“What's happening on Wednesday?” I call out, but he either doesn't hear me or chooses to ignore me, leaving me alone in the beautiful urban decay that is Prescott High.

“How have your dates with Brittany been?” I ask Hael, glancing over at him as he grips the steering wheel of the Camaro in tight fingers. I've barely seen him since Friday, and it just pisses me all the way off that he's with Brittany when he should rightfully be with … well, Havoc. I mean, he's the first fucking letter in the acronym, right?

“How do you think? A living hell,” he snaps, swiping a hand down his face as I raise my brows. “Sorry, Blackbird. I don't mean to snap, but I just … I didn't see my senior year being about doctor's visits and cribs and car seats. She wants us to talk to her dad on Friday, too, so there's a good chance I'll be attending my own funeral before the birth of my kid.”

“If it's your kid,” I add, but maybe that's for my own benefit because Hael doesn't seem particularly optimistic. He scowls, and I have to wonder what Brittany told him about the other possible father. He hasn't said anything, but I figure he's just been gearing up for it.

“Listen to you complaining,” Callum says with a grin, leaning between the two front seats with his hood down for once, golden hair shining in the sun. Like a poisonous spider with a brightly colored exoskeleton, warning off potential predators. “If you didn't want senior year to include a baby, and all the stuff that goes with it, you could've held back on the sex.”

Hael grits his teeth as we wait for Oscar and Aaron. With the minivan out of commission, we're a little short on rides around here.

“It's so easy to say that now,” Hael growls out, revving the engine and then sighing dramatically. He glances my way, almost apologetically. “Besides, I used condoms every. fucking. time. There's no reason this should've happened.”

I keep my arms crossed over my chest, my attention focused on his beautiful face. I'm not sure that there's ever been a man quite so pretty, yet handsome at the same time. I've been lusting after him for years, but now that he's within my grasp, he suddenly feels even further away. Even if it his kid, that doesn't mean you can't—

Ugh.

I’m as addicted to these assholes as Pamela is to being a cunt. It’s impossible for me to stop, to resist, to pull back.

“What are we up to today?” I ask, spotting Aaron and Oscar across the street.

The expression on Hael's face softens slightly, and he adjusts his hands on the wheel, flashing the HAVOC tattoo on his knuckles.

“Today's a good day,” Hael says, nodding his head briefly. “I shouldn't be harping around Brittany, and all that shit. Today isn't about me.”

“Then who's it about?” I ask as Hael opens his door and climbs out to let the others in. He pauses briefly to peep in at me, lifting a reddish-brown brow.

“You, babe. You.”

Hael moves out of the way, leaving Aaron and Oscar to squeeze into the backseat with Callum. They're all fucking huge, so the effect is somewhat like a clown car.

“You guys looking ridiculous,” I crow, trying to hold back a grin. I wonder briefly why I'm not with Vic, sitting on the back of his Harley. That'd free up another seat and make things way more comfortable. Unfortunately, he's nowhere to be seen, so we're going to have to make do.

My guess: he’s still furious about me fucking Aaron.

Speaking of …

I don’t look over my shoulder at my ex. Shit, I don’t even know if I’d really call him an ex anymore. The sex was … explosive. I’d been expecting good, nostalgic, comfortable. Aaron Fadler could give Vic and a Hael a run for their money.

“Don’t get started on that whiny crap,” Oscar says, and I spin around to glare at him as Hael revs the Camaro’s engine like he’s fucking her.

“Goddamn, that’s beautiful,” he murmurs, giving his crotch a squeeze and winking at me as I glance his way. But then we take off and I turn back to berate Oscar for being a prick.

Oscar’s not looking at me though, his attention focused on Aaron as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat.

Ah.

I’d almost forgotten that he was claustrophobic. It’s apparent now that Oscar’s quip was meant to shame him. Doesn’t make me any less angry, but more so.

“Oscar, do you masturbate by sticking a razor-coated dildo up your ass every morning? Because you sure as shit act like it.” I reach back to touch Aaron’s hand and he cracks both a smile and a single eyelid, so that he can look at me.

“I even use the blood as lube,” Oscar responds smoothly, looking down at a spreadsheet on his iPad. I’m impressed by the quick clapback actually, but I still feel bad for Aaron.

“How long is this drive anyway?” I ask, because I have no clue where we’re going. Realistically, for most girls, you’d have to be a brain-dead idiot to get in a car and start driving with four guys to an unknown destination. This, though, this is different. Like I said, nothing about this is normal.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” Cal answers, tucking a knee up against his chest and leaning his chin on it. He watches me from sky-colored eyes. “We’re taking you to the garage.”

“The garage?” I start, before the pieces of this puzzle finally click together. “Like … for cars?”

“As if there were any other kind,” Oscar murmurs, and I dig my nails into the back of my seat to keep from punching him. Instead, I focus on the spreadsheet he’s playing with and see that it’s a list of people.

My list of people.

By first and last name.

My eyes widen as Oscar flicks his gray gaze to me. He doesn’t care that I’m looking. Actually, I’m pretty sure he wants me to see it.

The first column of that spreadsheet holds names like Neil Pence down its vertical length, followed by rows of numbers. At the top of each column, there are acronyms that I don’t understand.

“Curious as a kitty cat?” Oscar quips as Hael throws us around curves in the road like he’s got something to prove. He rolls his window down to let the air ruffle his red hair, and just laughs. Okay, nope, I was wrong. He isn’t proving anything: he’s just in love with the road. “Do you want to know what this column is for?”

Even though I know Oscar is baiting me, I bite. Why the hell not?

“What?” I ask as he leans forward and gets in my face, glasses shining with a stray shaft of sunlight.

“These are my calculations for risk. That is, how likely is it that we’d be caught if we murdered the person in question.” My eyes widen, flicking back down to the spreadsheet to read the numbers. I barely get a chance to see anything before Oscar is shutting off the screen and tucking it away. He weaves his fingers together around the knee of his crossed leg and stares back at me in challenge, daring me to beg.

I’d rather die.

But at least I saw one thing of interest: Eric Kushner’s column for risk … was only three percent.

Uh-oh.

I’d sure as shit hate to be him right now.

When we arrive at the garage, Victor is waiting, sitting on the hood of some rusty junker without wheels. It looks like it hasn't been in service for, like, decades.

“What the hell is this?” I ask when I climb out, pausing at the end of the grease-soaked driveway and looking around. Off to one side, there's a row of pretty vintage cars, their paint shiny and fresh, their interiors sleek and freshly remodeled.

“Our garage,” Vic says with a shrug of his big shoulders. He hops off the hood of the car and parks a cigarette between his lips, talking around it as he cups the end and lights up.

“By our, you mean …”

“Havoc's garage,” Oscar says, pausing beside me with his mouth in a thin line. “We collect junkers and flip them for profit.”

“You mean I collect junkers and flip them for profit,” Hael says, moving over to stand beside the rusty piece of shit that's propped up by cinder blocks. He taps the side of the car and flashes one of his shit-eating grins at me. “And this one right here, Blackbird, this is for you, baby.”

I lift a brow and then glance over at the baby pink convertible on my left that matches my leather jacket.

“That …” I start, pointing at the rusted crap-heap. “That's my car? Why can't I have one of those?” I switch my finger over from the junker to the classic beauties on my left. “I'll give you a hint: one of these makes me wet, and the other turns this cooch into the Sahara Desert.”

Hael howls with laughter, and Vic grins as Callum hops up onto the hood of the pink convertible.

“Those cars are already marked for sale,” Oscar says, glancing down at his goddamn iPad again. Sometimes I want to tear it from his hand and smash him in the face with it. Fairly sure at this point that he's married to the damn thing.

“Besides,” Vic says, gesturing with his chin in Hael's direction. “He picked this one out for you, all special and shit. You want to tell her about it, Hael?”

I cross my arms over my chest as Hael walks around the junker, whistling under his breath like he's checking out a particularly beautiful woman.

“Well, my dear Miss Blackbird,” he says, grabbing onto the trunk and pretending to fuck the crap out of the car's trunk. I'm not amused. I raise a brow at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I'm sure you think having your semen splattered across the trunk of the car makes it more valuable, but to be quite honest, I'm not buying it. Explain, or I'll start to think you don't like me.”

“This,” Hael begins, flashing a sharp smile. “Is a ‘57 Cadillac Eldorado.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, but since I don't know shit about cars, I just stand there, waiting for the rest of the explanation. Hael sighs and comes back around to stand next to Vic.