“Oak River …” There could be monsters hiding behind those walls. I know for a fact that there are—or at least were—monsters there. Donald Asher was only one of a million spoiled rich kids with the devil crouching on his shoulder. But just because I prefer the brutal honestly and bloodshed of Prescott to the sneaking deviance of the wealthy, that doesn’t mean there aren’t some advantages to Heather attending that school.

Everybody knows—whether they admit or not—that privilege starts early. The parents who can afford to send their kids to wealthy schools always say things like, I’m not putting my child at a disadvantage to make a point! if you confront them about equally funding public schools and sending their kid to one.

There’s a meme about it, with one of the main characters from the movie Mean Girls. Regina George is leaning forward, and she says something to the effect of, “So you agree then? You agree that private schools give the wealthy an advantage over the lower classes?” It ensures that the best and the brightest don’t always succeed. Because how can you if you have to work an extra job after school to help pay rent while someone else is given private violin lessons? The system does not ensure the smartest or most capable become doctors or scientists or politicians; it favors the rich.

So.

Will I send Heather to a private school the way so many wealthy people do? To give her an advantage that I know she’d never have if she worked her way through Springfield’s poverty-stricken school system?

Before I can answer that question—for myself or anyone else—Aaron gears himself up to say whatever it is that’s on his mind.

“Bernadette,” he begins, giving me a look that says I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. “We have our crew all over the city; you know that.” He pauses and glances away for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “Pamela was seen with Ophelia this morning.”

I just stare back at him, but my knees feel suddenly weak and I put a hand on the wall to brace myself.

“Okay,” I reply, because my stomach has already hollowed out and I feel sick to the point of vomiting. I don’t have custody over Heather. That’s one of the things that’s been bugging me, eating at my brain like a parasite. I might be emancipated, but my sister is not. Challenging Pamela through the court system won’t work either. Actually, it might make things worse. I have no idea what Neil’s brother or father might do if they find out about a legal battle. What if, now that Neil is gone, they get involved?

“We can get the girls into the school to start on Monday. Actually, they can move in today.” Aaron’s face is pinched. He looks like he wants to punch something. This is where we understand each other best, as sibling-parents who never wanted the job of raising little girls, who resent it, but who would give their lives to keep working that job forever.

“How?” I ask, because I already know what I’m going to say now. I have to agree to this. I have to. Because it isn’t about me and my wants. It’s about keeping the girls safe. Here, with us, might be the safest place in the world, but we can’t always be with them. And we can’t keep them locked up like they’re in prison.

“You know those two contacts Oscar got out of Coraleigh?” Aaron asks, and it takes me a second to remember. Oh. The day he tied me up and fucked me. That day. “Both of them have wives on the schoolboard for Oak River.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much fucking better,” I snap back at him. “Pedophiles on the schoolboard.”

“Wives on the schoolboard,” Aaron corrects, but his voice is hollow, like he’s trying his hardest to convince me of something he also doesn’t want. “We can get them in with fake names. Bernie, we can hide them from the GMP and Ophelia. One of our crew works at the library there; he can keep an eye on them.” He pauses for a moment and sighs heavily. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you do, but we make hard choices in this life. You know that.”

“The rich people in this town are so fucked-up,” I groan, rubbing at my face with my hand. “What if one of their teachers is a pedo?”

“What if one of the teachers they have now is like Vaughn?” Aaron retorts, and I groan, sagging against the wall. He takes me into his arms, cast be damned. “Look, this isn’t permanent. It’s for now. We will figure this out. We always do. Besides, once Victor gets his inheritance, we can do anything, Bernie. Our methods, that money …” He trails off as I rest my forehead against his chest.

“I hate this,” I murmur, but I know he’s right. I know he is.

“Me, too,” he says, holding me there until Hael finally snaps out of his own funk and appears just in time to smack me in the ass.

“Better get moving,” he says, slipping past us and up the stairs.

I pull myself away from Aaron, our eyes meeting in a look of shared pain and frustration.

We’ll do this, but it’s going to piss us both off.

Gods help the next person who gets in our way.

I thought I wouldn’t cry, but I did. Especially when Heather looked at me after I explained that we were going to play a game, that she was going to call herself Hannah for a while. “To keep the bad guys from finding me, huh?” was how she replied to that. Because kids are always smarter than we give them credit for.

Shit, I’m seventeen and people like Sara Young tell me to lay off the caffeine, like I’m still a child.

“A bus?” I ask, as we pull into the driveway of a mansion in the Oak Park neighborhood. Jesus. Even ritzier than Oak River Heights. The entire place stinks of desperate wealth. I’ve always wondered if the rich have no souls, if they have to horde things and hurt others to feel anything at all. If they really did have souls, they wouldn’t crave so much pomp and circumstance.

I wore a special shirt today that says Eat the Rich.

Shit, I even left my raggedy winter coat open so Trinity could read the text without issue.

“A bus,” Victor confirms as Hael parks the Bronco in front of the garage doors of the house. Trinity is waiting on the porch, looking annoyed. She’s dressed like a typical snow bunny in a belted white down coat, white pants, and knee-high boots trimmed in fur that I’m sure isn’t faux.

“Let’s just drive ourselves,” Hael groans as I shift on Callum’s lap in the back seat. There are only five seats in the Bronco, so we made do. Either Vic thinks it’s too cold for the Harley—doubtful—or he just didn’t want to leave his metal baby in Trinity’s driveway.

“Get out,” Vic says, looking over his shoulder just once to make sure we all get the message. Play nice. I scowl at him as he exits the vehicle, moving around to the back to retrieve our bags.

“Did she know we were all coming?” Cal muses as he studies Trinity out the window. She’s looking straight at me, her hatred penetrating the glass. I ignore her and turn back to Callum.

“You mean, did she know that I was coming?” I ask, and then I slide off of his lap as Hael opens the door for me. He takes my hand as I hop out in my heeled black hiking boots. Yeah, they do make those. But only badass bitches can wear them.

I light up a cigarette as I stand there in the icy morning, a hint of frost in the air. It might snow. Doesn’t often in Springfield. Or, it used to not snow. Climate change and all that.

“She knew,” Victor tells me, striding past with his bag in his hand. I watch him go, glancing over at Trinity. She’s an Oak Valley Prep girl, through and through. She knows about Havoc, even if she wants to pretend that she’s above us somehow. Likely, she even knows what we did to Donald. The rumor mill has churned out stories of the boys’ brutality for years.

I rub at the bare spot on my finger where my wedding ring is supposed to sit. It’s on a chain under my shirt instead, but I’m most definitely not going to pretend like the promise of a divorce is enough to keep me away from Vic.

“Eventually, I’m going to get her alone in a room …” I start and Aaron gives me a tight smile.

“Just pretend like you’ve fallen in love with your ex again and see what she does. It shouldn’t be that hard to fake it, right?” His smile gets a bit wider, a bit more boy next door mixed with tattoos and bullshit. I grin back at him, moving around to get my bag when I see that one of the guys has already taken it and loaded it into the bus.

Oscar is standing there with his iPad in hand, but when he looks up, I can see that he’s dreading this just as much as I am.

I think about what he said to me the night of the murder mystery party. “I’m sorry that I’m not good at this, Bernadette.” There are so many things between us that need to be said, so many things that I’m dying to know.

“We should talk,” I say, before I lose my nerve. Oscar turns his head slowly to look at me, but at least he doesn’t snap back with some overly defensive bullshit. We stare at each other as his white glasses slide down his nose and he fixes them with a single finger. His middle one, of course, because how could he possibly not be a dick for two seconds?

“Since I'm sure Victor will be spending most of his time this weekend with Trinity …” Oscar leans in close to me, trailing his inked fingers down the length of my arm. The move is casual, not unexpected between lovers, but this is Oscar we’re talking about. Nothing he does is casual. He’s nothing if not a man of careful calculations and purposeful intent. That, and I'm sure I could live a thousand lives, die a thousand deaths, and I would never forget what he told me, why he doesn’t like to be touched. You know how he did it; he tried to strangle me. “You'll have plenty of free time to spend chatting with me.”

He draws his hand back suddenly, staring down at it with a sharp frown, like he isn't sure why he touched me in the first place.

Oscar takes off for the bus, leaving me alone with Aaron. I glance over to find him watching me, his face contemplative but peaceful. That’s a bit of a surprise for me to see, considering we just sent our girls away.