We can never be parted, not without bloodshed.
A few blocks later, it becomes obvious that Sara isn’t actually going anywhere. She’s just driving Kali around in a random pattern.
Eventually, we end up back in the Prescott parking lot.
Kali gets out of Sara’s car, and into someone else’s.
“Whose car is that?” I ask Vic and he just grunts out a laugh.
“Kyler’s,” he says as the other Havoc boys meet up with us.
“Where do you suppose they’re going?” Cal asks casually, hands tucked into his pockets.
“The after-party,” I say, and Vic nods, kickstarting the engine.
“Meet us there,” he tells the others, and we peel out of the lot to head after Kyler.
The after-party is being hosted by none other than the infamous Stacey Langford. We didn’t even have to ask where it was being held—we were asked permission to hold it in Wendling. It’s a literal ghost town, built by the Booth-Kelly Lumber Company in the late 1800s. All that’s left of it now are a few crumbling stone buildings, including part of a jail cell. Mostly, it’s just a heavily forested area in the middle of fucking nowhere.
A rural neighborhood popped up fairly close by, but even those houses are abandoned now. Some people just can’t survive a pandemic when all the bailout money goes to greedy banks and corporate shitboxes. You can thank covid-19 and our corrupt government for the foreclosed homes that sit nearby.
Tonight, someone has strung the covered bridge with lights. Tinny speakers blast metal music, and students swarm the place. Not nearly as fancy as the Halloween party Stacey threw, but then, it’s Snow Day so nobody cares. Prescott students lay out lines of coke on the bare bellies of skinny Oak Valley prep girls and jocks from Fuller High with ripped abs.
Vic doesn’t bother to park along the edge of the street. Instead, he drives his bike right into the crowd, leaving them to part like the Red Sea. When we climb off, everyone stares at us.
“Let’s go, baby girl,” he says to me, taking my hand and leading me over to a cooler filled with drinks. Vic pops the top on a beer and hands it over to me, his eyes on Kyler’s car. There’s no point in trying to hide; they knew we were coming. Kali is sitting on the hood with Kyler standing nearby. As we watch them, Kyler throws a look over his shoulder and then flips Victor off.
All Vic does is smile.
“Be careful tonight,” he tells me, leaning against his bike. “With both of his brothers dead, Kyler won’t be playing any games.” I nod, but my focus isn’t on Kyler Ensbrook.
It’s on Kali.
My hands ache with a dark need to wrap around her throat, the way Vic did to Logan. Part of me hates myself for wanting to hurt her so bad. The rest of me knows there is no other way. If the world doesn’t hold assholes like Kali accountable for their actions, they’re going to keep being assholes.
And Kali … she might not be as bad as Neil or as dangerous to the world as Eric Kushner. But she’s my special monster, my own personal demon.
I take a sip of the beer as Aaron’s Bronco pulls up and the other three boys climb out. The Camaro isn’t in such hot shape right now and is currently parked at the garage. I bet Hael’s missing it like crazy, but it’s hard to be focused on anything besides getting Aaron back. Just seeing his car and knowing he’s not in it … kills me.
“Smells like violence and unfinished business out here,” Hael says with a sharp grin. He’s got a pair of bolt cutters in his right hand. I glance down at them, remembering the scene from Vaughn’s office. I look back up to find Hael studying me carefully. “Brought these for the gate up the hill,” he says, nodding his chin in the general direction. “There’s an old playground and cemetery up there, but it’s technically on land still owned by the lumber company.”
“A playground and a cemetery,” I say carefully. I’ve been up to Wendling before. There isn’t a single person who grows up in Springfield that doesn’t know about the old ghost town. It’s the perfect party spot, the perfect place to hookup or smoke in secret. “Fitting. Vic, would you mind unlocking the saddlebag?”
He does as I ask, opening it up and revealing a box that I’ve never seen before. It’s sitting on top of the supplies I asked for: a mask, a gun, and a knife.
Before I get a chance to ask about it, Vic pulls the box out and holds it toward me.
“My queen,” he says, a smile twisting his lips. His inked fingers lift the lid and inside, there’s a crown. Just like I asked for. Staring down at it, I figure he either paid way too much for it … or he stole it. I’m hoping for the latter. I lift my eyes up to his ebon ones as my mouth turns in a slight frown.
The crown is beautiful, made of some dark metal that shimmers in the abstract lighting cast by the headlights of parked cars. There are no other lights out here, and even if we extorted some extra capital from the Oak Valley Prep crew, this isn’t the sort of place you call in party planners for. The strange light only enhances the perfection of the crown with its sharp points and red jewels. They look like rubies, but who knows.
“This isn’t even a tiara,” I say, fighting to keep the frown on my face. Because I shouldn’t be smiling without Aaron. Because I haven’t earned the right to call myself queen, not until I’ve taken care of Kali and gotten my man back. “This is, like, a real crown.”
“Only the best,” Vic says, without even a hint of irony. I close the box and hand it back to him, meeting his gaze straight-on.
“Keep it. Until I’ve earned it back.”
I let go of the box and turn to the other three boys.
“How can we help?” Cal asks, his beautiful face hidden inside his hood. He’s already changed his clothes, trading out the suit for shorts and a hoodie, as always. Better to hunt his enemies in, I suppose. Barker Blacks are lovely shoes, but they aren’t exactly designed with murder in mind.
I heft the knife and the gun from the saddlebag, strapping the blade to my thigh and putting the pistol into a shoulder holster. The mask, I keep in my hand.
“Keep the Charter Crew off of me,” I say, and then I start forward through the crowd. Callum cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a howl. The sound echoes around the partygoers, cutting through the booming bass of the music.
Kali turns to look over her shoulder and sees me coming. She doesn’t seem worried. But she should be. I’ve got murder in my heart and vengeance in my blood. That’s what all of this has been about, setting wrongs right.
The crowd parts for me the way it’s always parted for Havoc. Any dissenters are quickly overwhelmed and dealt with by our own crew. It seems that without Mitch present, the Charter Crew is little more than a gaggle of confused teens. In the back of my mind, I can’t forget that Ophelia’s hired more … professional goons to do her dirty work, but that’s neither here nor there.
It’s all about me and Kali tonight.
I should just shoot her right in the fucking skull, but there are a lot of witnesses here. Fuller and Oak Valley Prep brats don’t know how to keep their mouths shut the same way Prescott students do.
So, I’ll flush the rat out and then hunt it down.
“Kali,” I start very simply, reaching up to slip the mask over my face. “Start running.”
She scoffs at me, turning around and swinging her hair in the process, like she thinks she’s still hot with those busted ass lips of hers. I smile, glad that the particular skeleton mask I’m wearing only covers the top half of my face. I want her to see my expression tonight.
Because this, this is the face of death.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she oozes, looking me up and down like I’m the same girl she fucked over in sophomore year. That’s her problem, acting like I haven’t changed for shit. In reality, there’s very little of that old Bernadette left.
I remove the gun from the holster and lift it into the air, firing off a single shot.
Some of the partygoers scream, but when the Prescott kids start to dance and drink again, things calm down quick. If we freaked out over every little gunshot in the southside, we’d never get any sleep.
“I said run,” I repeat, but Kali just looks at Kyler, as if he’s even remotely interested in rescuing her ass. His expression is dark, but it isn’t focused on me. Instead, he’s looking past me, toward the boys.
He came here tonight with murder in his heart, too.
Unfortunately for him, he’ll likely have that wish granted.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kali challenges, her dress too short in the front, too low-cut. I can see her sadness spilling out of it. She steps a little closer, coming toe-to-toe with me. “You’re not going to shoot me in front of all these people; we both know that.”
“I know you had something to do with Aaron’s disappearance,” I whisper, gritting my teeth and wishing I could just rip her fucking throat out with my mouth, taste the sweet copper of her blood.
“You bet your ass I did,” Kali coos back at me, leaning back just enough that I can see the smirk on her face.
From behind me, I hear Vic murmur something to Hael. As I stand there, shaking and fighting the urge to blow Kali’s brains out, witnesses be damned, Hael storms over to the cluster of hastily nailed-together pallets where some grungy Prescott metalcore band is preparing to play a set.
He snags an electric guitar and approaches the microphone with one of those infectious grins in place.
“Happy Snow Day, Wendling,” he says, caressing the mic like it’s some girl’s inner thigh. “My name is Hael Harbin, and I used to rock with these pathetic assholes in freshman year.” He pauses again, giving the audience a break from the carnal purr of his words. You could paint them on you, those words, and they’d form runes that spelled the body into the sweet, sinful lull of sex. “We’re going to play a quick one for old-time’s sake, right guys?”
He glances around at the others, nods, and then wets his lips.