbs in. She, of course, is more than happy to see Aaron. The two of them start chatting about possible trick or treating routes—for years I’ve taken her to the rich people neighborhood in Oak River Heights—and I stare out the window, trying my best to process Aaron’s words.

“I’ve never stopped loving you.”

And that means what? That he still does love me?

I decide I can’t deal with this revelation, not tonight.

We grab Kara and Ashley and then head back to Aaron’s place where the rest of the Havoc crew is waiting for us.

“We have four hours until we need to leave for Stacey’s party,” Oscar informs us, leaning over the counter in the half-bath near the front door. He’s got a black makeup crayon in his hand, turning to face me with some ghastly dark circles around his eyes. I won’t lie, I have to stop and do a bit of a double take.

“What are you supposed to be?” I ask, and a sharp smirk curves over Oscar’s lips.

“You’ll see,” he warns, a dark note in his voice that makes me shiver. I shake the feeling off and roll my eyes, guiding the girls upstairs to help them into their costumes. Aaron hovers nearby, but finally gives up and heads outside to smoke a joint.

“Something happen between you two?” Vic asks me, cornering me as I herd the girls back downstairs for better lighting. He cuts me off at the staircase as the three little ones skip past. My skin feels suddenly too tight, and I have to resist the urge to squirm under that sharp gaze.

“If it did, would it be your business?” I ask, and he gives me this shit-eating grin.

“It would, yeah.” Victor reaches out with that big hand of his, smoothing some of my hair back. Just that little touch makes me want him, and I hate that. I hate that I feel like a drug addict with a habit when he’s around. “You’re my girl, remember?”

“Since when?” Cal asks, appearing from the shadows of the spare bedroom. I’ve just barely peeked in there, but it’s got one queen bed and a set of bunk beds on the opposite wall. Back in the day, when Aaron’s parents lived here, it was his dad’s office. Now, it functions as Cal, Hael, and Oscar’s bedroom. Aaron obviously has his own room, and piece of shit Victor Channing gets the master all to himself. “You need to rein in that possessive streak of yours, boss.”

Victor scowls at Callum, pushing up off the wall to give his much smaller teammate a look.

“Did you finish the props for tonight?” Vic asks as I notice the item clutched in Cal’s hand. It’s a black baseball bat with nails strategically hammered through the end, leaving the points sticking out precariously.

Callum grins and swings the weapon up to his shoulder, just barely missing stabbing himself with it.

“All ready,” he says, and Vic nods. I don’t know what they’re all planning on as far as costumes go, and I haven’t asked. I figure I’ll see them later. For now, I use the lull in conversation to sneak down the stairs and finish up the girls’ makeup. Well, Kara and Ashley’s makeup anyway; Heather is once again going as Ryan Reynold’s version of Deadpool, complete with full mask.

Once they’re ready, Aaron and I herd the girls into the van, and I’m surprised to see that Callum joins us, grinning and winking at me as he straps himself into the back row.

“I’m your backup,” he explains, “just in case.”

I nod, but to be honest, I’m glad he’s here. I have a feeling Callum could buy us whatever time we needed to get the girls out of a rough situation.

And the universe knows we’ll probably be in at least one life or death scenario before the night is over …

Looking at myself in the mirror with my blond hair in a high, bouncy ponytail and my makeup done up like some MAC counter girl is surreal. I look like a different person, like the reflection of myself I might’ve been with a different upbringing, a different life.

The sort of life Brittany Burr and her friends have.

I reach out and touch my fingertips to the mirror, studying the reflection of my cheap cheerleading uniform and the way it shows off the ink on my midriff. This should be an interesting evening, dressed up like some preppy Fuller High asshole for the darkest night of the year.

Just a few more additions, and I’ll be ready. I drag my makeup kit closer—pretty much all of my product is stolen, so I have a decent collection—and grab some of the fake blood and Halloween effects we purchased at the Hellhole.

Fifteen minutes later, and I’m done dirtying up my look.

I give myself a wry grin in the mirror and rise to my feet, flipping my hair and then rolling my eyes at my own reflection. Downstairs, I can hear the heavy bass of some hip-hip song from the early 2000s. My nose wrinkles as I open Aaron’s door and realize the beat is Ridin’ by Chamillionaire and Krayzie Bone.

When I get to the top of the staircase and look down, my heart freezes in my chest, and a cold, fearful chill chases down my spine.

All five Havoc Boys are waiting in the living room, dressed in identical Halloween costumes.

Their faces are fully painted, to the point that it’s hard to tell them apart from up here. Five gritty skeleton visages stare back at me, black around the eyes, teeth painted over lips. They all have their hair slicked back and sprayed black with one of those colored hairsprays that only lasts the night. And they’re all decked out in matching black trench coats with black hoodies and black shirts underneath, black slacks, badass boots.

For a brief moment there, I feel like a helpless heroine in some scary teen Halloween slasher flick.

Shit.

I force my basic instincts to take a back seat. Sure, Havoc is dangerous, but … maybe not to me? At least not right now. Good thing the girls are holed up in their room watching Halloweentown with the babysitter. This would scare the crap out of them.

“Are you guys supposed to be Tate Langdon from American Horror Story?” I ask, swallowing hard as I hit the bottom step and find myself at the center of Havoc’s attention. “Or Zombie Boy? The show makers based that look off of him, you know.”

“We know,” Oscar says, and my eyes flick back to find his gray gaze. For once, he’s not wearing his glasses. I’m assuming contacts? But holy fuck, having his focus bared on me like that, without the lenses to protect me, it’s intimidating.

I keep my head high and scan the group. Vic is obvious, based on size alone, same with Callum. Biggest and smallest. It takes me a minute with Aaron and Hael, but only until Hael grins and the music switches over to Candy Shop by 50 Cent and Olivia. Guess we’re into the 2000s station for tonight.

“We’re gonna fuck shit up,” Hael says, tapping the end of his black baseball bat against the wood floor next to his boots as he moves over to stand beside me. He points out the red line across my throat and wrists, and all the fake blood I added. “Clever,” he says, flicking the nametag on my uniform that reads Brittany. “Couldn’t resist going as a dead cheerleader, huh?”