I separate myself from the crowd, trying to have a good time but finding it impossible to shed that sharp-edged tension I’ve been nursing since moment one. Something bad is going to happen tonight, I think as I find a spot to rest next to Oscar.

He’s standing near the curved edge of the staircase, watching the action from afar.

“This house is practically a playground,” he says, glancing over at me. It’s eerie, seeing him with all that makeup and no glasses. “Drugs, drinking, smoking, dancing, fucking.” He emphasizes that last word, make no mistake about it.

“So?” I ask, my head buzzing with alcohol and the thick cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke.

“So, why are you over here with me?” Oscar asks, his bat leaning against the wall next to him. “You know I can’t stand you; go bother somebody else.”

My eyes narrow on him, but now that he’s said that, I’m not fucking moving.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask, watching an Oak Valley Prep asshole with his hands all over Wendy’s ass. Pathetic. My lip curls. These filthy rich boys think all the chicks at Prescott are playthings they can toy with, use, and then throw away like trash. An image of Donald rolling down the roof flashes in my mind, and I bite my lower lip.

“Trouble,” Oscar says, pushing away from the wall and taking his bat with him. He leaves me there to blend into the shadows, my ears straining for gossip. Since the boys are all dressed in matching costumes, it isn’t hard to pick them out of the crowd. As I do, I notice that Vic is watching me from across the room. I’m not sure I’ve ever left his sight.

“You heard what they did to Don, right?” this Oak Valley asshole asks, pausing at the table on my right to score some of the spiked punch with the plastic bones floating in it. I can tell he’s from the prep school because he’s wearing enough goddamn cologne that I can smell it through all the sweat and smoke. That, and I recognize the shoes he’s wearing. My stepdad has a pair, and I know they cost mad money. Mom wouldn’t stop talking about how she got them for free from a friend’s husband because they didn’t fit, and the guy couldn’t be fucked returning them.

“I mean, he got the crap beat out of him, didn’t he? I thought it was just a B&E sort of thing?” the other guy—who probably thinks he’s clever, wearing a breathalyzer costume with a hole on the crotch that says Place Mouth Here—replies.

“That’s the story, but it was fucking Havoc, man. They carved the word Rapist into his forehead. The wound was, like, deep enough that it dug into his skull. Don’s gonna be in and out of laser treatments for years to get that shit removed.” There’s a long pause there where everything goes silent around me, my heart beating frantically in my chest. “They cut his balls off, too, man. They castrated him.”

My throat goes completely dry and my eyes get wide.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, appearing beside me. I glance his way, but there are no words. I’m not sure if the gossip I just heard is true or yet more Havoc rumor and speculation, but … Does the fact that I’m hoping it’s true make me a bad person?

“Did you guys cut off Don’s balls?” I ask as Aaron approaches me, and his face pales. Even beneath the layer of makeup he’s wearing, I can see it. It’s true. It’s fucking true. “Jesus Christ.”

“You didn’t think we’d let him off easy, did you? Bernadette, I tried to warn you. We’re messed-up. Havoc is fucking messed-up. You just—” He pauses, clenching his teeth to stop the flow of words, like he’s just realized he’s about to reveal something important to me.

“I just what?” I ask, turning and getting in his face. “I just never saw it? You guys were fucked to me, but … you could’ve done worse. Why didn’t you?” Aaron scowls at me and tries to turn away, but I’m not letting him go. I’m onto something here, I know it. “Aaron, talk to me, goddamn it. What did Kali have on you? Why didn’t you guys fuck me up like you did Don?”

“Bernadette,” Aaron starts, turning back to look at me, the skeleton makeup on his face turning his visage into a grim one. But then he pauses and looks up, eyes darkening. I follow his gaze and see that the crowd’s parted to reveal a group of people standing near the front doors.

They’re all wearing grinning clown masks, bandages on their right shoulders darkened with faux blood. I do a quick headcount and come up with almost two dozen people standing there. It’s impossible to tell if they’re male or female, with their masks and dark clothes.

“Jesus,” Aaron grinds out as I feel my pulse start to pick up.

Shit.

This is what I was waiting for.

Havoc never gets a day off.

“Are those bandages supposed to be in support of Mitch or something?” I whisper as this EDM/dubstep rap comes on, blaring through the speakers as Vic moves forward to greet the new crew. Aaron clenches his jaw and looks down at me, like he’s considering spiriting me out the back door or something.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Vic asks, his voice booming out across the crowd. “Party crashers?”

“Havoc’s rule at Prescott High is done,” the leader of the gang says, his voice manipulated by a voice changer. “It’s over, Victor.”

“Is it?” Vic asks as several dozen people in the crowd remove plastic skeleton masks from inside their jackets, sweaters, and costumes, sliding them over their faces in solidarity. “If you want to rule that school, or this town, you’ll have to fight for it.”

“Gladly,” the leader says, and then he pulls out a weapon from inside his jacket. People start to scream and scatter as Aaron grabs my hand.

“I’m getting you the hell out of here,” he says, just before the first shot goes off, exploding one of the paper lanterns near the ceiling. Clown Dude—who I’m just sort of guessing is Mitch—has missed his shot. Instead of blowing Victor’s head off, he’s just been hit in the shoulder with Callum’s nail-ridden bat.

A fight breaks out as the two sides rush each other, like soldiers going into war. Several more gunshots go off as the Havoc crew meets up with the newcomers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I grind out as Aaron tries to pull me toward the clown-covered archway that leads into the funhouse area. “I’m a part of Havoc, too.” I try to tear my grip from his, but his hands are like steel. I’m not going anywhere.

The music continues to blare as the room empties out, the floors already spattered with blood as the two groups beat each other to pulps. A few of the clown-masked assholes are heading our way, but Aaron doesn’t wait for them, yanking me into the funhouse.

The fog machines in here are insane. Paired with the red strobe lights and the myriad mirrors, it’s impossible to see. But Aaron manages to drag me through anyway, putting some distance between us and the party. At first, I struggle, but pitting myself against one of Havoc’s best fighters isn’t going to win us any wars. So I follow after him, convinced that as soon as we get outside, I can break away from him and make my way around to the front.

Instead, we end up stumbling into a round room filled with cackling animatronic clowns. Plastic caution tape lines the walls, and as Aaron goes to try the door, he finds it locked from the outside. So much for those guys Vic sent around to watch the back. They must be getting their asses kicked right now.