“We’re looking for someone,” Oscar says cryptically, reaching up to tousle his dark hair with long fingers. He doesn’t look like a kid with a fake ID; he looks like he owns the damn club. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Havoc really did.

“And tonight, of all nights …?” I hazard, finally drawing the golem’s attention. Fucker may as well be made of stone.

“Because our crew called and told us he was here,” he explains, making his way along the narrow walkway near the wall. I follow him, people squeezing past us with drinks in their hands. Aaron trails after me, doing his best to keep a limp out of his walk. Can’t exactly hide the cast on his hand, but nobody in here is stupid enough to think a few injuries will stop Havoc.

“We’re looking for James Barrasso,” Aaron tells me, his voice rough as he’s forced to yell over the pounding music. My eardrums are already aching, and my body is buzzing. It’s impossible to walk into a place like this and not feel the vibe; it’s everywhere. That, and my blood is drawn from the veins of this shit-ass neighborhood.

“Who?” I quip back, and I’m honestly shocked that Aaron can hear me at all.

“The son of the GMP’s leader, Maxwell Barrasso,” he finishes as we find ourselves near the bar. Victor has an entire side to himself. He’s leaning against it, a drink in his hand, and watching us. My skin gets tight, and a rush of heat floods my core. Piece of shit, I think, knowing that he’s musing on what happened at the art gallery. About Trinity. For better or worse, he’s thinking about a woman that offered her hand in marriage to him—and right in front of me.

That shit doesn’t fly in this neighborhood.

“Bourbon?” Vic offers, holding out the glass. I take it from his hand, our fingers brushing together. Our gazes meet, but I end up looking away first, downing the drink as my eyes survey the crowd. Half of the people in here are underage. Shit, I know most of the people in here. “Any sign of James?” Victor asks. It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to Callum.

He appears from behind the bar, coming out of a crouch and climbing on top of the counter. He reassumes that position, knees bent, elbows resting on them. His bow tie is gone, shirt unbuttoned, blue eyes scanning the crowd.

“Not here yet—unless Hael’s found him,” Cal replies, snatching one of the shots off the counter. There are six of them; I’m assuming one for each of us. Aaron sinks into one of the stools, his demeanor that of a lazy prince. But I know that the slow, careful way he’s moving has much less to do with his personality than it does his injuries. Gotta say, he puts on almost as good a show as Vic.

“Either I’m not recognizing the little piss-ant based on his social media pics, or he isn’t here,” Hael purrs, appearing behind me and grabbing onto my hips. His touch is enough to set my blood aflame.

“The touch of the cocky school slut, huh? That does it for you?” Kali’s voice sounds in my head, but at least I’m not seeing her ghostly face among the crowd.

“Well, then,” Vic begins, turning and grabbing two of the shots. He passes one to Hael and one to me. Oscar lifts a palm up in quiet refusal when Victor hands one his way. Our boss shrugs and drinks it himself. “May as well stay and party then. To keep up appearances, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Hael purrs in my ear, reaching down to pluck the shot glass from my hand. He hands both empty glasses to Vic before he leans down and runs his tongue along the side of my neck. “After all, Blackbird here is the bait.”

“The bait?” I echo, but then Hael’s pressing his hot mouth to my neck and it’s suddenly hard to think.

“How best to draw a shithead out of the woodwork,” he murmurs against my pulse, “than with a pretty girl.” I close my eyes briefly, and Oscar scoffs. As if he wasn’t a part of a gangbang last week. I open my eyes again and stare him down. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he returns my stare with a challenge in his own.

“Just so you know,” Aaron says, drawing my attention away from Oscar. “I’m not a fan of this idea.” As it always does when I look at him, my heart gives a gentle flutter, and a sense of relief washes over me. I can’t believe I let those poser motherfuckers get ahold of my man.

“And then refused to punish his very punish-worthy kidnapper,” Kali says with a laugh and a smirk. This time, when I see her out of the corner of my eye, she’s riddled with holes and bleeding.

“Shit,” I murmur, and I swear to fuck, all five of those boys look at me like they can sense something’s wrong. See, that’s the thing about surrounding yourself with carefully astute monsters. They always know. Always.

“What is it?” Victor demands as my gaze swings back to him. I’m not getting out of this. And I can’t lie. There are no lies in Havoc. I glance away, pulling from Hael’s grip for a second.

“Can we get another round?” I ask, leaning over the bar. I know for a straight fact that my ass is now hanging out of this dress.

“Jesus, Bernadette,” Vic says, tugging my outfit down. “This is only for sharing in certain circles.” He laughs, a deep, dark male laugh that gives me the chills. “Now, stop flashing ass to avoid the question. What’s the matter with you?”

I turn back around, leaning my elbows on the bar. Everyone here who looks at me is either terrified or turned-on. Well, terrified or turned-on and terrified. They think I’m some sort of badass bitch. In reality, I’m just an awful poser myself.

“I can’t stop seeing Kali,” I tell them, having to raise my voice so they can hear my words over the music.

“Like, in your head?” Cal asks, taking a shot as soon as the bartender pours it. He tosses it back and then hops off the counter, turning the glass over carefully and placing it back on the bar with his blue nails. They’re disturbing, actually. The more I look at them, the more I think he wears them that way on purpose. They remind me of a corpse. I lift my eyes to his face and smile. Live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse, right? That’s Callum in a nutshell.

“Like, everywhere,” I correct, putting my fingers to my forehead and closing my eyes. “Visions, hallucinations, whatever. She taunts me.” I shrug my shoulders. “Probably just manifested trauma.”

“And you were going to tell us when?” Oscar asks, adjusting his glasses and cocking his head in that way that gives me the chills. He’s digging into me with slate-gray eyes and a frown like a knife’s edge. So sharp. It’s fucking cutting.

I steal another shot, but I can’t shake five sets of eyes by drinking.

“I’m telling you now,” I say, which is the biggest copout known to man. I stare into the shot glass. “I was going to say something after the break, if it was still going on.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Vic says, but the way he looks at Aaron terrifies me. It’s almost an … you were right sort of expression. The annulment springs in my mind, and I down a third shot.

“Let’s go dance,” I blurt as a new song comes on. I grab Hael’s hand—because he’s the easiest to deal with, emotionally speaking—and drag him to the dance floor.

“Well, well, Blackbird,” he purrs, dragging me so close that we’re as close to fucking as we are to dancing. “I see you’ve got good taste: you’ve picked the best letter of Havoc.”

“Just thought you’d be a club rat is all,” I yell over the music, leaning up on my tiptoes as Hael’s hands trace my waist. He settles his grip on my hips, squeezing me hard enough that I wonder if I won’t have bruises tomorrow.

“Seems like you were right,” he shouts back, molding my body to his as we dance. His honey-almond eyes look down into mine, much darker in the shadows of the club than they’d usually be. It gives him this edge, this reminder that every once in a while, that smile of his cracks.

My palms press against his chest as I look into his eyes. One of his legs between my own, pushing up my dress as we sway and rock to the beat. My skin is speckled with little droplets of sweat, the colored lights above our head turning them to rainbow jewels. When I lift up on my toes to press my mouth to Hael’s, he stops me with a finger against my lips.

He releases me abruptly and steps back, but his eyes never leave mine. I’m aching for him now, practically burning up. My stomach hurts, and my head is spinning. I end up closing my eyes, my body gyrating to the music. There’s a constant bassline thumping along that sounds like a heartbeat. I lean into that, letting it carry my movements as I drift through the shadows of the club, twisted up with alcohol. Being in here, around all these people, helps banish the awful thoughts skittering around inside my head.

And trust me: there are a lot of them.

When I open my eyes, I see that Hael’s moved even farther away. I can still see him, but only until a different man steps into view. And he most certainly is not a part of Havoc.

I look up, into a pair of blue eyes framed by thick lashes. The guy’s eyes are the color of sea glass, but, despite their unusual hue, there’s nothing inviting about them. Those natural female instincts of mine tell me to run.

Instead, when the guy steps up close and rests his hands on my hips, I let him.

His skin is pale, his hair jet-black. He’s got a slick smile and an expensive outfit. I know right away that this is James Barrasso, the son of the gang that showed up to a school party armed to the teeth. Because they’re looking for Havoc. Because they know Ophelia. The same gang that supplied the Charter Crew with drugs to sell.

Fucking hell.

I can only handle two songs with the guy before my nerve breaks. Luckily, right before I’m about to step away from him, he makes the break for me.

I stop dancing, swiping my hand across my forehead. My lips are parted, my tongue tasting the lipstick on my lower lip. He might think I’m looking at him like a hot fuck. In reality, I’ve decided this guy needs to die. I’ve been around enough predators to know one when I see him.