“What do you think that's all about?” Oscar asks absently, fingers teasing the edge of an empty wineglass that's upside down on the table. I wonder if the Oak Valley students have their own secret code, something they might say to one of the waiters to get them to actually pour some wine.

If there is, I certainly don’t know it. Instead, I managed to steal a bottle on my way past the bar earlier; this place is obviously not used to the sticky fingers of Prescott students.

“Trinity and James are fucking,” I say, grabbing a piece of bread from the basket on the table and wondering how long it's been since I actually sat down at a restaurant without the Thing present. He liked to take us all out to dinner and then rape my sister afterward. I feel suddenly sad and set the bread aside for a moment.

“You think so?” Aaron asks, looking between the two of them like he isn't quite convinced. “I mean, I guess it would explain why he's here.”

“What does a mobster’s son have to do with an Oak Valley aristocrat?” I query, shrugging my shoulders as Oscar swings his attention my way. “Only one thing: dick.” I finally pick up the piece of bread up and tear into it, earning a raised brow from Oscar and a smile from Aaron.

Hael and Cal are nowhere to be seen, doing their usual sweeps and collecting gossip.

So far, the only interesting bit of gossip I've encountered personally is that Trinity got a boob job when she turned sixteen. Unremarkable except for the smugness I get at knowing Prescott girls keep it real. I mean, we can't afford fake tits anyway. But otherwise, it seems our mystery woman is squeaky clean.

That, or she's just really, really good at keeping her secrets steeped in shadows.

Oscar Montauk

For weeks I've been watching Bernadette and waiting for the right time to move forward. The day of the murder mystery party, I almost did it, spilled everything out into the open for her to hear. Of course, Victor fucked that up when he interrupted.

Truth be told, I probably would’ve backtracked anyway, said something that I regretted. Despite how hard I've tried to keep Bernadette at arm’s length, she just keeps coming. At this point, she's too entangled in our world for me to save her by driving her away.

All I can do now is help her embrace the darkness.

“Where are you going?” she asks when she sees me standing near the door to the hallway, dressed in black jeans and an Oak Valley Prep hoodie. Don’t ask how I got it. Obviously, I stole it. I might not be as skilled in that arena as Callum, but you don’t survive in Prescott without learning how to take what you need.

“One of Trinity’s friends,” I begin, gesturing absently at my face, “has a big mouth. I learned from her that Trinity has plans for tonight.”

Bernadette gives a curt nod.

“Based on the way you were just gesturing, I’m going to guess this is the friend with the fucked-up nose job?”

I stare back at her, but the joke falls flat because I refuse to laugh at it. Because I’m so goddamn worried about staying in control all the time. It’s just force of habit now, something I’ve learned to live with. But it’s a habit I’d quite literally kill to break.

Then again, I kill for all sorts of reasons.

“Okay, never mind then,” Bernie says, standing there in a loose-fitting t-shirt and some borrowed boxers. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s wearing my boxers. My fingers twitch and then curl into fists.

Seeing her in my clothes makes me feel … impossible. As in, I have no idea how to behave. Emotions burn through me like flames, but there’s no outlet for them other than my wicked tongue.

“Why don’t you go join Victor in the shower? I don’t need a companion for this, and your skillsets lie elsewhere.” I blink through the acidity of my own words, the contacts I’m wearing burning my eyes as I hold them open for far too long in between.

“Did you just … call me a whore?” Bernie asks, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at the floor with her green eyes closed for a brief moment. “Because if you did, we’re going to have problems.”

I feel all of that hate and pain inside of me twist into a tight knot, and then a scoff comes out that I barely register.

“Put on some proper clothes and meet me in the hallway.” I step out and slam the door behind me, only to find Cal waiting against the far wall. He’s got one foot up on the paneling behind him, hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Don’t start with me today,” I warn him, moving past him and pausing below a terribly unflattering impressionist painting. It’s as if Claude Monet’s Poppies were vomited out the mouth of an amateur.

I sneer at the wall because I sincerely despise the wealthy.

My father was one. He thought of himself as an aristocrat. And then, one day, he found out we’d lost everything, and he snapped. I ended up half-strangled in a hole with my dead mother’s arms wrapped around me. My skin ripples in a shiver that I can’t control; there are many reasons why I hate being touched. Every time those thoughts get so loud that I can’t breathe, I get a new tattoo or a piercing and the pain drives it away like a cross wielded by an exorcist.

“O, don’t fuck this up for yourself,” Callum warns, and I glance back to see that he’s stood up and thrown his hood back. Once, right after it happened, I let Cal hug me. Just once. It lasted ten minutes, and then I never let anyone touch me again after that. But we both remember. He’s always been the closest friend I’ve had in Havoc. “Tell her why you’re struggling, tell her that you love her, and then stop fucking punishing yourself. I swear to god, I just had this same conversation with Bernadette.”

Callum pauses as the door opens and she appears as if summoned … wearing one of my fucking button-downs and a tie over my boxer shorts.

“Found some proper clothes,” she quips, wearing heels that are so tall they’re almost obscene. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, off to do some spying?” Cal whispers mischievously, pausing to give Bernadette a kiss on the cheek as he passes. “The place is secure; there aren’t a lot of people here who aren’t students. You should be pretty safe, but keep your eyes peeled and try not to get caught.” He slips into the room like a shadow, leaving me and Bernadette alone.

“I would hardly call that a proper outfit,” I quip, and she cocks a brow at me.

“I’d hardly call you a proper boyfriend. What was it you said to me? You asked for me, so you’ve got me.”

I visibly cringe, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes for a brief moment. What a socially maladroit thing to say. But I did say it. I meant it, too. What Bernadette doesn’t understand is that this is me trying. I have given myself to her. I’m surrendering, but it’s like the slow drip of ice from a glacier.

“Let’s go.” I turn and take off down the sweeping hall like I know where I’m going. Really, I’m just following the numbers of the doors until I get to the one I’m looking for. I dig the stolen skeleton key from my pocket, the one that Cal filched from the groundskeeper, and then I open the door.

It’s just an empty room, a bit larger and a bit nicer than the connecting suites we’ve got, but there’s nothing of interest in it. Yet. All I know is that this is where Trinity Jade will be somewhere in the next few hours.

“She’s meeting someone here?” Bernadette asks, but I don’t know, so I just shake my head.

“Her friend—” I start, and she interrupts me.

“Nose Job.”

“Whatever you want to call her,” I continue with a slight growl. Bernadette smiles when she sees that crack in my control, but I pretend like I don’t notice. “She said that Trinity couldn’t make some movie night thing in her room because she was going to be in this one. I don’t know what that means or what she’s doing, but we’re going to find out.”

The room consists of two parts, a small sitting area with a fireplace and a bar. Through a sliding barn door, I can see the bed, but I stay well away from that. With Bernadette wearing my shirt, and me in this mood …

I wish I’d packed my rope.

“Should we wait in the closet or something?” Bernie asks, moving around the room and letting her fingers trail across the back of the couch, a decorative side table, the top of the bar. I watch her like my gaze is spelled, like I couldn’t look away without cutting my eyes from my own skull.

“Depends on how fast you can find a hiding place,” I reply, opening up a large cabinet near the fireplace. There’s always the chance of being caught, no matter where you hide. But that’s also why I brought a knife. That, and a revolver.

I close the cabinet—there’s nothing in there but extra wood for the fireplace—while Bernadette opens a massive wardrobe, one that’s easily big enough for two people.

“This should work,” she says, and then she climbs in and leans against one wall. It’s a decent place to hide considering the nature of this game. Trinity already has a room, so she obviously won’t be staying in this one. Without needing to put away any clothes, why would she ever open the wardrobe?

I join Bernadette, taking up the opposite side of the space and closing the doors behind us. A thin bar of light cuts her shadowed face in half, but it’s about the only part of her that I can see.

“Reconnaissance is incredibly dull; it’s why we usually make our crew do these kinds of things.” I keep my voice low enough that if Trinity were to come into the room quickly, the sound of the door opening would muffle it completely.

“So let’s make it less dull,” she challenges, pushing up off the wall and coming toward me. I let her do it, too, let her push her body up against the front of mine. My cock stirs in my jeans, and my jaw clenches so hard that my teeth hurt. “Tell me why you’re so mean all the time.”

“Because, Bernadette,” I growl back at her, reaching up to grab her chin. She lets me dig inked fingers into her face and then she smiles in triumph because I’m now willingly touching her again. But I don’t stop. Instead, I curl my other arm around her waist. For a split-second, I just keep her there, reveling in the fact that I’m not as awful and wicked and disturbed as I think I am. Because I can hold a girl in my arms, and I can like it. Even as I choke on the words I need to say like I’m coughing up blood. “I’m broken. My father tried to strangle me, and then he wrapped my dead mother’s arms around me and pushed me into a dark hole.”