“What did Pamela want?” he asks, and I sigh. I guess that’s it. We’re not going to talk about the orgy. We’ll just leave it in the dark and the shadows and the smoke like everything else.
“She thinks I stole her man,” I deadpan as Cal lifts my knuckles to his pink lips and brushes a kiss against them that has me shivering. The dark chuckle he lets out in response reminds me of last night, and heat rushes to my core, making me shift in discomfort.
“That makes perfect sense,” Vic agrees sarcastically, cursing as the cigarette drops hot ash onto his crotch. He flicks at it with his fingers as he pulls the smoke from his lips with the other hand. Aaron and Hael choose that moment to make their appearance, coming down the stairs together. The girls’ laughter can be heard echoing from the upstairs bedroom.
“Can you please not smoke in my house?” Aaron says, and I see that we’re already back to normal. Yesterday, he told me fuck it, and let us both chain-smoke right here at this table. But maybe it’s different when Victor does it?
It’s like … he never went missing. Like I wasn’t stabbed. Like Kali isn’t dead. Like they didn’t all share me last night and sleep in the same room.
I guess that’s just how it is when you’re in a motherfucking gang. This is our version of normal, recovering from knife wounds and broken legs and heartbreak.
Oh, and murder.
Or a lack of courage to commit it.
“What makes perfect sense?” Hael asks, turning on “I Like It” by, once again, Cardi B. I’m guessing he’s taking inspiration from last night’s playlist. He doesn’t like hip-hop anymore than I do. Shit, he’s a rock ‘n’ roll sort of guy. I snort when I remember him playing Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”.
“Bernadette, stealing her mother’s husband,” Victor says, smashing his cigarette into the ashtray on the table and turning his attention over to me. As soon as our gazes meet, I can tell that he, at least, remembers everything from last night. “It’s what all little girls aspire to, the attentions of a pedophile.”
Aaron finally makes it down the stairs, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes with a long sigh. His chestnut hair is mussed and falling into his face. He pushes it back with his hand and opens green-gold eyes to stare at me.
We’re both thinking about Kali, I’m sure of it.
I’m fairly positive that I’m the only person in this room who sees her though, sitting naked on the counter with her skin sloughing off, green party dress sparkly and clean and perfect on her ruined flesh. She smiles at me, and I turn away, moving over to the pink leather Havoc jacket that’s hanging near the front door.
“Is Pamela gone?” Aaron asks, his voice tired and strained. We really shouldn’t have fucked last night. When I woke up this morning, my bandage was stained with blood and I was forced to sit patiently on the toilet while Oscar changed it out for me, long fingers sliding across my overheated skin.
We both spent so much time waiting for the other person to speak that we ended up not talking at all. Well, except for one, gentle Shakespearean chastisement from him. “Oh, let me suffer, being at your beck …”
Jesus.
“She’s gone,” I say finally, trying first one jacket pocket and then the other until I find what I’m looking for.
Inside of it is a crumbled list with seven names and a tube of pink lipstick that’s seen better days. I sit down at the counter as Hael watches me from the other side, smoothing the paper flat with my hand and striking a pink line through number two, the best friend.
“Oh please,” her specter hisses, leaning toward me until I swear to god, I can smell her rotten breath. “You miss me already. So much so that you’re imagining I’m still here.”
I stare down at number seven on the list—the mom—and then I crumple the page back up and hold it in a closed fist. Aaron slumps onto the stool beside me, snapping me out of my temporary trance. I lift the pink lipstick to my mouth and paint myself while all five boys watch.
Their attention is not lost on me.
“Where should we shop today?” Victor asks, referring to the dress I’ll need for Ophelia’s party. What a weird thing to do, after recovering from a stab wound and killing your ex-bestie. Well, having your ex-boyfriend-turned-new-boyfriend kill your ex-bestie … I won’t think too hard about that today. Reflection is for downtime. And Havoc, we don’t have any of that lying around. “Any ideas? I’m not exactly up to snuff on designer labels. I mean, there’s an art form to how the rich squander their fortunes.”
“She needs something with diamonds,” Oscar muses from behind me. He feels close, like maybe he’s gotten up from the chair and is standing right next to me. I don’t look back to see; I’ve already got one demon grinning at me from Kali’s rotten face. No need to add another. My poor heart can only take so much.
“Oh, I already have diamonds,” I say, pulling Ophelia’s necklace out from the breast pocket of the t-shirt. It says, ironically enough, I’M A VIRGIN across the back. “I found this by stepping on a pair of my discarded pants this morning. Hurt like a bitch.”
“That’s my girl,” Victor purrs, licking his lower lip as he stares down at me with eyes the color of crows. “Shoving diamonds into her pocket and forgetting all about them.”
“Let me,” Cal offers, taking the necklace from my fingers and clasping it against the back of my neck. His touch lingers, making my skin pebble with goose bumps. When he drapes himself over my back and puts his lips against my ear, I shudder. In pleasure, of course. I’m not afraid of him. Never have been. “Let’s go steal from one of the Oak neighborhoods,” he says, referring to the ritziest parts of town, the ones that have been setting themselves apart from the rest of the city by planting oaks in their front yards for over a hundred years. There’s Oak River Heights, Oak Park, and Oak Valley. Of the three, Oak Park is the most prestigious. I can’t even imagine the horrible secrets hiding behind the doors of those mansions.
After all, the wealthy play the same games that we do, just on a different sort of board.
“Just make sure the cop isn’t following you,” Hael says, tapping his fingers against the countertop. “She was outside earlier this morning.”
“Aaron, you stay here with Oscar and the girls,” Vic confirms, making a split-second decision the way he always does. That is, without any hesitation whatsoever. Because to be a leader, you have to do things you don’t like sometimes. I guess I have a lot to learn. When Victor gives me an order from now on, I’m going to follow it. “We’ll take our girl shopping.”
Our girl.
That’s a rare phrase to hear, coming from him.
It makes me smile.
“And on the way,” I say, fingering the diamond necklace absently and then remembering that Ophelia did the very same thing at the beach house. I shiver and drop my hand to my lap. “You can tell me all about the motherfucking Grand Murder Party.”
The Oak Park shopping district is even nicer than the Oak River Heights one. It’s been called the Rodeo Drive of the Pacific Northwest by a number of popular influencers. But really, to call the shopping experience here pleasant would be a lie.
Seeing as Hael’s Camaro is in a bit of a state, he can’t drive it. Instead, he’s borrowed a ’69 Pontiac Firebird in a bright yellow. It even has a black racing stripe down one side. It’s a nice car, and it probably took a hell of a lot of work to make it look the way it does, but … it doesn’t fit in here.
Neither do I.
I’ll admit, I dressed up as the biggest South Prescott ho there ever was. But only to prove a point.
I’m wearing leather stilettos, black leggings with circular fishnet cutouts that start at my ankles and go all the way up to my hips, and a deep purple sweater, cut off at the midriff. My makeup is heavy and dark, like I’m ready for a metal concert. Black liner in the shape of a cat eye, smoky gray shadow, and contouring for days.
“You really like to play games, don’t you?” Hael asks, studying me from his
spot on the driver’s side of the car, arms crossed on the roof as he stares over it, looking right at me. He’s waiting to see what I’ll do next, and he has no idea what that’s going to be. He likes that. I grin back at him as Callum carefully closes the passenger side door, his hood up, blond hair hidden in shadows.
“Have you ever seen Pretty Woman? That’s what I’m aiming for, an all-out rejection from a salesclerk. Then I can walk back in that store later with a shit ton of shopping bags, gesture with them for emphasis, and say big mistake, huge.” I grin as Vic slides off his motorcycle after me, a deep chuckle warming those pretty lips of his as his obsidian eyes make a sweep of the quiet street.
Aaron is home with Oscar and the girls per Vic’s request, but the four of us, we’re going to make a date of this. Sort of. At least, in Havoc, this is what a date constitutes.
Theft and the careful disruption of classism. They’ll hate having us here, all of these wealthy assholes. I light up a cigarette as a woman passes by with a pink-dyed Pomeranian. “Jesus Christ,” I murmur as she passes. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. “The only way they’d be more pissed off is if we weren’t white.”
“Let’s go rob the Nazis then, shall we?” Vic asks as I find the store I’m looking for, pointing it out across the street. It has a sign proclaiming to be Locally Owned and Operated. But trust me, I looked this place up and found out that the owner is the daughter of some techie asshole who claims to be one of the world’s first trillionaires. Eyeroll. Talk about a disgusting distribution of wealth, am I right? Some people starve; some people have gold ceilings and toilets.
“The woman who owns that one is a ‘self-made’ woman,” I say, making quotes with my fingers. “Self-made with a loan from daddy. She’s had numerous bankruptcies, managed to avoid paying income taxes for years, and even once ‘paid’”—I have to make quotes with my fingers again, sorry, but the story is too dumb—“her husband a consulting fee to get out of reporting an extra million dollars in profit.” I drop my arms by my sides as Callum chuckles darkly beside me, swallowed up by a blue hoodie and terrifying as always. He’s got those long jean shorts on that he likes, showing off the tattoos and scars on his legs.
“I love that you’ve researched this, how you always try to make sure the people you bleed deserve it.” He laughs again and then slips his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “It’s an admirable trait, Bernie. A rare one at that.”
“Oh please,” I start with a bit of an eyeroll. “My insistence on justice makes me as blind as Sara Young. I’m going to get myself killed.”
“Not if I can help it,” Cal quips right back, holding out a hand to indicate that I should cross the street. I step off the curb in my heels without even bothering to look both ways, forcing some dickhead in a Ferrari to slam on his brakes. He rolls down his window and leans out, like he’s going to yell something at me. I pause in the middle of the street with the three boys behind me.
They all look at the driver, waiting for him to say something.
He doesn’t.
Good for him.
He like, literally almost died.
A grin sweeps across my lips as we finish crossing the street, and I push open the pristine glass doors of the store with both hands. I’m wearing the diamond ring on my finger, the necklace on my throat. When the store girl sees me, she looks like she might piss her pants.
“I need a dress,” I tell her, taking in the shop with a single glance. It’s a fairly small boutique, but there are plenty of choices. Most of them cost upwards of the average person’s monthly salary. I look back at the girl and her watery brown eyes, her fearful smile. She doesn’t want to upset me, but she’s also afraid of someone else. Likely, her boss. “It has to be red.”
“Um, yes, of course,” she begins hesitantly, leading me through the store and pointing out possible choices. A good half of the items aren’t in my size, but that doesn’t bother me. I know my worth. I’ve known it far longer and far better than I ever wanted to. No girl likes grown ass men to catcall them out their car windows when they’re thirteen years old.
If you agree to hate yourself because the world tells you to do so, then it’s already won. Don’t let them do that to you, make you despise yourself even as they lust and drool after everything it is that you already have.
I make a few selections, letting the salesgirl take my choices to a fitting room. Snagging one last dress off another rack, I head to the small men’s section in the corner of the store. I’ll start by seeing if I can pair the color red with any of the bow ties there.
“We have to do tuxes, don’t we?” Victor asks, swinging around a rack to stand in front of me. He rubs at his chin in thought and then frowns, like the idea is repellant. I wish it weren’t; my husband looks damn fine in a tuxedo. He also smells amazing, that wild musky scent of his at odds with the subtle floral notes drifting through the store’s lavish interior.
“The dress code is black tie, so … tuxes,” I agree. “With understated but eclectic details. Maybe with bloodred bow ties that cost a fucking fortune but somehow still say I don’t give a fuck? Add in the skull and crossbones cufflinks you guys wore on Snow Day, and we’re golden.”
Vic smiles at me, a slow, easy spreading smile.
“By the time we’re done here, you’re going to eat Ophelia alive,” he says, which is a huge fucking compliment that I don’t deserve. I didn’t kill Kali when I was supposed to; I failed. She’s in the store with us, standing in the corner and staring at me with unblinking eyes. I look at Victor instead, but I can’t seem to make the words come out. Hey, Vic, I’m actually seeing ghosts that I think are the manifested incarnations of the disappointment I have in myself.
Nope.
Not the time or place.
I turn back to the display of bow ties, picking one up and matching it to the red silk of the dress. When I look up, there’s Callum, in a spot he most definitely was not seconds prior. Fuck, what I’d give to be able to move like that.
“Cop girl is outside,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder as the front door of the shop opens and in walks Sara Young. Hael is standing next to the entrance, pretending to be interested in a display of heels. The way he touches the shoes, with such carnal reverence, gives me an idea that I tuck away for later. Hael, me, naked but for a pair of nice heels … Shit.
I banish the thought just in time to meet ‘cop girl’ head-on.
“Bernadette,” Sara says, raising a hand as if in greeting. It feels more like a threat. I pretend to be surprised, draping the red dress over my arm. “How are you feeling? I heard about the accident at the party.” Her face says she believes absolutely nothing about that story.
I stare right back at her, the garment I’m holding worth thousands. It feels much heavier than a piece of silk rightfully should, like it’s carrying the weight of everything it’s supposed to represent. Over Sara’s shoulder, I see Hael tuck his hands into his jeans pockets and walk along the wall of windows at the front of the shop. He’s clearly checking to see what the situation is here. Say, for example, if Sara is alone.
She looks at the dress and then back up at me with a soft, blond brow cocked.
“Can you afford that dress, Bernadette?” she asks me gently, ignoring the death stares of both Callum and Victor. I know that either way I answer, I’m trapped. Either I’m going to steal the damn thing, or I have quite a bit of cash on me that came from … somewhere. Nice move, cop girl. She’s slick, this one.
“Victor’s mother is a wealthy art enthusiast,” I say, letting my mouth curl like the petals of a poisonous flower. I’ve painted them Venus Flytrap Purple today, so the analogy fits. The color is somewhere between a bruise and an iris, and that’s exactly what I was going for. “She’s invited us to a party next week and agreed to pay for a dress.” I lift the garment up in explanation. “Of course, come the day after, I’m going to pawn the stupid thing, but whatever.” Loose shrug of my shoulder.
Sara’s
doe eyes finally slip past me to land on Victor. She stares at him for a moment, the way a person who truly wants to be good looks at someone that they perceive as bad. If she had a button to push, one that would punish Vic in all the ways she thinks he should be punished, she’d fucking push it. She looks at him like he’s already guilty in her mind.
“Well, I’ve been trying to contact Kali Rose-Kennedy to discuss her relationship with Neil Pence, only to have her father tell me that she hasn’t come home, and he doesn’t know where she is.”
“White trash is as white trash does,” I say with another shrug and a sigh. “My mother never could keep track of me either. Thankfully, the emancipation.” I wiggle my fingers at her to show off my wedding ring as the salesgirl comes over to take the dress from me. She puts it in a changing room with the others, but less like she’s providing me customer service and more like she just doesn’t want me touching the damn thing any more than necessary. “Well, you know I hate Kali with a passion. I have no idea where she is.”
“How about a woman by the name of Coraleigh Vincent?” Sara says, surprising me. Fuck. I have to resist the urge to look back at Vic. But I can feel him, poised, waiting. Callum is just oozing violence from behind me. If he thinks he has to, he’ll kill cop girl for me. But I don’t want that, not for anyone involved.
Hael comes up to stand behind Sara, hands clasped in front of him like a bodyguard, head tilted to one side. His red hair is bright beneath the store’s white lighting. It reflects back at me from the mirrored walls a thousand times over.
“She used to work pretty closely with your stepfather,” Sara continues, browsing her phone for a moment and then looking back up at me. “Tell me: have you seen her lately?”
I laugh, but I don’t have to try very hard to make the sound ugly.
“Coraleigh?” I ask, like she doesn’t come to mind often. To be quite honest, she doesn’t, she hasn’t. She was a small part of my pain. Maybe, when I was holding her against her will at the beach house, she thought she meant more to me. She thought I actually gave a shit about her. To be quite honest, the only reason I’m still glad we went after her is because she helped reveal all the other duplicitous assholes in my life. Ophelia, for example. She’s so much more a part of this city and its underground than I ever could’ve imagined. “Who the fuck gives a shit? She’s a bad person who likely got what was coming to her.”
Anarchy at Prescott High Page 14