I give him a look and then bite down on the fake blood pouch between my teeth, letting red liquid dribble past my lips and stain the front of my uniform. Hael raises a painted brow at me.

“We’re gonna fuck shit up,” I agree, and his grin doubles in size as he reaches out to take my arm. I see Vic’s eyes watching us, but he doesn’t say anything as Aaron opens the door and Callum bounces out into the dark, opening his arms wide and sending his trench coat fluttering in the cool, night breeze.

“Gift for the newest member of Havoc,” he says, turning and holding his arm out to indicate the black stretch limo gleaming against the curb. My eyes widen as Hael pulls me through the grass toward it.

“You got a limo?” I ask, a strange sense of déjà vu settling over me. Have I mentioned that the boys took me out to the middle of nowhere in a limo with Kali, tore my dress off and gave it to her to wear, and then kicked me out into the darkness to walk home in my underwear? Yeah, it was all sorts of messed-up.

My pulse begins to thunder and sweat drips down the back of my neck.

“We boosted a limo,” Hael says, still grinning. “I’d open the door for you, but I know you’re not into acts of chivalry or any of that shit.”

“Fuck all the way off,” I murmur, tearing my arm from his grip as Cal opens the door for me anyway.

“Your chariot awaits,” he says, excitement emanating from him and Hael. They want to start shit; they want violence. I … don’t know what I want. My hands slide along the leather as I scoot down to the end, and the boys join me, eerie in their matching costumes. The door slams shut, and Hael leans over me to slam his fist against the window.

The limo pulls away from the curb as I raise an eyebrow.

“Who the hell’s driving this thing?” I ask, and Vic offers up a tight smile.

“A friend,” he says, and I know that he means a friend of Havoc’s. Interesting. Wonder if it’s the same guy that shot Mitch for us?

My fingers dig at the edge of the leather seat as I try to control my emotions and Hael dicks around with his phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth stereo. The Violence by Asking Alexandria comes on and he taps his fingers against the knee of his black leather pants with his painted fingers. The boys have taken their makeup down their necks and over their hands, coloring every bit of visible skin with the same somber black and white skeleton design. They’ve even gone so far as to paint right over their tattoos.

“Break out the booze,” Vic commands, and Oscar kicks open one of the cabinets on the wall across from me, withdrawing a sleek bottle with a red logo that reads Blavod on the side.

“Black vodka,” Oscar explains as he gathers up shot glasses from the same cabinet, pouring one for each of us and passing them around. There’s a large carton of cigarettes as well that he grabs, opening it and holding it out so we can all snatch a few. I run the black length of the cigarette under my nose and smell cloves.

“Black vodka and clove cigarettes, now that’s Halloween,” Hael groans in pleasure as Callum breaks out several dark chocolate bars. We each take a square and then toast our shot glasses.

“To All Hallows’ Eve,” Vic says as we clink our glasses, down our shots, and enjoy the decadence of the chocolate. He glances over at me and smirks, the expression devilish buried under all that makeup. “To dark pasts, bright futures, and the power of Havoc.”

“To Havoc,” I say, and then I light up.

Just because Stacey Langford is the queen bee of Prescott High, that doesn't mean she isn't dirt-ass poor like the rest of us. Tonight's Halloween party might be hosted by her, but it takes place in an abandoned old house at the edge of a cemetery. Total cliché, but apparently there's some abundance of radon in the ground beneath it or some shit, and the previous owner died of lung cancer. Nobody wants to live here now, but we're down to party in it.

We're just over an hour outside of town, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the dark. When Callum lets me out of the limo and I look up, all I can see are stars.

“You can see them out here better than anywhere else,” he whispers against my ear. I shiver, but I pretend it’s because of the frosty autumn air and not his voice. Maybe we both know that's a lie?

The limo stands out in the weed-ridden gravel where the rest of the partygoers' cars are parked, but it's definitely not the nicest car here. There are Lambos, Ferraris, and Maseratis, but then there are also Altimas, Mustangs, and Camrys next to the rusted-out shitboxes that belong to the kids at Prescott. Here and there I spot a vintage beauty that reminds of Hael's Camaro; it's sort of a thing at Prescott to fix up old cars.

“Everyone's here,” I remark, studying the mixed bag of vehicles. “From Oak Valley Prep to Fuller High to good ol’ Prescott.”

“Everyone’s here,” Aaron confirms, but he doesn't sound near as excited as Hael or Callum or even Vic. He doesn't want a confrontation tonight. Pretty sure he's the only member of Havoc that doesn't though.

We head for the open front doors, the music booming out into the cold, dark night. Several students are gathered around outside, smoking joints or snorting coke. They watch us carefully, warily, like a pack of coyotes might study a pack of wolves. We're all predators, but they know if they make the wrong move, we'll tear them apart and spatter the frosty forest floor with their blood.

Inside, the old mansion is a crumbling mess. Doors are missing, wallpaper is peeling, and the floor is made up of chipped and broken tiles. Stacey and her girls have worked their magic though, filling the place with Halloween décor that they probably stole from Hobby Lobby or some shit. There are tall vases filled with fake black roses, black and purple streamers, and some animatronic ghoulies that are probably worth a fortune. Yep, definitely looking at a lot of stolen loot in here.

I blink through the green and white strobe lights, and the sea of low-lying fog from the half-dozen fog machines in the corners.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see all five boys waiting behind me in a loose ‘V’ formation with—aptly enough—Victor at the head. They’re all holding their black bats, trench coats fluttering in the breeze. Hael’s bat is dragging on the floor as he throws back another mouthful of vodka and passes the bottle to Aaron. His bat is strapped to his back as he smokes with one hand and drinks with the other. Callum has his slung over his shoulder while Oscar clutches the base of the bat in one hand and balances the end in his palm. Victor puts the end of his on the floor directly in front of him and folds both hands together on the base.

The entire room takes a breath when we walk in, and even though it’s hard as hell to see in here, I know everybody’s looking.

“You like what you see?” Stacey asks, appearing on my left side in a sleek white dress, pointed black fingernails, and a ghostly gray wig. Her face is painted into the perfect mix of macabre and elegant, but I have no idea what she's supposed to be. She is, however, wearing a very pretty and very expensive tiara on her head. The Langford girls have been busy lately, I see. It takes a lot of work to pinch something that nice. “We've thrown the party in Havoc's honor.”

“Smart,” Vic says from behind me, his indomitable presence a sensation I can’t ignore. “You know how to pick the winning side, don't you, Stacey?”