Ophelia smiles at me, the expression a match for mine. She hates her son almost as much as I love him. I say almost because there is no touching this toxically beautiful thing that Victor and I have.
“We have an entire year to play games with each other,” Ophelia purrs, leaning in close enough that I can smell her perfume, like coffee, vanilla, and white flowers. Some expensive fragrance, no doubt. “I’m looking forward to it.” She quite literally snaps her fingers as she stands up and Tom stumbles to do her bidding, shoving his empty glass back in Coraleigh’s hands as he scrambles to keep up. “Come along, David.”
David—one of the only two guys outside of Havoc that I ever slept with—shoves up to his feet, casting me one, last, strange look on his way out the door.
“What the hell was that about?” Hael asks, pointing between the front door and my face. I glance back at him, trying to school my expression, but I must be a terrible poker player because he narrows his brown eyes on me. A bit of jealousy sours his expression, but I don’t … dislike it. Is that wrong?
Even if it is, I don’t give a shit.
“Bernadette fucked that guy,” Victor says, lighting up a cigarette and giving me an inscrutable sort of look. “That sweet cunt of yours better not get us into trouble the way Hael’s dick has, or I swear to god, I’m off to Fiji and I’m never coming back.” He gestures in Coraleigh’s direction with his head. “Callum, let her use the bathroom and then tie her up again. We’re going to stay the weekend.”
Victor Channing is a dark, masculine god. I don’t think there’s a straight woman on this earth who wouldn’t look at him and feel the need to worship at least some aspect of his body. His personality, on the other hand, might leave something to be desired.
“Want to tell me about David?” he asks, shirtless and gorgeous and looking over his shoulder at me with a cruel, possessive twinkle in his obsidian gaze.
“David,” I start, sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed in one of the five motherfucking guest bedrooms in this monstrous house. We’ve left the Vincents their room to spend the night in. I mean, they’re tied up, but at least they’re in their own bed, right? “I met him at a Prescott party, and we hooked up one time.”
Victor turns fully around to look at me, tossing his shirt on the floor next to his suitcase. We sent Callum and Hael to grab our things from the hotel; we’re officially moved into the Vincents’ mansion now. At first, the thought made me nervous. What happens if we get caught here? But then I remembered that there’s a little girl named Alyssa in the other room who was about to be sold to perverts. We have too much dirt on the Vincents for them to do anything at all.
“Did you use a condom?” Victor asks, and I swear to fuck, I almost blow a gasket. The look I give him is pure fire, but he doesn’t back down. He just stands there, shirtless and inked-up and glorious and stares at me as I comb the beach tangles from my wet hair.
“Yes, asshole. I used a condom. Believe it or not, I never made a habit out of not using condoms until I became a Havoc Girl.” My stomach clenches at my own idiocy as of late. Aaron, of course, was a perfect gentleman and made the condom thing work. But Oscar and Victor and … even Hael.
“You don’t forget unless you really like a girl.” Hael said that to me once, in the Hellhole, that goth shop in downtown Springfield. And he did just that, on the hood of his Camaro, the car he doesn’t let anyone touch unless they’re a part of Havoc.
Hmm.
My face flushes and I look down at my lap. I’ve been taking those stupid birth control pills that Oscar mysteriously procured—or more likely had Callum steal for him—so at least there’s that.
My hand stills on the brush as Victor comes over to stand in front of me, grasping my chin in his fingers and lifting my face up to look at him. The connection between us pulses and throbs like a live thing, making my chest hurt. Does he know how much he means to me? Even if he says his love is selfish, even if he is a jealous prick.
I lick my lips as he leans down and breathes me in.
“You smell so damn good,” he murmurs, and I have to close my eyes to hold back the rush of emotion in my chest. “I could eat you up, Bernadette, consume every last bite.” Victor licks the side of my face and the brush falls from my hand, clattering across the floor.
Fuck, shit, damn it.
“Stop it,” I admonish, but there’s no heat to my words.
“No.” He grips my chin even harder, and I open my eyes to meet his beautiful ebon ones. “These pieces of shit wasted nearly half a day of my time; I’m going to make up for that now.”
I almost open my mouth to protest, but then … why bother? Aaron has the girls under control. Between Cal, Oscar, and Hael, they can watch the Vincents.
“It was a nice wedding present,” I say instead, and he smiles. Even with a bit of true mirth coloring his eyes, it’s really more of a smirk. “I mean, between the Vincents and the Thing …” I trail off as Victor chuckles.
“Violence and sex, I can offer you either of those things in droves,” he tells me, releasing my chin and then stepping back to flick the light. We’re plunged into darkness, but it doesn’t really matter because we live there in our souls anyway. That’s me and Vic, just two crows in a murder of black feathers and sharp beaks. “And love. Those things are infinite.”
“You’re an ass,” I sputter, because it’s all I’ve got. My cheeks are flushed and my heart pounds. “But I love you anyway.”
“Why?” Vic asks, moving through the shadows to grab something. It’s my dress, my beautiful, black wedding gown, that he takes off the hanger and brings over to me. He offers it up, but it takes me a second to grab it because I’m struggling for the right words.
“Why?” I echo. “I could ask you the same thing, you know.” I take the dress from him. It shimmers, even with just a hint of moonlight from outside. Our windows are open, and I can hear the sea saying hello and goodbye to the beach in a gentle, soothing murmur. Constant, unending, boundless.
“Copout,” Vic says, lighting up another cigarette. He’s addicted to nicotine the way I’m addicted to his attention. It might kill us one day, but we don’t care. “You know why I love you; I said as much on our wedding night, right after we got naked in the hotel room.” He points at me with the cigarette. “It’s you who owes me.”
I frown and look down at the dress.
“I have intimacy problems, Vic.”
There. Wow. I said it. I said something real, something that isn’t … angry.
“We all do,” he says, kneeling down in front of me. I look up at him, and I do my very best to hold back the tears. Why am I crying now? I’ve had much better opportunities to cry. Victor reaches up and cups the side of my face in a big, warm hand. His thumb plays across my lips as salty tears slide down my cheeks. “We were raised on broken glass and shattered dreams, Bernadette. We’re allowed to be fucked-up. We’re allowed to make mistakes.” He sighs and his breath feathers across my knee as he puts his forehead against my leg. “We’re also allowed to change.”
I reach into the pocket of the dress and pull out the tube of pink lipstick. Heartless, it’s called. But even though I love the shade—Penelope would’ve really loved the shade—I am not heartless. In fact, sometimes I wish I had less heart, because then things wouldn’t hurt so damn much. The next thing I pull out is the list, that ugly, crumpled envelope with all of those awful people written on it.
1. the stepdad
2. the best friend
3. the social worker
4. the ex-boyfriend
5. the principal
6. the foster brother
7. the mom
Smudges of pink lipstick obscure a few of them, but the most important one is still left.
The mom.
Because out of all people, out of all humans, she was the one who brought me into this world and then let it fuck me. Encouraged it to. Did it herself, even.
“The saddest part about all of this,” I s
ay to Vic, studying the list I made just a few months ago. “Is that these names are on here not because I wanted to hate these people. They’re here because I loved them, or I loved the idea of who they were supposed to be.” My thumb brushes over number three as I think about Coraleigh in her bedroom down the hall. “Her job in society is to be a safety net. She was supposed to protect me, to spirit me away to somewhere better. She pretended to be my friend, Vic.” I sigh and move my thumb down to number five. Principal Vaughn is … interesting. He isn’t blameless, and he got what was coming to him, but he also called the boys for me. He called an ambulance for Ms. Keating. Is it possible for someone to search for redemption, no matter how badly they fucked up?
Not for someone like Eric Kushner. Or the Thing. But I guess that’s why they’re dead and Scott Vaughn is not. Coercing underage teenagers into making live porn videos is pretty bad, but he didn’t rape anyone that we know of.
I turn the envelope over. My vows are written there in ballpoint pen. Some of the ink is smudged, but it doesn’t matter because I can still read it. Fuck, I still know what I want to say without reading it at all. But pretending to read the words off the paper makes me feel better.
“It’s too dark for you to possibly see that,” Victor challenges, lifting his head up to look at the piece of paper. I smooth the folded edge down, so he can see the page better. Moonlight splinters across it in silver bars. I can read it well-enough.
“I don’t even need to read it to say it,” I inform him anyway, my hands shaking. Being vulnerable is not my thing. Vulnerability has never served me well. I let myself be vulnerable with Penelope, and she’s dead. I let myself be vulnerable with Aaron, and he left me. Big exhale. “Can you do yours again?” I ask and Vic laughs. He nuzzles his face against my knee, and I let out a small sigh of relief.
He’ll do it; I know he will.
“Sure, but you gotta put the dress back on.” He stands up, looming over me in a way that I can only describe as protective. Vic, despite his dickish demeanor, wants to take care of me. That much, I do know.
“It’s covered in grave dirt and cum, you prick,” I grumble, but it’s really not that bad. Truly, it just needs a dry cleaning. After paying nearly six thousand dollars for it, you bet your ass I’m going to have it cleaned and wear it again.
“Put it on, Bernadette,” he demands softly, moving around me and heading over to the balcony. He steps outside, bathing his body in even more silver light from the moon. It highlights his tattoos and enhances the shape of his muscles.
I stand up and shirk the black lacy nightgown I was wearing, trading it out for the dress. I don’t bother with panties. Victor’ll just tear them off and toss them anyway. My bare feet whisper across the tiled marble floors as I move over to stand beside my husband.
“I can see why you kept yours hidden from Ophelia,” I tell him, and he scowls, turning his attention out toward the sea. A few Sitka spruce and shore pine trees dot the edge of the property, but for the most part, the view is unobscured. It’s nice, but it isn’t worth the blood of innocents. “She’s a motherfucking shark, Vic. Truly, she’s scary as hell. What are we going to do about her?”
He just shakes his head, reaching inked fingers up to run them through his hair. I step a little closer, so that when I breathe in, I can smell that masculine musk of him and not just the salt and sand and sea.
“No more business tonight,” he tells me, glancing over and exhaling sharply. Victor reigns that anger of his in the way he always does, the way he did in his front yard that day that I challenged him, and he pushed me up against a tree. He’s a master at controlling his temper. Daresay, better than Oscar at even. “That’s the thing with Havoc. There’s always someone to bury, someone that wants to bury you, and a more productive way to spend your time.” He laughs again; the sound of it is the very definition of ASMR for the soul. “Sometimes you just want to fuck your girl, you know what I mean?”
I smirk at him, tucking my right hand into my pocket while I hold the list with my left.
“Not exactly. Pretty sure I was born cursed because I’m into guys. If only sexuality was a choice.” I shake my head as Victor smirks right back at me. Tit for tat, he said to his mother, but really, that’s me and him in a nutshell.
“You’re stalling,” Victor says, and he isn’t wrong. The idea of reading to him what’s written on this paper fills me with terror. He turns around, resting his elbows on the railing behind him and looks right at me. “We’ll have another wedding, after I get my inheritance. And we’ll invite every snot-faced, billionaire asshole that my mother knows. It’ll be gothic as fuck and it’ll scare the shit out of them all. Because, you know, I’m not satisfied with owning the respect of high school students. We will control the underground, Bernadette. We will rule it.” Victor reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me close and lining our bodies up. When he looks down and into my eyes, my heart stops beating. Because he has the power to make it do that. He owns my heart, and he knows that, too. “When that time comes, I will say this to everyone in the audience.”
“Oh please,” I murmur, but once again, my words are soft, as mollified as the gentle waves of the ocean. Victor stands up straight, putting his palms on either side of my face.
“No, you listen,” he tells me, but the pressure on my cheeks is gentle. He can crack skulls, or he can hold me close with those hands. He does both admirably well. “Ophelia cannot truly understand how important you are to me, not yet. She cannot know the depth of the things I feel. If she does, she will do her very best to ruin us.”
“Nobody could ruin us, Vic; we’re already ruined,” I say, and he kisses the fuck out of my mouth, burning me up with teeth and tongue and leaving me panting in his arms. “Bernadette, you are the driving force behind everything I do,” he repeats, and I shiver at the sound of his deep voice. It shimmers through the air and drives into me, filling up every crack, every empty space. I close my eyes, just so I can listen better. “You always have been. I can’t thank you enough for that.” Victor kisses each of my closed eyelids, and I smile. I also feel a little bit sick, because I know I have to sound as vulnerable for him when it’s my turn. “Without you, I wouldn’t have had a reason. A reason to live. A reason to fight. A reason to succeed. You’re the oxygen in my blood and the electricity that makes my heart beat.”
I let out all the breath in my lungs and just let the pain of not breathing sear me for a moment. That’s what it feels like when Victor looks at me, when he talks to me, when he fucks me. Not the pain, I mean, but like the very first breath I take when I can finally find the courage to pull oxygen into my lungs again.
“Even though I don’t deserve you,” he continues as I struggle to hold my breath as long as I can. Victor knows I’m doing it, too, but he doesn’t hurry his way through this. Instead, he draws out each word, like my soul is a voodoo doll and he’s sticking in pins. Each one hurts, but then blooms into a pleasure unlike any other. “Even though my love is selfish, I want you to trust me. Close your eyes and free fall, Bernadette; let me catch you.”
I open my eyes at the same time I draw breath, filling my lungs with the sweet, coolness of the winter breeze. It feels so good that for a moment there, I almost stumble. Vic keeps me standing upright. He leans down and kisses the side of my neck, sending lines of fire into my bloodstream.
“Let me be your husband, and I fucking swear to you that I’ll love you until the world goes dark and beyond that, into the stars.”
“Do the other guys know what a soft-hearted motherfucker you are?” I whisper, but it’s a deflection technique and we both know it. Victor isn’t a soft-hearted motherfucker; he is only soft for me. I have to remember that.
“Will you, Bernie?” he asks, kissing my collarbone. I didn’t bother to put on the feathered piece of the dress, so my throat and chest are naked and ready for the poisonous kiss of his lips. “Will you stay with me until we can be buried in the same casket, in the same plot, in the same cemete
ry?”
“You’re morbid,” I murmur, but I can’t resist his pull and he knows it. “I will; I do.”
Victor grins at me, putting his hands on my upper arms and rubbing them up and down to warm me up a bit.
“I’ll never get over hearing you say that,” he tells me, giving a low chuckle when my cheeks flush. Even in the dim moonlight, I bet it’s obvious that I’m embarrassed and uncomfortable. That first night, when Vic gave me his vows and asked for mine, all I had to do was grab him and pull him into the bed.
We fucked all night long, barely stopping for breath.
Today is different; I’m not getting out of this now.
“My vows are … kind of like a poem,” I venture cautiously, lifting up the crumpled envelope between us. “Even though I suck at them, I try. They make me feel better for some reason, like writing down my feelings makes them easier to digest.” I exhale through my nostrils and stare down at the first word. Victor. It always starts with Victor. From that moment he pushed a little boy down the slide for pulling my pigtails until the day I stormed up to him in the hallway of Prescott High.
“I don’t think your poems suck,” he says, and I have to look up and find his eyes to make sure he’s telling the truth. They’re as dark as always, and shadowed by night, but I can still tell because I’m used to seeing in the pitch-black. He’s being serious. “I used to dig them out of the garbage and read them last year. Every Tuesday and Thursday after your third period English class.” He flashes me a white-toothed grin as my lips part in surprise. “You wrote a lot about us, about how much you hated us.”
“I—” I start to sputter, but Victor silences me with a kiss.
“It’s okay. Everyone needs an outlet; writing can be yours.” Victor licks the corner of his lip and reaches fingers up to his purple-dark hair, mussing up its perfection a bit. He always slicks it back like some fifty’s greaser, and I fucking love it. Wouldn’t hurt him to fuck it up a bit every now and again though. “Violence is mine. Wanna trade?”
Mayhem at Prescott High Page 6