“Last year, I tried to make their costumes, you know? Like I sat down and tried to sew shit.”

“You tried to sew?” I ask, blinking in surprise and then clamping a hand over my lips to stop a surprised giggle. Aaron raises a brunette brow at me.

“You think that’s so funny? Me sitting down to sew a princess costume?”

“I think it’s hilarious,” I reply, finally giving into the chuckle. “A seventeen-year-old inked-up asshole sitting down with a needle and thread? That’s the punchline of a joke if I’ve ever heard one.” He smirks at me and shakes his head, easing the van forward and heading toward Heather’s school.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to give the girls something authentic or … like, something I used to have …” He trails off, and his eyes go dark, looking at something far, far away from here. The past, most likely. Until Aaron’s mom left, she was the Suzy Homemaker type. She baked, sewed, decorated. His past and present are two completely different realities. “Anyway, the costumes fucking sucked, so this year, I gave in and just bought some bagged shit from the Hellhole.”

He gestures to the plastic bag between our seats, and I reach down to peep inside. There’s a pre-packaged fairy costume, some glittery wings made of wire and tulle, and various accessories. The second costume is a sassy little witch with striped tights.

“At least you went the extra mile and bought add-ons,” I remark, noticing the carved wood broom beneath the bag, and the witch’s hat peeking out from the back seat. “After Dad died, I didn’t get costumes anymore. Well, I mean, there was that one year when I was eight and cried about it, so Mom cut holes in my sheets to make me a ghost …”

“A pink ghost patterned with a gaudy Minnie Mouse print,” Aaron adds, and I smile. It’s not a nice smile though, more like a melancholy one. I’d almost forgotten that he knew all my stories. We have history together, I think, my fingers picking at the holey knees of my jeans. Silence reigns supreme for several moments before Aaron speaks up again. “But you’re right: they’ll remember I put in some effort, at least.” He pauses again and wets his lower lip, like he’s nervous. “Do you think you could help with their makeup? I fucking suck at it. No matter how many YouTube videos I watch …”

I lift my head up to look at him, tucking some blond hair behind my ear. He really is pretty, isn’t he? I think, shifting in my seat and trying not to let those old sour feelings of mine rush to the surface. We have to learn to get along. Blood in, blood out …

“I’d be happy to,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt, so I can climb out and grab Heather. As I reach for the door handle though, I feel Aaron’s fingers on my arms. Adrenaline shoots through me as I glance back.

His face is resolute, determined, his jaw clenched.

“I know it can’t possibly make up for everything that happened, but for what it’s worth, Bernadette, I’m … I’m sorry.” My eyes widen, and I try to pull away, but Aaron won’t let me go. His fingers dig into my skin, and my hands start to shake. “I’ve never stopped loving you; I just thought you should know that.”

I tear my arm from his grip and slam the car door, putting my back to it and closing my eyes. I don’t even care that Aaron can still see me standing there. What the actual fuck?! How dare he throw that shit in my face like that. How dare he. How fucking dare he …

“Are you okay?” Heather asks as she approaches me cautiously, dressed in an orange and black Halloween sweater. Neither my little sister nor Aaron’s girls were allowed to wear their costumes to either school. Makes me sad. I remember how everyone used to get dressed up, and we’d have Halloween cupcakes and candy during class. Guess times have changed a bit since I was in elementary school, huh?

“I’m fine,” I say, pushing up off the van and signing the school monitor’s little clipboard. I throw open the back door and hold her backpack while she climbs in. She, of course, is more than happy to see Aaron. The two of them start chatting about possible trick or treating routes—for years I’ve taken her to the rich people neighborhood in Oak River Heights—and I stare out the window, trying my best to process Aaron’s words.

“I’ve never stopped loving you.”

And that means what? That he still does love me?

I decide I can’t deal with this revelation, not tonight.

We grab Kara and Ashley and then head back to Aaron’s place where the rest of the Havoc crew is waiting for us.

“We have four hours until we need to leave for Stacey’s party,” Oscar informs us, leaning over the counter in the half-bath near the front door. He’s got a black makeup crayon in his hand, turning to face me with some ghastly dark circles around his eyes. I won’t lie, I have to stop and do a bit of a double take.

“What are you supposed to be?” I ask, and a sharp smirk curves over Oscar’s lips.

“You’ll see,” he warns, a dark note in his voice that makes me shiver. I shake the feeling off and roll my eyes, guiding the girls upstairs to help them into their costumes. Aaron hovers nearby, but finally gives up and heads outside to smoke a joint.

“Something happen between you two?” Vic asks me, cornering me as I herd the girls back downstairs for better lighting. He cuts me off at the staircase as the three little ones skip past. My skin feels suddenly too tight, and I have to resist the urge to squirm under that sharp gaze.

“If it did, would it be your business?” I ask, and he gives me this shit-eating grin.

“It would, yeah.” Victor reaches out with that big hand of his, smoothing some of my hair back. Just that little touch makes me want him, and I hate that. I hate that I feel like a drug addict with a habit when he’s around. “You’re my girl, remember?”

“Since when?” Cal asks, appearing from the shadows of the spare bedroom. I’ve just barely peeked in there, but it’s got one queen bed and a set of bunk beds on the opposite wall. Back in the day, when Aaron’s parents lived here, it was his dad’s office. Now, it functions as Cal, Hael, and Oscar’s bedroom. Aaron obviously has his own room, and piece of shit Victor Channing gets the master all to himself. “You need to rein in that possessive streak of yours, boss.”

Victor scowls at Callum, pushing up off the wall to give his much smaller teammate a look.

“Did you finish the props for tonight?” Vic asks as I notice the item clutched in Cal’s hand. It’s a black baseball bat with nails strategically hammered through the end, leaving the points sticking out precariously.

Callum grins and swings the weapon up to his shoulder, just barely missing stabbing himself with it.

“All ready,” he says, and Vic nods. I don’t know what they’re all planning on as far as costumes go, and I haven’t asked. I figure I’ll see them later. For now, I use the lull in conversation to sneak down the stairs and finish up the girls’ makeup. Well, Kara and Ashley’s makeup anyway; Heather is once again going as Ryan Reynold’s version of Deadpool, complete with full mask.

Once they’re ready, Aaron and I herd the girls into the van, and I’m surprised to see that Callum joins us, grinning and winking at me as he straps himself into the back row.

“I’m your backup,” he explains, “just in case.”

I nod, but to be honest, I’m glad he’s here. I have a feeling Callum could buy us whatever time we needed to get the girls out of a rough situation.

And the universe knows we’ll probably be in at least one life or death scenario before the night is over …

Looking at myself in the mirror with my blond hair in a high, bouncy ponytail and my makeup done up like some MAC counter girl is surreal. I look like a different person, like the reflection of myself I might’ve been with a different upbringing, a different life.

The sort of life Brittany Burr and her friends have.

I reach out and touch my fingertips to the mirror, studying the reflection of my cheap cheerleading uniform and the way it shows off the ink on my midriff. This should be an interesting evening, dressed up like some preppy Fuller High asshole for the darkest night of the year.

Just a few more additions, and I’ll be ready. I drag my makeup kit closer—pretty much all of my product is stolen, so I have a decent collection—and grab some of the fake blood and Halloween effects we purchased at the Hellhole.

Fifteen minutes later, and I’m done dirtying up my look.

I give myself a wry grin in the mirror and rise to my feet, flipping my hair and then rolling my eyes at my own reflection. Downstairs, I can hear the heavy bass of some hip-hip song from the early 2000s. My nose wrinkles as I open Aaron’s door and realize the beat is Ridin’ by Chamillionaire and Krayzie Bone.

When I get to the top of the staircase and look down, my heart freezes in my chest, and a cold, fearful chill chases down my spine.

All five Havoc Boys are waiting in the living room, dressed in identical Halloween costumes.

Their faces are fully painted, to the point that it’s hard to tell them apart from up here. Five gritty skeleton visages stare back at me, black around the eyes, teeth painted over lips. They all have their hair slicked back and sprayed black with one of those colored hairsprays that only lasts the night. And they’re all decked out in matching black trench coats with black hoodies and black shirts underneath, black slacks, badass boots.

For a brief moment there, I feel like a helpless heroine in some scary teen Halloween slasher flick.

Shit.

I force my basic instincts to take a back seat. Sure, Havoc is dangerous, but … maybe not to me? At least not right now. Good thing the girls are holed up in their room watching Halloweentown with the babysitter. This would scare the crap out of them.

“Are you guys supposed to be Tate Langdon from American Horror Story?” I ask, swallowing hard as I hit the bottom step and find myself at the center of Havoc’s attention. “Or Zombie Boy? The show makers based that look off of him, you know.”