And then there are people like the Havoc Boys, rotten to the core, but who, in the darkness of their shadowed deeds, can change lives for the better.

“Your mother's an idiot,” Aaron says, his voice almost normal for once. “But don't worry too much about her—or the Thing. We've got plans in the works.”

“What are you going to do to her?” I ask, because this has been bothering me all summer, every sunny day when I sat by the creek with Heather and mulled over this decision in my mind. Havoc. Just that one word, and my fate was sealed. “Wait. Don't tell me, I don't want to know.”

“Are you worried we'll hurt her?” Aaron asks after a few moments of silence. There's a song on the radio called Gasoline by I Prevail, and I feel like it encompasses the Havoc Boys perfectly.

“I'm worried you won't hurt her enough,” I say, and then I turn my phone off and shove it into my pocket. She might call the police again, but oh well. I told her we were staying the night at a friend's house and not to worry. She can't exactly report me as a runaway with that text between us. If she does, I'll … sic the boys on her.

I close my eyes and scrub at my face with my hands.

We don't talk again, stopping at Heather's school while I apologize profusely to the after-school program director, and then lead her out to the van. On the way back, we stop by some random girl's house, and a peppy teenager hops into the back to sit next to Heather. Apparently her name is Jennifer Lowell, and she goes to Fuller High. She's eighteen, a senior, and as soon as she graduates, she's running off to the University of California San Diego, blah, blah, blah.

Eventually, I tune her out and Aaron turns up the music. I don't think he's particularly interested in her babbling either.

When we get back, the girl bounces into the house and greets Hael with a warm smile.

“Brittany's been asking after you,” she says, and I clench my jaw.

“Maybe she should've thought of that before she dumped me again?” Hael challenges with a raised brow. “The girls are upstairs by the way.”

“Brittany says you blocked her on, like, everything. Do you want me to give her a message?” Jennifer presses, biting her lower lip coyly. “Or … maybe you're just done with Brittany altogether?” She reaches up and trails a pink sparkly nail down Hael's chest.

He just stands there and lets her do it, too, which fucking pisses me off.

“What are you gonna do, Havoc Girl?” Vic whispers, pausing next to me and following my gaze across the room. “Let another bitch touch your boy?”

“He's not my boy,” I say dryly, and Vic shakes his head.

“Suit yourself.” He heads outside, and I find myself moving across the room. I slap Jenn's hand away from Hael's chest and give her the deadliest glare I can manage. It must work because she takes a full step back, eyes wide, and stops popping her damn bubblegum for a minute.

“You're here to watch the girls, not hit on the Havoc Boys. Keep your fucking hands to yourself and do your job.”

“We've got some good shit this week,” Callum says, lifting up a baggy of weed. “You want to get paid?” He tosses it to her and grins. “Do what the Havoc Girl says and keep the kids safe. Our guys will be patrolling the neighborhood. You need anything, you've got Vic's number.”

“Got it,” Jenn whispers, averting her eyes as I give Heather a goodbye kiss and follow Callum out into the cool evening air.

“Your guys?” I ask, and he shrugs one loose shoulder.

“We don't operate alone, you know that. right?” He glances my way and throws up a crooked smile. “The five of us, we're the core of everything, but we work well with others, provided they know who's boss.”

“Vic?” I ask dryly, and Cal shrugs again.

“Vic,” he agrees, moving over to the minivan. We all pile inside, and I end up in a captain's chair in the middle row, opposite the asshole in question. Aaron drives, Hael sits in the passenger seat, and Oscar and Callum occupy the back row.

“Off we go,” Vic says as I glance around and realize how much stuff they just loaded in here in the last ten minutes. “Last chance, Bernadette: are you sure you want to go?”

I look him dead in the eyes, and I nod.

Initially, I thought I could get my vengeance while keeping my hands clean.

What I didn't realize was that my fingers were dipped in crimson the moment I said yes to Havoc's price. I may as well enjoy the bloodshed.

The drive to Principal Vaughn's is a lot longer than I expected. I stop staring at the clock thirty minutes in, my fingers dancing across the dark surface of my phone. It's tempting to turn it back on and see if my mother's texted me again, but I don't think my nerves can handle her bullshit on top of everything else.

“Where is this cabin anyway?” I ask, and Vic glances my way, his face dark and unreadable in the shadows of the minivan. Nobody's talking much, the tension palpable. I just can't decide if it's because we're hunting our pervert of a principal, or if it's something more … me related.

“Middle of butt-fuck-nowhere,” Vic supplies finally, tapping tattooed knuckles against the window as he stares me down. I meet his gaze unflinching. I'm not afraid of you, I say with my eyes, but maybe that's a lie? “There's a turn-off just after McKenzie Bridge.”

I bite my lower lip and turn toward the window. On either side of us, there's nothing but trees and pure, obliterating blackness. That night the boys dropped me off on the side of the road, I think it was out this way somewhere.

A ripple of anxiety washes over me as I realize that I'm in a minivan full of strong, ruthless men. Out here, there'd quite literally be no one to hear me scream. They could do whatever they wanted with me.

“What's the plan?” I hear myself asking instead, feeling like my voice is somehow detached from the rest of me. Numbness. I gather it around me like a blanket, and make sure to stay well away from Victor Channing.

“Assuming Vaughn is there,” Vic begins, and Oscar interrupts.

“He's there.” His words are absolute, like he truly believes he's never made a mistake in his entire life. “But the real question is if he's alone or not, if he brought the nurse, or if he's got a new girl.”

“What about the nurse?” I ask, trying to remember her name. Whitney, was it? Whitney … something. The whole Prescott student body calls her the Nurse of Yes-Scott High, which, if you know that Principal Vaughn's first name is Scott, is actually a pretty clever saying. There's not a damn kid on campus who hasn't overheard yes, Scott, yes! coming from the nurse's office on occasion.

“What about her?” Vic asks, still not looking at me. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's glaring at the back of Hael's head.

“If she is there, then what?” I press. “Does she get hers, too?”

“She wasn't on your list,” Oscar says matter-of-factly, “and we have too much on our plates to take on charity work. If the nurse is there, we'll knock her out and tie her to a tree until we're finished with Principal Vaughn.”

I purse my lips, because they all know that Nurse Whtiney is just as culpable in all this shit as Vaughn is. She recruits girls, too, vulnerable girls who come to her to ask questions about birth control, or STDs, or finger-shaped bruises she should be reporting. Instead, she picks out the weak ones and coerces them into the cam business to make porn for her and her boss. She drives a Lexus, by the way. Should've had Hael blow that one up, too.

“And if there's a girl?” I continue, turning to look at Oscar. Vic might be the boss, but Oscar's the logistics of the Havoc operation. He pushes his glasses up his nose with a tattooed middle finger and smirks at me.

“We give her the keys to the Kia Sportage and send her on her way. You don't think we'd hurt an innocent girl, do you?” he taunts, and my hands curl into fists. “I mean, not unless we were hired to do it.”

“Fuck you,” I growl back, and Oscar laughs, this genteel laugh that's so at odds with his tattoos. “Now what's the plan with Vaughn? Be direct, remember?”

Oscar leans forward, his raven-black hair sliding across his forehead, gray eyes catching the light from the dash up front.

“We're going to put him in his underwear and degrade his ancient ass on a live feed.” My brows go up, but I have to admit there's a certain sense of poetic justice in Vaughn's sentence. “After that, if he's lucky, we release him into the woods with no phone, no pants, and no shoes. We'll set the cabin on fire, and then send his signed confession to the cops.”

“How are you going to get him to confess?” I ask, and Oscar doesn't hesitate before pulling his revolver out of his jacket. He smiles at me as he slides his thumb along the barrel, but it's not a very nice smile, not at all.

“With this.” The matter-of-fact tone in his voice never changes.

“Anything about the plan you don't like?” Vic asks me, and a shiver takes over me. The memories of him touching me aren't nearly as faded around the edges as I'd like. Instead, when he talks, they burn. His body pushing inside of mine, taking over me, his fingers dancing a dirty rhythm over my core.

I grit my teeth.

“I like it,” I say, glancing over at Callum. He's leaning against the window, watching me with those blue eyes. I remember in elementary school how we had to do square dancing lessons on Fridays. I hated it. I used to cry and sit in the corner with my hands over my ears. And then one day, I saw Callum dancing with another little girl from our class. He looked so happy doing it that I got up and hesitantly moved over to stand near him. He held out his hand and smiled at me, and I joined in. The dancing wasn't so bad as I'd thought, and for a while there, my life got a little less dark.

I'll never forget that.

Doubt he remembers that moment though.