“My dad,” he says, giving me a look that communicates volumes without a single word. “We don't exactly get along.”
“Is it true that he cut you up with a hunting knife?” I ask, pointing at the scar on Hael's arm, the one that goes from fingertip to shoulder. That's the rumor at Prescott High, that his father did that to him. But then, rumors at Prescott High are a lesson in the game of telephone; they grow leaps and bounds with each fantastical retelling.
Hael licks his lips and gives a curt nod.
“Yeah, something like that …” he starts as an unfamiliar male voice sounds from down the hall. Oscar's smooth, cool reply comes in response, and a shiver traces down my spine. “Tell ya more later, Blackbird, I promise.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze as he moves past, and Vic and I exchange a look.
“You're not going to like Hael's dad,” he tells me, and I cock a brow, so done with his bullshit I could scream. We're going to have to have it out soon, Vic and me.
“Why’s that?” I quip back, popping my hip out and putting my hand on it.
“Because he murdered a pregnant prostitute,” Vic replies with a sardonic smile. He moves past me and down the hall, leaving me to gape behind him. A million questions slither through my mind, but I'm not about to miss out on this interaction. I move down the hall as quick as I can, expecting to find a man like my stepfather, a wolf in wolf's clothing. The Thing never tries to hide what a monster he is. He feels protected, by his badge and his brother's law degree and his father's gavel.
Instead, I find a slender man in a baseball cap, smiling as he pulls the hat from his head and holds it against his chest.
“Long time, no see, son,” he says as Hael stares at him from across the width of the small living room. The sweet smell of creamed butter and sugar wafts out from the direction of the kitchen. It's at odds with the tension in the room, reminding me that not everything is as it seems. The air smells sweet, the sound of Hael's mother's humming is comforting, but the look in Hael's eyes promises there's much more to this happy, little story than he's letting on.
“I mean, that's what happens when you go to prison,” Hael retorts, shrugging again, like this is no big deal. He plasters one of those cocksure smiles on his face, putting a bit of swagger back in his step.
“I've been out for damn near a month, and yet, you haven't bothered to see me,” the man—his name was Martin, wasn't it?—smiles as he glances from his son to Vic, then over to Oscar and me. “Do you want to introduce your new friend?” Martin continues to smile at me, like we're old buddies. “I remember the others. Victor and Oscar, right?”
“Guess the meth hasn't rotted your brain the way it did your judgement, huh?” Hael asks, throwing out a laugh. He gestures back at me. “This is Bernadette. We met a long time ago, right after you went to prison for the first time, and Mom and I were homeless. Spent the night in the same homeless shelter.”
Something strange and dark flashes across Martin's face, and I can see that the smile on his lips isn't the whole story. There are monsters buried underneath all that nice.
“Let's go,” Hael says, but then his mother comes out of the kitchen in her apron, wielding a wooden spoon covered in cookie dough.
“Ne me laisse pas fiston,” she pleads, her voice cracking a bit, like she can't bear to see her son go. I have no idea what she's saying, but it's pretty clear she wants Hael to stay here. He sighs heavily and nods, murmuring something to her in French that makes her smile.
“I gotta take Oscar back, and I'll come home,” he promises, giving Martin a look. “Wouldn't want to leave you home alone with him very long anyway.” Hael takes off for the front door, letting it slam into the wall on his way out.
“Lovely to meet you, Bernadette,” Martin says, nodding as we pass by. He seems nice enough on the surface, but we all know that what lies beneath could be a vastly different story.
Sitting on the back of that bike, my arms wrapped around Vic, I'm forced to confront everything I'm feeling. How can I sit here and smell him, that musky mix of leather and bergamot that makes my heart flutter and melts the ice around my heart, and not evaluate everything that’s going on inside of me?
Maybe, if I were to dig a little deeper, I'd realize that the reason I'm so upset with Havoc is because I wanted to trust them. I wanted to believe that I really was a Havoc Girl, that I was a part of the gang. But finding out they kept something so big from me, it seems impossible.
“Are you planning on going home tonight?” Victor asks me after we park on the curb in front of Aaron's house and he kicks off the bike's engine with his boot. He doesn't move, so neither do I, waiting with my arms wrapped around him as dusk settles over the quiet neighborhood. A child's laughter drifts back to us from down the street, a potent reminder that even if it feels like everything is going to shit in my own life, other people are still living theirs.
It doesn't seem fair, somehow. But, like Hael just said, life definitely isn't fucking fair. If it were, Penelope would still be alive, and my stepfather would be rotting six feet under.
“I kind of have to, unless you're willing to move on the Thing tonight. If I don't bring Heather back soon, Pamela will call the cops on me again.” Vic nods, but I'm guessing his lack of a response is all the answer I need. They're not going to move on Neil, not tonight. Technically, I could probably stay here until tomorrow; it’s only Saturday.
But if Neil came to find me and the boys, that means he senses a threat. Monsters always know to look for other monsters in the dark. Maybe if I come home a day early, Pamela will chill, and she won’t poke the bear before we’re ready? Or maybe you just need space to think because the guys pissed you the hell off?
“I'll have Hael give you a ride on his way back home,” he says, and then he starts to stand up. Instead of releasing my arms, I squeeze him a bit tighter and he pauses. I close my eyes against the cool, night breeze, the scent of the white roses in the yard carrying over to me.
“Whatever reason you had for keeping that video from me, it wasn't good enough. It wasn't your choice to decide what to do with it. It was mine.”
Vic stays quiet for several seconds, and I wonder if he's going to bring up the thing with Aaron today. Between all the bullshit at the Harbin house, I'd almost forgotten about that. Almost, but then there's a sore spot inside of my heart where Aaron sits, and it's quite obviously bleeding. I take one of my hands away from Vic's waist and press it against my chest.
“That's where you're wrong, Bernadette. I'm the boss here, no matter how you feel about it.”
A scowl forms on my lips, and I swing my leg over the side of the bike. Victor grabs my wrist, but I shake him off, spinning to face him with a sneer.
“You might be the boss, but you told me there were no lies in Havoc, no secrets. Tell me then, what did Kali give you guys that was so goddamn special that I deserved to suffer for it?”
“It wasn't just about the price she paid, Bernie,” Vic tells me, turning slowly to look at me as he pulls out another cigarette. Smoking seems to be a nervous tic of his. I must be making him nervous a lot as of late. “It was about you. You were attached to Aaron; you were too attached to us. We needed to show you this wasn't a life you wanted to live.”
I just stare back at him. On the outside, I'm stoic as fuck. On the inside, I feel like I've just been hit with a tidal wave, like cold, frothing waters are raging around me, like my legs could be knocked out from under me at any moment.
“You said you wanted me here, even though nobody else did,” I repeat, trying to understand the inner mechanics of this group. For some stupid reason, I thought I'd pegged their motivations. Silly me. I don't understand Havoc at all.
“After I saw what you'd become, I knew,” Vic says, lighting up and watching the stars flicker to life in the black velvet sky. “I knew we belonged together. Before that, you were too sweet, too soft. This life would've eaten you alive.” He glances my way. “I was willing to let you go. Not anymore. I'm going to marry you, Bernadette.”
My heart stutters in my chest, but I refuse to let Vic get to me, not right now.
Somebody has to stand up to him. It might as well be me.
I cross my arms over my chest, the pulse in my head throbbing as I try to rationalize what he’s just said to me. “It was about you.” They tortured me, not for Kali, but to get rid of me? I can’t decide if that makes the pain I suffered worse … or better?
Goddamn, I must be irreparably broken.
“If you can get Pamela to agree to sign off on it,” I quip back, running my tongue across my lower lip and tasting the waxy texture of my lipstick. “If, after everything I’ve learned in the last few days, I agree to it.” Vic turns to look at me, anger building in his dark gaze. I stare right back at him, and I refuse to flinch. “And if that's the case, then remember, there won't just be a king in Havoc; there'll be a queen.” I turn away before he can respond, shaking as I head across the grass toward the front door.
It's unlocked, so I let myself in, ignoring Aaron's stare as I pass by.
“Welcome back, Bernadette,” he says, but I don't look at him. Instead, I gather Heather from upstairs, promise the girls I'll make good on my promise about the makeup, and head outside to the Camaro.
I need some time away from the boys to think.
Even if it means going home to my worst nightmare.
To fight him, I'll have to become one myself, but I'm not afraid, not anymore.
Pamela is waiting for us when we get home, sitting on the living room sofa with a fan of stolen credit cards on the coffee table in front of her, her laptop open beside them. I see an order confirmation from Nordstrom on the screen, thanking her for her fifteen-hundred-dollar purchase. Guess at least one of those stolen Visas had some room on it.