I freeze, but my heart doesn't get the memo. I can hear it pounding like a war drum.

“Bernadette,” he says carefully, running his tongue across his lower lip. His eyes actually look brown today, like some of the shadows have been stripped away. Make no mistake: when he smiles, angels cry. But he looks moderately less scary and that’s saying something.

“Are we doing … Havoc stuff today?” I ask, the words husky as I try not to stare at his bare chest or the bitemarks on his neck, the red welts from my nails on his arms and shoulders. I've thoroughly marked Victor Channing, and I haven't spent much time in front of the mirror today, but … I glance to the side and catch a quick glimpse of my face and neck. There are red hickeys on my throat, no doubt about that.

I glance back at Vic, and he shrugs, those muscular shoulders of his moving like well-oiled pistons.

“I think we've all earned a break,” he says, his eyes taking me in, absorbing me, wrecking me, ripping me to pieces without even trying. I'm completely numb without you. The last thing in the world I want to do is go home right now, but I don't want to be here either.

I need space from Vic.

“Okay.” It's the only world that'll come out. I've forgotten the English language.

“Bernadette,” he says in that way of his. “Are you trying to run away from me again?”

“I don't …” I pause when I see Hael leaning against the wall, watching us. His honey-brown eyes meet mine, and he cocks a little half-smirk that doesn't quite reach his gaze. “I need to figure out Halloween costumes—for Heather and for me. We're going to a stupid party, right?”

“As relevant as all of that information is,” Vic starts, his voice smooth and low, “it's not an answer to my question.”

“I don't need to run from you, Victor Channing,” I say, slipping under his arm and moving into the hallway. I pretend like I don't feel Hael's eyes on me either.

“You don't? Because you're acting like you can't get away fast enough.” He turns to look at me, spots Hael leaning against the wall, and frowns. “What?” he asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.

“Nothing. Brittany wants to meet me somewhere today to talk.” Hael rolls his eyes and pushes up off the wall. “But I wasn't sure, what with all those white trash weasels on our dicks, if I should go alone.”

“Take Bernadette with you,” Vic says, voice still solidly neutral. Guess we’re not going to talk about last night, and that’s fine with me. “She wants to get away from me; you want to piss Brittany off.” He shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't matter, but it does. He said as much last night. “Callum can tag along, too. When you're done, pick the girls up from their birthday party, and take Heather and Bernadette home.”

Victor heads down the steps without looking at me, and I can't decide if I just stood my ground or made a crucial mistake.

“You okay?” Hael asks, studying me. I'm dressed in dark jeans and a top that plunges just a little too far between my supposedly G-size breasts. “About last night …”

“I'm fine,” I blurt, interrupting him. I’m not ready to deal with last night just yet. “How's Brittany?” I don't mean the words to come out quite that snippy, but there it is. Guess I’m not a huge Brittany fan after all.

Vic would've noticed my tone, not sure that Hael does.

“Oh, same, same, always with the goddamn drama. She fabricates it to keep herself busy.” He comes over to stand beside me, and I can feel it, that crackle in the air between us that makes my palms sweat. “You sure you're okay?” he repeats, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Maybe you're the one who's not okay? Getting kicked out in the middle of sex …” Hael grits his teeth and shakes his arms out like he's shedding his frustrations from last night. I swear, I thought the two of them were going to spatter those walls with blood.

“Victor's intense,” Hael says, shrugging again, his brown eyes trained on my face. “Just sayin’. If you need to chat about it …”

“You're not about to be my coffee buddy,” I reply, taking a step back to put some space between us. “That's not really where our relationship's headed.”

“Where is it headed then?” Hael asks with a laugh. He puts a hand on the wall and leans in toward me. “Don't pretend you don't fucking like me.”

“I like fucking you,” I admit, tucking my fingers into my pockets. “I just don't want to sit and have a heart-to-heart with you.”

Hael laughs again and shakes his head, running his hand over his bloodred faux hawk.

“Sure, sure.” He gestures in the direction of the stairs with his chin. “Let's get out of here before Vic changes his mind. Hey Cal!” Hael starts down the steps and hops off the bottom one. “You down for a coffee break?”

I come down the stairs and pause, noticing Callum stretching in the sunshine that's streaming through the sliding glass doors. Just beyond the glass, I can see Vic and Aaron smoking on the back patio. They’re both tense, shoulders taut. I can’t wait to get out of here.

“Were you doing yoga?” I ask, and Cal shrugs, grabbing a wet cloth off the table and swiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Yep,” he says, and then he gives me a mysterious little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “When you're smaller, like me,” he nods in the direction of me and Hael, indicating my slight frame compared to Hael's bulk, “you gottta stay limber. Makes beating the shit out of meatheads much, much easier.”

I raise an eyebrow as Callum yanks on his blue hoodie, grabs a pack of cigarettes from the table, and a Pepsi from the fridge.

“Ready,” he says, and off we go.

The coffee shop Hael takes us to is on the ‘good’ side of town, and I can see as we pull up to the curb that it's a Fuller High spot. They've practically pissed all over it. There are thank you letters and photos from all the sports teams, profusely thanking the shop for funding student athletics.

I'm not even out of the car yet, and I'm scoffing.

“If the coffee shop’s owners really wanted to help teens realize their potential, they'd give their money to Prescott,” I say as Hael turns off the engine.

“Yeah, but then they wouldn't get to preen their feathers and praise themselves for being philanthropists while counting all that cold-hard cash the Fuller kids bring into the café.” Hael raises both brows and climbs out, drawing the attention of every snot-nosed, middle-class bourgeois asshole hanging out at the bistro tables on the sidewalk.

I follow along behind him, noting that the students at least pretend to avert their gazes. They're afraid of Havoc, same as everyone else. The only kids from Fuller willing to stand up to the Havoc Boys are the players of the varsity football team. Their turf wars last year were epic.

Hael swaggers up the curb and pauses to hold open the door to the shop for me, pretending to cringe slightly when I give him a look.

“Right, you don't like gentlemen,” he says, leaning forward and letting his hot breath tease the shell of my ear. “But don't worry: I'm more than happy for you to suck my dick on campus again.” I elbow past him with Callum following behind. He makes a straight beeline to the counter for coffee and pastries.

Me, I find myself staring across a crowded room at what can be the one and only Brittany.

She's sitting there with long, dark hair shimmering over her shoulders, skull patterned tights, and a plaid miniskirt.

I'm so beyond confused.

But I know it's her by the way Hael's staring, his eyes narrowed, mouth pursed into a thin line.

“She's more nuanced than I expected,” I admit, and Hael coughs out a harsh laugh.

“It's almost Halloween, Bernadette,” he says, and then he starts off across the café, pausing in front of her and not bothering to take a seat. I could make myself scarce, join Callum at the counter, but it's more fun if I follow.

“I'm here. What do you want?” Hael asks, and Brittany snaps the PopSocket on her phone in, looking past him and over to me.

“Who's this?” she asks, her voice a harsh clip as she looks me over with dark brown eyes, clearly not all that impressed. “Are you off to the Halloween party tonight, too, then?”

“Everyday is Halloween for me,” I retort, enjoying the way her face crinkles up. I used to want to be like her, this beautiful, untouchable goddess among teens. I think most little girls entertain that thought at some point or another, the wish to be popular, to fit in but still stand out.

Havoc broke me of that.

The world broke me of that.

“I'm not talking to you with your new plaything in tow,” Brittany spits back, and I have to curl my hands into fists to control my temper. Her use of the word of plaything better just be a coincidence. If I find out that Hael told her anything about my deal with Havoc …

He slams one of his tattooed hands palm-down on the table, his usually cocky expression dead-serious.

“Do not talk about or to Bernadette. You hear me? I'll fucking destroy everything you hold dear, starting with that perfect relationship you have to dear old daddy.” Brittany's beautiful face cracks into a million pieces at his statement, and her eyes flame as she flicks her gaze over to me again.

Hael notices the path Brittany’s attention takes and a cruel smirk curves across his lips. One of his inked hands slides around the curve of my waist to rest against my lower back, pulling me in so that his hot, hard body is pressed up against mine. With practiced ease, he cups my chin with the tattooed fingers of his other hand and lifts my face for a kiss.

His tongue practically sizzles as it slides between my lips, taking over the empty space that Vic left, making all those shiny new emotions inside of me sparkle like diamonds. Heat races through me, curling low in my belly, making my already sore insides throb and ache for more.