“We do,” he agrees, his dark eyes hard and businesslike. Just behind that careful façade however, I can see something else, that blinding rage of his, the temper that he almost lost on the first day of school spilling out to taint the earth.

We hit the first floor as Trinity begs and begs for us to let her go. All Victor does, however, is kneel down beside her and give a tight, cocky smile.

“You are so awful, Trinity Jade,” he says mildly, his voice so placid that it can only be the menacing calm before a great storm. “So awful that even with the billions you might’ve inherited from Samuel Jade, you are not worth my time. Even with your money, you are nothing. You are so small that you are not even a fraction of the woman that my wife is.”

Victor stands up as I hit send on the text message to Samuel, showing it to Trinity before I drop the phone on the floor near her face and she screams and screams and screams. On our way out of the elevator, I push the button for the topmost floor. Before we leave, I take my diploma from my pocket, unroll it, and use the spare tube of red lipstick I brought with me to the amphitheater to write Out of Order, Use Stairs on the back of it. Sliding a piece of chewing gum between my lips, I smack it a few times and then use it to stick my makeshift sign over the elevator’s call button.

“Fuck you, bitch,” I snarl before turning on my heel with my husband right beside me. “Let’s go find your mother.”

“Oh yes,” Vic purrs, reaching up to rub at his chin. “Let’s.”

Hael calls us as we’re leaving the girls’ dorm; Victor picks up on the first ring.

“What’s up?” he asks, and then nods at whatever Hael says on the other end of the line. “Yep, we’re on our way to the Student Parking Area.” He glances over at me as he hangs up. “We need to run.” And so we do. We pound across campus together as I shrug out of my graduation gown and chuck it into the bushes; Victor does the same.

Once we hit the gravel area at the back of the school, we see Aaron using the Bronco to push cars out of the way, just so he can get to the exit without having the time to properly move the other vehicles.

Hael drives behind him in the Camaro with Oscar and Callum in the Eldorado.

As soon as Aaron gets free of the lot, he takes off while Hael pauses beside me and Vic.

“They’re heading for the back gate,” Hael calls out as Victor opens the door and we both climb in together. I’m practically sprawled on Vic’s lap as Hael hits the gas and we take off, gravel flying out behind us as the wheels spin and we pick up speed. “Maxwell, Ophelia … and Heather.”

“Shit,” I breathe, clenching my teeth tight. If Ophelia gets Heather out of here and onto that private fucking helicopter they have parked at Maxwell’s place, they could be gone in an instant, dropped at the private airstrip that Maxwell also owns. He could take my sister to another country and use her as leverage to get whatever it is he wants out of us.

He could kill her. Worse, he could … But I can’t think about that happening. I have to focus on the moment at hand.

“If they reach the gate, Maxwell’s formal motorcade will be waiting,” Vic says, scooting me aside so that he can dig under the seat. He removes a pistol and inserts a magazine, passing it over to me. From the driver’s seat, Hael does the same, removing a weapon of his own. “We can’t stop them if they get there; they’ll send us to the underworld in a hail of gunfire.”

“Roger that, boss,” Hael murmurs, hitting the gas. As the Camaro speeds up, taking the curving, gravel road at a much faster speed than I’d normally be okay with, Victor dials up Aaron in the Bronco.

“Stop Maxwell’s car before he gets too close to the gate.”

Legally, Maxwell Barrasso cannot bring anymore than four of his private security members on campus with him—two guards for him and two for Ophelia. The rest are waiting just outside the gate where the VGTF are, as we speak, getting ready to descend.

If Maxwell gets to his motorcade too soon, only one of two things can happen: we die dripping with lead as Vic suggested, or he and Ophelia escape with my little sister tucked between them. Either one of those scenarios is unacceptable.

“On it,” Aaron says, rocketing off down a side road that disappears into the woods. It’s a service road for the groundskeepers, that much I do know from looking at the maps on Oscar’s iPad. I also remember that the narrow, pothole-filled road curves around to cut off this gravel road before it reaches the gate.

“Come on, come on,” I whisper as I hear Aaron’s ragged breathing through the phone. Just ahead of us, I can see the pair of sleek black Maybach sedans. Maxwell, Ophelia, and Heather are likely in one while several of the guards are in the other as a decoy. We can’t shoot at them, of course, because it isn’t worth the risk of hitting my sister. Even if we shot the tires out, there’s the risk of causing an accident that kills Heather along with everyone else.

“Almost there,” Aaron breathes, and then I see it, the white and blue Bronco shooting out of the woods and hitting the small hump of dirt that marks the end of the access road. The SUV flies into the air and crashes down in front of the two black sedans, cutting off their route and trapping them between the low stone walls that line either side of the main road for small stretches at a time.

They have no place to go but to use the same path Aaron’s Bronco took, down the side road and toward the woods. They reverse and then take off, and we follow. But Aaron’s bought us enough time to swing the Camaro in front of them.

The Eldorado blocks the road from behind.

Trapping them.

Doors open and men in suits appear, armed with assault rifles.

Heather is wrenched out of one of the doors, her arm gripped tightly in the hand of a large, white man that carries the same generic profile as his son, James. The frown on his face is legendary; his temper piqued as he shoves the barrel of a gun right up against the side of Heather’s head, burying the metal in her temple as an involuntary growl slips past my red-painted lips.

“Move these fucking cars out of the way or I’ll blow the little bitch’s head off right here and now.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Callum whispers, his voice carrying in the silent tension that stretches through the woods, broken up only by the slight ticking and cooling of the vehicles and the ragged pants of our breathing as we climb out behind the Camaro, using the car as a blockade.

My creepy nightmare boy is somehow perched on the trunk of the car. He moves like a shadow, knocking the gun away from my sister’s head just in time to send Maxwell’s first shot wild. Callum grapples with the man as a scream breaks from my throat.

“Run!” I shout, and Heather’s little body twitches like it’s been plugged into an electrical outlet. She takes off for the woods as gunfire rings out from the direction of the Eldorado and Oscar uses an assault rifle he got from the trunk to take careful, calculated shots at the men emerging from the cars. Their own weapons are raised and ready to use; they don’t hesitate to fire back.

We’re about to have an old-fashioned shoot-out.

My eyes follow Heather as she starts for the trees, but my greatest fears are almost immediately realized when Ophelia grabs her arm. Instead of yanking her back to the car, Ophelia continues into the woods, my sister dragging along behind her.

I almost take off after them, but Victor stops me with a hand clamped onto my upper arm. His eyes meet mine, and I hear the very distinct ring of an order in his next words. My king is telling me what to do, my god, the leader of Havoc who has no problem sharing his throne or his boys with me.

“Do not leave this Camaro unless it’s on fire, do you understand me?” He shakes me once when I don’t answer right away, torn between listening to him and taking off after my sister. It’s dangerous though, to run that bit of green between the cover of the car and the trees. I’m good, but Victor is better; we both know it. He has the greatest chance of getting out of here without being gunned down. “Bernadette.”

“I hear you,” I choke out, even though it kills me, even though it makes me feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. Victor leans down to look into my eyes, searing this order into my brain like a brand. “Do. Not. Leave. For any reason. If things go south, you climb into the driver’s seat and you book it the fuck out of here. Promise me.”

I grind my teeth together, but all I can manage is a nod. Victor shoves his gun into my hand, like he’s damn near positive he won’t need it. Since I already have one, I take the magazine out, slip it into my blazer pocket, and toss Vic’s weapon on the ground by the Camaro’s rear tire—just in case. But at least I’ve got some more ammo on me now.

“Trust me to get your sister back,” Vic tells me, standing back up, his face darkening as he turns toward the woods. I swear, as he goes, I can see it: the darkness of his temper unraveling like a sea of thorny black roses, spilling out of him to dig their roots into the ground. After a few steps, Victor begins to run.

My breath catches as I watch him go, terrified that I’m going to see my soul mate gunned down while attempting to save the little sister that I love more than anything. He crosses the open, grass-covered space between the end of the Camaro and the start of the woods, just barely ducking into the shadows before bullets rain in his direction.

Turning back to the situation at hand, I scoot over to where Hael is kneeling beside the front tire. He reloads his weapon with ammo that he pulls from his pocket, turning and taking aim over the hood at our enemies.

Including Maxwell Barrasso who, unfortunately, is still alive, there are seven members of the GMP to contend with—four bodyguards, two drivers, and one mob boss. The sound of sirens in the distance alerts us to the presence of the VGTF. Even now, they could be encountering Maxwell’s waiting motorcade.

“You ready, Blackbird?” Hael asks, and I nod, taking aim with my own weapon and preparing for what’s likely to be a bloody and ugly standoff. There are seven of them; five of us. Victor is after Ophelia and Heather, but I know better than to doubt my husband’s skills, the ones he keeps so carefully guarded that I sometimes forget that he is the most dangerous member of Havoc. Not Oscar. Not even Callum. No, it’s Vic motherfucking Channing.