Once the Camaro is brought around, and Hael finally releases me, his expression is no less rife with violence, but he’s got back some semblance of control. Together, we get into the Camaro while the rest of the boys use the Bronco, Aaron at the wheel.

It’s like, after that night at Vic’s grandmother’s house—our future house, you know, if we don’t end up dead—everything’s changed. The boys behave better around one another, and my connection is stronger to them than ever.

That’s how I know I need to rest my hand on Hael’s leg as he drives, how I know I should push my fingers up beneath the edge of the shorts so I can touch his skin. He shivers, hands clenching around the wheel as we make the drive from Oak Valley Prep to the Four Corners neighborhood. It’s a stark study in classism; you can practically see the stratified layers of wealth being stripped away during the drive.

“If he’s hurt her …” Hael begins, and then he shakes his head, swiping a hand down his face.

He doesn’t have to have to say anything more. I know what he wants. I know what he’s wanted for a long, long time.

It’s the same thing Victor wants for Ophelia, that I wanted for Pamela, that Oscar dreams about with his dead father. Vengeance. Payback. Some restitution for wrongs committed.

Unfortunately, we still have a squad car on our ass. That, and Sara Young isn’t the type of person that lets things go. For now, we’ve earned her forgiveness and begrudging acceptance, but that’s only because the cards have fallen in just such a way that it looks like Havoc is almost entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.

The violence at Prescott High, that was self-defense. The bodies on Tom’s land are related to Ophelia and Neil and the GMP. Pamela killed Kali along with Penelope. It all fits together just right, but if we’re not careful, if we mess up even one time, in even one, small, seemingly insignificant way, then Sara and Constantine will nail us to the cross.

So as much as Hael wants to hurt his father today, as much as I want to hurt the man myself, we can’t do anything of the sort. There is no way to get rid of that man with two cops sitting outside the house, and not have it traced back to us. We could claim self-defense maybe, but is it worth the risk?

We pull onto the lawn, right into those fading tire tracks that I took note of the first day I saw this place. The only thing that’s changed now is that those tracks are much less deep since Hael doesn’t live here anymore. I know it’s been hard on his mother. He’s said as much. But it’s also so much better for her son to be with us at Oak Valley.

“Maman!” Hael shouts, using his key to unlock the front door and shoving his way in.

Right away, it becomes apparent that something is wrong. Food burns in a pan on the stove, making the air cloudy with thick, gray smoke, and furniture is upturned in haphazard patterns that speak to violence and mindless rage. I even spot a streak of blood on the wall near the kitchen.

The other boys are right behind us, but I leave them to deal with the burning food as Hael storms down the hallway toward his parents’ room. His hands are clenched into fists, his teeth gritted so tightly that it looks like he could very well crack that pretty porcelain.

He throws open the door at the end of the hallway to find his mother in bed with her dress pushed up, his father on top of her. There’s no stopping him when he goes for Martin Harbin, ripping the man off the bed with a strong grip on the back of his neck.

“Hael!” Marie calls out, scrambling off the bed and pushing her dress back in place. Her makeup is smeared; it’s obvious she’s been crying. She also has a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek, a split lip, and finger-shaped bruises on her upper arms. “Hael, stop!”

But he isn’t stopping. Hael has officially lost his shit. He throws his father’s head into the mirror above the dresser, shattering the glass as Martin scrabbles at the hand latched onto the back of his neck.

“Alright, princess,” Vic says from behind me, giving me a slight shove in the lower back. “Get your man under control.”

Fuck.

Hael drags Martin out a back door and onto a small, shaky deck. The wood is clearly rotting from underneath, and it feels like our weight might well topple the whole thing into the dirt. Fortunately, even if that is the case, we’re only about three feet off the ground.

There’s a flimsy fence, half-collapsed and drowning in blackberries that surrounds the property, but surely the cops can hear the commotion from their stakeout spot? This isn’t going to last long. I can’t let it, much as I might want to.

We will get Martin Harbin someday soon, but it cannot be here, and it cannot be today.

Hael drags his father down the three steps into the yard proper, and then he throws the man onto a cracked cement patio littered with old but serviceable furniture. Marie keeps things as well as she can, considering her lack of funds and her husband’s abuse. She really does try.

Martin ends up on his back on the ground where Hael kicks him so hard in the ribs that I hear bones crack. Oh shit. Victor follows us out of the house in such a casual manner that I know he’s forcing himself to hold back, tucking his hands into his pockets and watching with eyes the color of a raven’s feathers.

Marie scrambles down the steps just ahead of him and then grabs me by the arm, pleading with me in French. I don’t understand a word she’s saying, of course, but Hael snaps something back at her in such a growly, domineering way that I swear he’s speaking some demonic tongue instead of the language of love.

“Make him stop,” Marie whimpers, digging her nails into my arm, her green eyes blazing with unspoken pleas.

“Hael,” I start, pushing Marie back gently and circling around so that I can lay my hand on his arm. “I need you to push pause for a minute.”

The other Havoc boys crowd out the door, filing down the steps to create a half-circle around us. Hael ignores them, pulling a pistol from his waistband and leveling it on his father.

Every single person in that yard goes still.

“You have fucked-up one too many times,” Hael warns his father, his sweet brown eyes dark with years of torment and hate. Martin struggles to sit up, blood pouring from numerous cuts on his cheeks and forehead, bits of mirrored glass in his hair. He coughs once and then groans, curling over to clutch at his side.

“If you’re going to do it, then do it,” Martin sneers, head still bowed in pain. “Fucking pussy.”

Hael’s finger tenses on the trigger, but if he pulls it, the cops will most assuredly hear a gunshot. There won’t be any getting out of this. And I’m not losing one of my boys to prison.

“Hael,” I breathe, tensing my fingers gently against his upper arm. He shivers and tries to pull away from me, but I follow him, refusing to let up on the light pressure of my fingertips against his sweat-slicked skin. His bloodred hair catches the spring sunshine and makes it glimmer like rubies. That fauxhawk of his always seemed so stupid to me before, like he was trying too hard to be cool. But now that I know Hael as intimately as I know myself, I understand that he just is cool. He doesn’t have to try; it’s in his blood. He wears his hair that way because he likes it. “I know you’re angry right now—”

He gives a caustic laugh, interrupting me.

“Nah, I’m not just angry, I am fed the fuck up.” He steps forward and grinds the end of the gun into his father’s forehead. “You just can’t stop hurting people, can you? Marie loves you. I don’t understand why. For the fucking life of me, I just …” He glances over at his mother like she’s an alien to him, like he loves her but could never understand her.

What I want to tell him but don’t, not at that moment, is that love is the most irrational thing there is. Everybody wants it, craves it; everybody chases it. Sometimes, they chase it so hard that they think they’ve found it when all they really have is something awful and broken and ugly. But you can’t convince someone out of love; they have to realize it for themselves.

And Marie … She’s collapsed to her knees now, her hands covering her face. The way Hael looks at her, I know that he’d do anything for her. He’d sacrifice the world to save his mother. Except … then his eyes shift to me and I know that I’m the exception to that rule. Me, and the Havoc Boys. His attention moves from me to Victor, to the other boys, back to Martin.

“She loves you, and you won’t stop hurting her. One day, you’re going to kill her.”

“You don’t understand a thing about us, you gangbanging fuck-up,” Martin snarls, shoving up to his feet and stumbling until he knocks his shoulder against the tumbledown fence at the rear of the property. He leans against it for support, panting, as Hael keeps the gun trained on him.

“You called me for help,” Hael tells his mom, and she starts off on him in French, yelling and screaming. “Why do you always call me for help if you’re not going to leave him? Why am I even here?”

“Hael,” Marie pleads even though it’s pretty obvious that she has no idea what she’s pleading for. Instead of turning to his mother, Hael’s eyes find mine again. This time, when I put my hand on the gun and push it so that he’s aiming at the ground instead of his father, he lets me. “He isn’t a bad man, he just … you know how he gets when he drinks.” She stops talking, letting her head hang, red hair waving around her shoulders. Her heavily accented voice is melodious, but her words are beyond sad. She can’t be much older than Pamela, just another young Prescott mom who never got to be a child herself. I feel so fucking bad for her.

“Are you going to kick him out?” Hael asks, turning to face his mom and slipping the gun back in his waistband. He curls his arm around my waist and drags me close, holding me to him like I’m his one and only lifeline in a storm. His eyes blaze as he stares his mother down. “You’re not, are you? You just wanted me to come and stop him from beating your ass, and then that’s it. I’m a referee and nothing more.”