A shiver takes over me, and I nod. Stacey really did always have our backs. Shit, shit, shit. I feel my face get tight and suck in a sharp breath.
“I do know that. Which is why we’re taking this seriously.” I withdraw my hands as Vera’s aunt sits back in her seat and leaves me to examine my nails. This is legitimately the best nail art I’ve ever had in my life. The matte black color matches the lipstick I’m wearing today, a shade known simply by the silhouetted bat swarm that covers the lid. It doesn’t even have a name, just a symbol.
Now, my nails as well as my knuckles say Havoc. I reach up and push a bit of red-tipped hair back from my forehead, turning around on the swivel stool so I can see Hael while I talk. He watches me do my thing, even as the girls take turns scoping him out. I wonder if any of them ever fucked him? I’m afraid to ask because, even though I’m a feminist in my very blood and bones, I’m also just a little bit animal. I get jealous much easier than I should.
“I need your help,” I start and a girl wearing huge falsies lifts her hand, perched on the edge of a sofa with her arm in a sling. I wonder if she got that injury during the shooting?
“If you want our help, answer a few questions first.” She grins, and I feel a bit of the tension in the room dissipate. I’m being offered an olive branch here, initiated into this circle of women even though I’m not entirely sure that I deserve it. “Which one of the Havoc Boys has the biggest dick?”
Laughter swirls through the air, riding the cool breeze from the open window on a cloud of sweet-smelling perfume and body spray. But even if they’re laughing, all eyes are on me and I’m expected to answer the question honestly.
My eyes flick once again to Hael’s honey-almond ones, but he’s just grinning back at me, hands still folded together behind his head, waiting. Obviously, he’s seen the other boys’ dicks, but I’m the only one well-acquainted enough with them to know for sure.
“Who do you think?” I snort, but Vera gives me a sharp look, and I know I’d better cough up answers here. This isn’t really about the boys though, is it? It’s a bonding exercise, a sharing of secrets, a building of camaraderie. “Are we talking length or circumference?”
“Both. Dish it out,” Vera says, snapping her fingers at me. Her eyes are the color of ice chips, pale, almost colorless, but with enough of a gray wash that she appears mysterious at first glance, almost otherworldly.
“Well, for girth, I’d have to say … Aaron?” I start, and I notice money exchange hands almost immediately. Ah, these bitches are betting on this. Even Hael chuckles as I shrug my shoulders. “And length … Victor.”
“Of course it’s Victor.” Tiff accepts cash from a few of the other girls, giving me a careful once-over.
“I’m hurt, Bernadette,” Hael moans, putting a hand to his chest like I’ve mortally wounded him. “But then, maybe these ladies are asking the wrong question? How about: who’s the best fuck?”
“Oh, good one!” Vera nods her head as she looks from Hael and back to me. I make extra sure to flip Hael off with my pretty new nails, and the girls titter like a flock of songbirds.
“Depends on the day.” I shrug my shoulders, knowing they’re not going to like that answer. It feels like a cop-out, like I’m too afraid to admit the truth. But that’s not it at all. It really does depend on the day, the time, my mood, the location … “Each one of them is different, like a separate ingredient for the same dish. I need them all or it just doesn’t turn out right.”
There’s a long pause there as my words sink in, and then Vera shakes her head at me.
“Alright, alright, you win the biggest ho at Prescott award. Congratulations.” Vera leans back in her chair, running her pink-nailed hand over her shaved red hair. “So, tell me, Havoc Girl: what is it that you want from us?”
There’s a sudden shift in the mood, like the wind’s changed and brought with it the dark reality of our situation.
“Are any of you familiar with a man named Mason Miller?” I ask, and several of the girls exchange glances.
“The whore killer?” Tiff asks, looking over at Vera, her brown eyes darkening substantially. “Yeah, we know about him. We never lost a girl to him, but I have friends in Portland that have.”
I take a deep breath, pushing my natural anger down to the bottom of my stomach. Control, Bernadette. That’s the most important thing here.
“Well, we need to get rid of him. Him and Maxwell Barrasso—the leader of the GMP—both. Since we know Mason likes call girls—”
Vera cuts me off by raising her pink-nailed hand.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You want us to send one of our girls into a room with the whore killer? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you actually want us in your crew, or are we just fodder for your gang war with the GMP?”
I’m not mad at her for interrupting me; she has a point.
I stand up, the cream-colored sweater I’m wearing cropped and just barely long enough to hide the black sports bra underneath. The sweater has a bat silhouette on it with the words Protect Our Pollinators underneath. I’ve got on leather pants that I can move in if necessary, and a pair of combat boots with a knife hidden in the heel. Look, as much as I love my high heels, I think I need to take a break. Too many fights for my life recently, you know?
“I get it: it’s scary as fuck. But the alternative is worse: a GMP controlled Springfield. They’ll take charge of all your girls, make them turn tricks for Maxwell. Havoc isn’t asking that of you. This is a bait and switch move. We just need to get Mason to a public location.”
Vera is already shaking her head, and I find myself tapping that long nail with the ring through it against my thigh.
“He won’t come to Prescott—no matter what you say to him. He makes girls come to him. That’s his thing. Especially after the robbery. Nope, Havoc Girl. Think up a new plan.”
“It’s worth a try, at least,” I say, but most of the girls are mumbling now, shaking their heads at me.
“You can try,” Vera says with a skeptical brow raised in my direction. “But you’re just going to tip him off that you’re up to something. You’ll have to send someone to Mason Miller, and I can tell you right now: Stacey would never let one of us do something that dangerous. It’s not happening. If that’s your initiation requirement, we’ll all pass on Havoc’s offer.”
I think on that for a moment as Tiff looks me up and down and flips her beaded braids over one shoulder.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, and I glance over at her, my own brow raised in response. “You got a pussy, don’t you? Why don’t you meet with Mason?”
Hael laughs, and all eyes turn to him.
“Not a chance in fucking hell of that happening,” he says and several of the girls hiss in response.
“What? We’re disposable, but your girl isn’t? Look, we always send two girls to every job for safety. We can do that, give you an escort. But we’re not putting one of our ladies in a closed room with Mason Miller.” Vera stands up and looks from me to Hael. “Anyway, are y’all going to help with Stacey’s funeral? Her broke-ass daddy won’t even claim her body. And we need money to give her the send-off she deserves.”
“We’ll pay for it,” I say before Hael can intervene. “Think about what I said, okay? The invitation to join Havoc stands, even without the Mason thing.” I head for the door and Hael rises to his feet to follow.
Several of the girls whistle at his retreating ass as we head out the door and down the curving staircase to the first floor.
“Did you ever sleep with Stacey?” I ask him abruptly, and he laughs. “No, seriously. You … or any of the other guys?”
“Virgin Dick wasn’t sleeping with anyone,” Hael adds with another chuckle. “Aaron either. But you knew that, right? You’re talking about me and Vic and Cal.”
“Well, did you?” I ask, not caring if jealousy taints my voice for a moment. It’s just me and him in the lobby of Vera’s aunt’s apartment building. I use the term lobby very loosely, too. Mostly, it’s just a square box with some doors and a staircase at either end, an overflowing trash can in one corner, and a desk where a security guard might’ve sat once upon a time.
“Not Stacey or any of her girls,” Hael promises, making an X over his heart. “You know that old saying, don’t shit where you eat? I fucked a lot of Fuller girls, a few Oak Valley brats. Everybody knows Prescott chicks are trouble.” He tousles my hair and I slap his hand away, but I’m relieved to hear that. I’m not sure that I could work with a girl who’d seen my man’s dick. “Blackbird …” he warns, grabbing me by the shoulders before I step outside.
We both pause as the notes of an unfamiliar song echo from upstairs, trailing from the open door of the apartment.
“For Stacey!” I hear, and then the sound of a champagne bottle being popped. After a moment, I recognize the song that’s being played and snort. It’s “Straight Outta Vagina” by Pussy Riot. Seems fitting, to be honest.
“What?” I ask when I realize that Hael is still staring at me like I’ve lost the fucking plot.
“You’re not meeting with Mason,” he tells me, a warning note in his voice that says he’ll compromise on some things but not this. “Blackbird, you just lost our baby—”
“It was barely anything,” I mumble, but Hael squeezes my shoulders even harder, leaning down to look into my eyes. His brown ones darken with the severity of the situation.
“You’re not putting your life at risk for this stupid war. I’d just as soon pack up and leave. As much respect as I have for Prescott, as amazing as having that money would be, it isn’t worth it if you’re not around. You hear me?”
I just stare back at him, but the wheels in my mind are still turning.