“We all tried to dissuade Victor from bringing her in,” Aaron says, pushing his hair back from his forehead. He doesn't sound like he has a lot of conviction in that statement though. “We all let him have the price he wanted; we're all at fault.”

“No.” I stand up suddenly, feeling my skin prickle with annoyance. “All I've ever wanted is to be a part of Havoc. You guys know me. You know I wasn't going to stop until I met that goal. Stop blaming each other, or wishing you'd done more. At this point, it's obvious that no matter what the world—or you guys—throws at me, I'll keep coming back.” I look at Aaron then Oscar, Hael then Callum. “Stop wondering and worrying about where I could've been or what mistakes you made, and just figure this out. That's what you guys are good at, digging Havoc out of tight spots.”

I move away from the table and outside to the backyard, so I can have a moment to myself to think.

Havoc has always ruled Prescott High. Well, now that the blood is running out of the halls and into the streets, it's time to shift our attention to bigger things. At the end of this year, we'll be graduating. Then what? We can't keep our sights on the high school forever; there are bigger and better things afoot.

Surprisingly, Oscar is the one who comes to find me first, standing a careful three feet away from me and staring at Aaron's carefully tended rhododendrons in thought.

“About the other day,” he starts, and I brace myself for whatever this conversation is going to be. Either an apology or another jab. I'm not sure which would hit me harder at this moment. “I intended on coming back for you.” He turns to look at me, that steel-gray gaze of his sweeping me from head to toe. “I wasn't done with you, Bernadette.”

“No? You were just going to pop out and fuck Leigh up a bit before you came back?” I ask, but I'm not really that angry anymore. I said I was going to trust the Havoc Boys, so that's what I'm going to do. Oscar says he was coming back? So, guess what? I believe him.

“Leigh was waiting for me in a foreclosure about three blocks away. I had a crew waiting for me; it was supposed to be in and out.” Oscar moves a bit closer to me, reaching down to run a single finger along the side of my face. I close my eyes against the touch, imagining those pink silk ropes binding my arms, their knots a pattern, a work of brilliant, violent, carnal art. “Violence works me up, Bernadette. Maybe you're lucky that I wasn't able to come back for you?”

I just laugh at him and brush his hand away.

“Oscar Montauk, put your money where your mouth is then and show me. Show me what I'm supposed to be so afraid of.” I move away from him and into the grass, sitting down in the sunshine for a moment. Even more surprisingly, Oscar joins me. “I've never seen you do something so mundane as sit on a lawn before,” I say with a slight smile. “You might get grass stains on your perfect suit.”

“It's black, isn't it?” he replies, leaning back on the grass and looking up at the sky. “What's it like?” he asks finally, after several minutes of silence.

“What's what like?” I reply, glancing back at him and finding his gaze no longer on the clouds but on me.

“Finding out that Havoc isn't so perfect after all?”

I laugh at him again. Actually, I laugh until I'm in tears and swiping them away with my fingertips.

“Oscar, believe it or not, I never thought that.” I smirk at him as I curl forward and wrap my arms around my knees, resting my chin against my arms. “From the outside, the world needs to think we're a well-oiled machine. On the inside, I'd rather we were all human—even you.” I stare at him for a moment, and he looks right back at me until, eventually, I stand up and go back inside.

Rome was not built in a day; Oscar Montauk cannot be tamed in one.

But we'll get there.

Provided of course, we don't end up dead beforehand.

Fate can be a fickle mistress.

Oscar Montauk

I’m standing in the kitchen, staring down at a knife on the counter and trying to remind myself that I’m only supposed to be doing one thing with it: cutting a block of cheese into slices. It’s not meant to shed blood, not today. But I’m getting close to using it, to sneaking out and hunting Ophelia Mars in shadows until she’s gurgling wet breaths and wearing a second smile on her throat.

My hands find the knife and start to cut, creating nice, even pieces of cheddar to have with my apples. I have to eat sometime, even if the whole exercise of doing so bothers me. My mother was extremely particular about my weight; I think she’s left me with some sort of eating disorder.

“What are you doing in here?” Cal asks, padding into the kitchen at four in the morning in black leggings and an unzipped, sleeveless hoodie. He understands me better than anyone else in the family. Despite his pretty smiles and his gold hair, Callum is just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He enjoys the taste of blood as much as I do.

Victor is brutal, but he’s also level-headed, and he isn’t afraid to feel. Aaron is still determined to be a good guy while playing bad. And Hael … don’t even get me started on Hael Harbin.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask coolly, lifting my gaze up to stare into Callum’s blue eyes.

“It looks like you’re trying to find something to distract you from Bernadette,” he says, sliding onto a stool and parking his elbow on the counter. He rests his head in his hand as he watches me. Luckily for him, there’s no judgement in his gaze.

If there were, I might get angry.

I turn back to the block of cheese, noting that it isn’t my usual brand. We’re on a budget here, and someone has selected some organic hippy brand in place of the generic store brand we usually get. I smell a woman’s touch and scowl.

“I do have to eat, you know? I’m not a robot, despite outward appearances.” I finish with the cheese and push it aside, grabbing an apple and very carefully piercing its flesh with the tip of the knife. Sugary juice runs down my fingers, and I resist the urge to lick it off. I’m fucking starving.

“Nobody thinks that,” Cal reassures me, which is annoying as hell considering Bernadette just went on a rant about it, about how I’m human. She’s clearly in love with me which both bothers and excites me at the same time. Why, Bernadette? Why can’t you just leave and find something better? The thing I’ve always feared is coming true, that dark fruit blooming on the tree of my own terror.

I can smell its cloying scent, like the sugar of this apple and the rotten sweetness of death.

There is no doubt in my mind that Ophelia is going to try to kill Bernadette. I shouldn’t have caved and let Victor marry her. I should’ve fought harder against his price, but I was too busy trying to prove that I didn’t care.

In reality, she is all that I care about.

“Nobody thinks that,” I repeat with a sigh, continuing to cut the apple until it lies in neat, perfect little slices. Callum reaches over and steals nearly half of it, plus all of the cheese. I curl my lip at him, but I just grab another piece of fruit and keep going. At least the activity keeps my hands busy and keeps me out of Bernie’s bed.

She’s asleep on the couch, of all places, right now. Either she just needed a break from the constant fucking, or else it was a sweet accident. I’ve already stood above her and admired her perfect face. The spot where Billie cut her might leave a permanent scar, but it’s still too early in the healing process to be sure. Either way, it doesn’t diminish her beauty or the shine of her spirit.

When I said she was incandescent, I meant it.

“Were you really a virgin?” Cal asks, and there it is, that fucking awful word again. I resist the temptation to stab the knife into the countertop. That’s something Victor might do in a pissy mood, and even though I know he’s better at controlling his emotions than I am, I can at least pretend, can’t I?

“Why do you care?” I ask Caol, which, I suppose, is as much an admission of guilt as the word yes. “Why do any of you care? What does it matter?”

Callum puts a piece of cheddar onto a slice of apple and sticks the whole thing in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he turns his blue eyes to the ceiling. I just wait there, jaw clenched, hoping that I can get some clarity here. I’d rather talk about this with Cal than anyone else.

Especially Bernadette.

I don’t know how to explain it to her. I’m not like Aaron, holding the sweet flower of my virginity back for my soul mate. My nose wrinkles, and I turn back to cutting the apple.

“It doesn’t matter in the way you think it does, but Bernie deserves to know. She deserves to know why, too. And I think we’re all pretty curious because it isn’t like you haven’t picked up girls before. Actually, I’ve seen you take girls into locked rooms at parties. What are you doing in there?”

I don’t look at Cal, but I feel that cold, icy anger sweep through me.

Why am I like this?

Is it because my father killed my mother, killed my siblings, and just barely managed not to kill me? A family wipeout, they call it. It isn’t as uncommon as you might think.

Living with the Peters for the past five years has taught me exactly how fucked-up I really am.

“She has access to Google, you know,” Callum says softly, obviously reading the directions of my thoughts based on my face.

“I’m a minor; my name has been withheld.” I stab the apple, creating a jagged slice that doesn’t fit with all the perfect ones lined up on the counter. My nostrils flare with irritation.

“Oscar, you don’t want her to find out some other way. Just tell her where you come from, where you’ve been. That’s all she wants.” Cal spins in a circle on the stool, tapping his bare heels against it as he comes around again. “She doesn’t care that you’re a monster. She likes them, O. She likes dark and scary things.” Callum wiggles his fingers at me, but I’m not playing with him today. And I hate being called O. He does it on purpose to rile me up.