“A real man admits his mistakes.” Vic's dark gaze moves from Aaron to Oscar, and the two exchange a look of their own. “Isn't that right, Oscar?”

“Mm.” That's the only response we get as Hael slips his shirt off, his brightly colored ink catching the sunshine as he gets beneath the hood of one of the car skeletons inside the garage, unscrewing the bumper while Callum waits nearby to lift it off for him.

“Can we be done with this, Bernie?” Vic asks, lifting an eyebrow. He knows he messed up. I'm glad about that at least, but I don't trust him for shit. He can't repair that quite so easily.

“What about the Kevlar?” Aaron asks, wiping my knuckles down with some antiseptic wipes that Oscar brings over to him. He cleans my skin with a careful intensity that has me shivering, even with the hot sun on my bare shoulders. “You gonna apologize about that?”

“What Kevlar situation?” I ask, fully aware that I have yet to accept Vic's apology. He grits his teeth, also fully aware of the situation I'm sure. Although I can't decide if half of his ire is for Aaron, or if it's all just specially cooked up for me.

“At the Halloween party,” Aaron says, taking a pink disposable razor from Oscar and running it over my knuckles to get rid of the small blonde hairs there. He switches it out for another antiseptic wipe, giving me one, last scrub down before he takes a seat in a chair brought over by Oscar. “I wanted you to wear Kevlar; Vic thought it would be too obvious.”

“Too obvious for what?” I ask, taking in a sharp breath as I prepare myself for the sting of the needle. That's the thing with tattoos; they always hurt. But it's a good sort of hurt, as the ink mixes with the blood, and the pain begins to edge toward a sick, sadistic sort of pleasure. It shouldn't feel good to hurt like this, but it does. It reminds me of what Callum said outside of Principal Vaughn's house, how pain can look pretty to those that have too much of it.

“If we walked in there with you wearing Kevlar over that sexy, little midsection of yours, then the Charter Crew would've known we were on the lookout for their bullshit.” Vic turns away, facing off toward the road and the distant rumble of cars. The train tracks are just across the street from us, and we're only about three blocks away from the drive-in. “It was a tactical decision.”

“A risky tactical decision,” Aaron says, turning his attention back to me. “You ready?” I nod, feeling beads of sweat trail down my spine. Once I do this, I'm committed. The only way to scrub Havoc from my body after this would be to get some crazy expensive laser treatments. The thing is, after what I've already been through with them, I doubt I could ever scrub them from my heart and soul. “You put Bernadette's life in danger.” Aaron starts the machine with a pleasant buzz, running his tongue across his lower lip and then looking up to meet my eyes. He presses the tip of the needle into my thumb and my breath escapes in a rush. “And you didn't ask her either.”

“Right, yeah, we're having a bit of trouble adjusting. But we're getting there, aren't we, Bernie?” I don't look at Vic as he talks, focusing my attention instead on Aaron as he carves the letter H into my skin. It hurts like a bitch, I won't lie. It burns through me, and the vibration of the machine makes my hand quiver, like the movement is translating into my bones. It's shaping me, this tattoo, in a way that none of the others have.

I'd thought when I first uttered the word Havoc that I was pressing start on this chapter of my life, that I was turning the page to race toward a cliff-hanger of an ending that I may or may not survive. But no. That was the motherfucking prologue. As I look down and see the letters take shape on my fingers, I know that this is it. This is my new beginning.

I glance over at Oscar, finding him watching me and not the tattoo machine. Hael and Callum are still in the process of dismantling the old car, but I can tell they're listening, too. Oscar thought letting me see that recording of Penelope and the Thing would send me running.

Instead, it's only cemented my desire for vengeance.

“Don't make decisions like that without telling me,” I say quietly, my voice threaded with steel. I keep watching Aaron's fingers as he moves the needle across my knuckles. “Especially ones that involve my life,” I snap off the end of my tongue. I'm not sure if I'm pleased that Vic was willing to go so far to achieve his ends … or pissed off. I could've been shot. If Aaron hadn't taken that bullet for me, I would have been. I could've died.

And Victor Channing was willing to take that risk.

“She has a point,” Hael says, coming over to stand between Vic and the car. “If she's one of us, then she's one of us. If she's not, then … “He shrugs his shoulders and gestures loosely with a grease-covered rag in the direction of my fresh tattoo. “You're going to marry her. Don't you think she has a right to be brought in on everything?”

Callum appears on my other side, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his sleeveless hoodie. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. His smile says it all. He knew about the Kevlar, about the video, and he didn't tell me shit. Because as nice as he is, as friendly as he pretends to be, he’s still the C in Havoc, first and foremost.

“Oh, by the way, we're missing a few parts.” Cal throws his thumb in the direction of the old car. “I know where we can boost what we need though. There's this investment banker that lives in Oak Park that has a fully restored Eldorado. We'll break in there and grab what we need this weekend.”

“I'll go with you,” I add as Vic works his jaw, watching as Aaron starts in on the V portion of my tattoo. It kills Victor to see Aaron do that, carve his letter into my flesh. He hates it. But as per usual, he maintains control of his temper.

“Oh, by we,” Callum starts, smiling as he leans in close to me. In a surprisingly bold move, he nips the edge of my ear and a small gasp escapes me, one that’s impossible to hide. “I actually meant our crew; stealing car parts is most definitely grunt work. We have better things to do.”

I nod, licking my lips as Aaron carves admirably straight lines into my flesh. He might have a lot of tattoos, but tattoo artist he is not. This could easily be his first time doing this. If I had to choose a boy to do my ink though, it’d be Aaron. While Oscar’s lines on Hael’s knuckles are a calligrapher’s wet dream, they don’t have enough … heart.

Aaron’s are pretty good, and they smack of emotion. That’s what I like best.

“You never answered me,” Hael says, his voice dropping low. Victor turns his head to stare at his best friend, and the mood gets tense there for a moment. “As your future wife, what rights does Bernadette have?”

Vic clenches his jaw and looks away, but Aaron doesn’t. His eyes are boring directly into mine.

“All of them,” Vic says, sighing deeply. “Everything. I want her to have everything.” He glances my way, but I can’t turn away from Aaron, not when he’s making me bleed in such a delicious sort of way. My bones hurt, my skin hurts, but the injection of ink into my flesh is like an orgasm, taking over me, marking me. It’s just with ink instead of cum, I guess. “Aaron was right. Is right. I’m sorry about the Kevlar, too.”

There’s a long pause as everyone in that garage waits with bated breath to hear what I have to say.

“It takes big balls to admit when you’re wrong,” I say, nodding, but still looking at Aaron. Lost. Trapped. Mesmerized. “You’re all forgiven.” A feeling of relief seems to ripple through them. Hael moves off to continue working on the car, Callum lifts the rusted bumper up to move it, and Oscar finds a seat on a plastic chair. “But if you do it again, there won’t be a second chance.”

“Understood,” Vic says, but he doesn’t press. This moment isn’t about him. It’s about me.

Aaron finishes my tattoo and cleans me up, covering the newly inscribed wounds on my knuckles with a plastic wrap made specifically for this purpose. I then grab his hand, dragging him around the side of the garage and to the back of the building. It’s shaded, the long grass waving in the wind as I encourage him to lean back against the corrugated metal wall.

“What?” he asks, looking down at me, my hand shaking and bloodied by my side. The wrap will keep it from leaking—which, grossly enough, tattoos are wont to do. “I didn’t fuck it up, did I? I’ll punish myself forever if I marred your perfect skin.”

My lips twitch slightly, but I don’t know how to say what I want to say without sounding … lovestruck. You finally did it. You stood up for me, against Victor. It was no big thing, but it didn’t need to be. Love isn’t about sweeping grand gestures, it’s about doing little things each day to keep each other happy, little personal sacrifices instead of showy acts.

“I just wanted to say …” I start, stepping forward and putting my hands on his lower belly. Aaron doesn’t argue with me about not finishing my sentence, not when I drop down to my knees and free his cock from his pants.

The fingers of my right hand curl around the base as I slip my blue-painted lips over the tip, sucking him deep and taking my time with it.

When he walk back around the building and into the garage, I’m still dabbing at the corners of my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. There’s not much I can do about the smears of blue though.

“Go home to your sister,” Vic says when he sees me, scowling like he has any right to judge. I don’t hesitate, walking right up to him and leaning up on my tiptoes to give him a messy blue kiss, right on the cheek. He looks dumbstruck over it. The guy knows how to mate like a lion, but he can’t handle a cheek kiss?

We have serious issues to work on here.

“On it,” I agree, happy to climb into Aaron’s Bronco with him.

Maybe I suck him off on the way back, maybe I don’t.

Either way, there’s plenty of room in the SUV for it.