“Cop-out,” I murmur, and he laughs. “I guess you’re not interested in seeing what’s under this shirt then?” I lift up the hem a bit, teasing him with a clear view of my upper thighs but stopping just short of revealing my cunt.
“Blackbird, ne me chauffe pas comme ça,” he purrs, reaching up to run dirty fingers through his hair. Hael pauses near the door, and I stop where I am, my hand resting on the rusty hood of the Cadillac. His honey-almond eyes find mine, a smear of black grease on his cheek. His muscular arms are dotted with beads of sweat, like little magnifying glasses highlighting the ink underneath. There are hot girls and cars and Sailor Jerry style hearts. He’s got skulls and roses and bluebirds. I could look for hours and still find something new in all that art that wraps his hard muscles. “I’m not great with vocalizing my feelings,” he continues in English, licking the corner of his lip.
My body is aching for the feel of his hands, that sweet coconut oil smell that clings to his skin because he uses it so often to remove the grease and motor oil from his body. But not tonight: I really do want him to be as filthy as possible.
“Try,” I reply, knowing I’m playing hard to get here, but needing something from him. These boys like to play cat and mouse with me. Despite their declarations of obsession, our strange history, their single-minded focus on me. They all need to work on the touchy-feely shit. “Tell me, Hael. What does it mean to have me here?”
“It means I can be saved,” he replies in a rush, like the thought’s just occurred to him. This time, when he gives me that shit-eating grin of his, it feels genuine. “Fuck, maybe I could be a poet, too?” He moves through the middle of the room, underneath the light with the fuzzy white moths, and then stops just short of touching me. “Having you here tells me that maybe, just maybe”—he pauses to point at Batman’s logo on my borrowed shirt—“that the idea of good versus evil, of happy endings, of great romance … isn’t all bullshit. Possibility, Blackbird. That’s what you are to me, what you have been since we snuggled up together in a homeless shelter on a shitty, stormy night.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, my hands trembling slightly as Hael puts his fingers under the t-shirt, finding my bare hips and letting out a curse of his own. “Maybe you’re right? Maybe you should try your hand at poetry?”
He chuckles at me, but the sound is different now, much deeper, a bedroom laugh if you will.
“Yeah, no,” Hael whispers, leaning down to press his mouth against the side of my neck. “I’ll leave the writing to you; you leave the explosives and the cars to me. Whatever else we can’t handle we’ll make the guys take care of. That’s what I like about this whole arrangement, Bernie. Everybody has a job; everybody has a purpose.” He lifts the shirt up, pausing with it halfway over my head, so that my mouth is the only part of my face that isn’t covered.
When he kisses me, he tastes like heartbreak and drive-ins from the fifties, classic cars and hot summer passion.
Hael licks my lower lip and then moves back just enough to take the shirt off the rest of the way, leaving me standing there naked in nothing but a pair of stolen leather stilettos.
“Hot damn,” he growls, taking me in with dilated pupils and heavy-lidded eyes. “If my poor maman wakes up and finds you in here like this, she’ll have a fucking heart attack and then drown me in good old-fashioned Catholic guilt.”
“Guess we’ll have to try our best to be quiet then,” I whisper back, my voice coarse with need, my thighs slick with desire. I wrap my arms around Hael’s neck, kissing him like the high school sweetheart that every girl wants, the one that tastes like heartbreak yet goes out of his way to keep your heart whole.
He lifts me up with his dirty hands, leaving grease prints on my white ass as we stumble over to the Cadillac. Hael scoots onto it, pulling me into his lap so that I’m straddling him.
Our eyes meet as I grab hold of his wifebeater and tear it off, chucking it aside and then grabbing his face in both hands, kissing him like I might very well die if I don’t. He touches my face right back, reverently, lovingly. Hael is not afraid to show affection, and it’s exactly the sweet dose of emotional medicine that I need tonight.
He trails his fingers over the pink demon wing tattoos on my chest as I do the same, caressing the words Hot Rod inked into his own skin. We both have designs up and down both arms, just swirls of vibrant color that tell the world we’re not afraid to hurt, to bleed, to express ourselves.
Hael drops his hand between us, undoing his pants and freeing that beautiful dick of his. Not only is it pierced at the tip, but he’s got a few tattoos down there, too. I can only imagine how those appointments must’ve gone, or what the tattoo artist must’ve thought when he asked to have his junk inked.
“Ride me, Blackbird,” he tells me, and I groan in anticipation. “Just like you did at school that day. You remember?”
“I think about it all the time,” I reply as I lift up on my knees and Hael takes hold of my hips, holding me while I guide his cock to my opening. I sink down on him with a deep groan, my eyes closing as he slides his hands up to my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples. “All the fucking time.”
I ride him hard and fast, the Cadillac rocking beneath us. It’s noisy, but hopefully not loud enough to wake his mother. By no means am I a prude, but holy shit, that is not a situation I want to find myself in.
Hael takes over my body, caressing my thighs and then grabbing my ass, encouraging me to ride his dick hard and fast, the metal skull charms on my heels jangling as I work my wet pussy up and down his shaft. His moans are throaty and low, rough and unpracticed. He isn’t performing for me or trying to show me a good time; this is Hael Harbin raw and real.
He takes one of my tits in his mouth, sucking on the soft flesh and swirling his hot tongue around my nipple as I dig my fingers into his hair. When I let myself slide fully down on his dick, I can feel the piercing in the tip teasing my most intimate parts.
To hide the sound of my moans, I yank his head back with a grip on his hair and then press my lips against his neck, biting and sucking like a goddamn vampire. His skin is mottled with the fervor of my kisses, his body soaked with my juices.
“Motherfucker,” he grinds out as I bounce on him in those gawdy ass heels, bringing him to a shuddering climax. His fingers dig into my ass so hard that I cry out, rolling my hips forward a few more times until he’s emptied himself fully into me.
We’re both panting, the garage silent but for the pinging of the moths against the light.
“Your turn,” Hael growls, lifting me off of him and setting me on the floor. As soon as he climbs off the hood of the Eldorado, he picks me up and sets me back down on it. Shoving my knees apart, he proceeds to clean up the mess he just made with the inferno of a sinful tongue.
Wrapping my long legs around his neck, I drag him close, yanking on his hair harder than I probably should. When I finally come, my body writhing and spasming under Hael’s sinful mouth, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me back to his bedroom.
“How many girls have you brought home?” I ask when he lays me down on his bed and braces himself above me, lifting a single finger to trace the angry pink gash down my side. I got my stitches out the day before school started, but the damn thing still hurts like a bitch. Fitting, considering it was given to me by one.
“Here?” Hael asks, seemingly surprised by the question. “None. You think I’d risk a Cajun mama’s wrath for a quick fuck? No, Bernie, you’re the only girl that’s ever been in my bed.” He kisses me so deeply and so sincerely that I know for a fact that he’s telling the truth. “I love you, Blackbird,” he breathes, surprising the fuck out of me.
That I did not expect, not from Hael, not so soon.
But then, we’ve been craving one another’s company for a decade now.
Two, frightened little kids on a stormy night in a shelter full of lost souls.
Hael adjusts himself so that he’s spooning me, and for several minutes there, the room is sil
ent but for the distant patter of rain outside the window.
“I love you, too, Hael,” I reply finally, surprising him yet again. I can’t see his face, now that he’s curled around me in a protective, possessive sort of way. But I can feel him, the way he tenses up for a moment and then relaxes like every care in the world has just gone out the window.
“Thank fuck for that,” is his response as he nuzzles into my neck and breathes hot against my skin. “Thank fuck.”
Later that night, I wake up to see Hael standing at the window. He’s naked now, his bare ass a treat to look at, even if it’s almost too dark to see. I sit up a little in bed, the blankets tumbling forward so that my breasts are exposed to the cool air. The Harbins definitely keep the thermostat lower than we do at Aaron’s.
“Are you okay?” I ask, but Hael doesn’t move. For a minute there, I wonder if he’s even heard me. Finally, he glances over his shoulder, his face dark and broken into jagged pieces.
“He’s home.”
That’s all he has to say. I know what he means: his father is here.
“Should we be worried?” I ask, and Hael gives the slightest shake of his head.
“Worst case scenario is I kill him in cold-blood and end up in prison …” Hael trails off as I push the blankets aside and move over to stand behind him, wrapping my arms around his body and enjoying the hot feel of him. “He’s changed me in so many ways, Bernie,” he continues, reaching down to put a hand over my laced fingers. “That man … he made me violent. But he also made me too soft in some ways. I can’t stand seeing a woman hurt—even someone like Kali. Like Brittany.” He sighs again and swipes a hand over his face. “I want to hurt my father so bad that I dream about it every night, yet I know that if he dies, the first person the police will look at is me. I can’t bring more attention to Havoc, you know? And if I did get caught, I’d be separated from you. That’d be the worst part for me. The absolute fucking worst.”
“I like that you’re soft toward women,” I tell him, and then I hear myself echo the words I’ve heard from both Aaron and Callum. “It isn’t a bad thing to not want to hurt someone.” My eyes close on the thought, knowing that if I can’t take that advice, Hael likely won’t either.
“I feel bad for Brittany, even though I shouldn’t,” he continues, and I know that even if it seems like his father and his ex are two separate issues, really they’re one in the same. “But she broke our deal. She has to be dealt with. I just don’t think I can do it, hurt a pregnant woman that I used to fuck.”
“You won’t have to,” I promise, watching as his father climbs out of his car and heads for the porch in the pouring rain. We both pause at the sound of a pounding fist on the front door. There are too many locks; the fucker can’t get in without being let in.
There are footsteps in the hall, the sound of deadbolts and chains being opened. Minutes later, we can both hear the sound of a headboard banging against a wall.
“Jesus,” Hael murmurs as we both stiffen up at the sound. I think of Penelope; Hael is worried about his mom.
“Come back to bed,” I murmur, letting go of Hael’s waist and taking his hand instead. I curl up with his head on my chest and stroke his hair with gentle fingers, soothing away both our nightmares at the same time. After the banging stops, Hael falls asleep and I follow shortly after, holding him and breathing in the sweet smell of coconuts and broken boys with cheerful smiles.
Two and a half years earlier …
“Mom, please!” Penelope is screaming, holding the deadbolt in her hand. It’s still wrapped up in plastic, some hard-shell shit that takes a knife to open up. She cut herself doing it, and now there’s blood all over the carpet.
“You’re not putting a hole in that door,” Pam snaps back, snatching the package away from Penelope and holding it aloft. “This place is a rental, Pen.” Our mother tucks the item under her arm as tears stream down Penelope’s face. She looks over at me with this expression I’ll never forget.
Why aren’t you standing up for me? That’s what she’s asking. She needs an ally. I’ve never been all that great at being a sister before but lately … things seem different with Pen. Every time I look at her, I swear, she seems just a little bit smaller than she was the day before.
“Why not just let her have the lock? Have you seen the holes that Neil’s punched into the walls? And neither of you are going to drywall that shit when we move out. You’re not getting your security deposit back either way.”
There’s a sound like thunder in the air, a crack that makes my teeth hurt. I cringe slightly, but it isn’t me who’s been slapped, but Penelope.
“This conversation is over,” Pamela hisses at her oldest daughter. When she grabs Pen’s arm and shakes her, I feel this awful fidgety feeling inside of me. “You don’t need the damn lock. Unless you’re, what, inviting boys over to fuck? Is that why you need this?”
“I need the lock to keep them out,” she whispers, but at the time I don’t quite make the connection. Pamela turns away from her daughter, like she didn’t hear her in the first place. We both watch as she pounds down the stairs and out the front door, shoving the deadbolt into the trash at the edge of the curb.
I turn back to look at Penelope, but she doesn’t return my stare. I’ve disappointed her.
Pamela comes storming back into the house, heading straight up the stairs and shoving me with her shoulder. I end up stumbling, losing my balance and pinwheeling backward; my ears ring as my head hits the wall on the way down, my back screaming in agony as I find myself dizzy and disoriented at the bottom of the stairs.
I fell, that’s what happened. It takes me several seconds to make the connection.
I groan as I sit up and Pen yells, sprinting down the stairs after me.
She helps me up, but I can never forget the look on her face, the one that says that what I’ve always secretly hoped for—a change of heart from our mother—is never going to happen. Pamela has the power to get us away from here, away from her abusive husband, out of poverty. She could even keep stealing credit cards and robbing her rich friends. If she spent half of that money on housing and clothing and food for her kids, we’d be set.
That never happens.
I always intended to make up for that moment, when I should’ve stood up to my mother for Pen. After Pam slapped her, I should’ve shoved that bitch down the stairs. I should’ve killed Kali.
What if I get a third chance to make things right, and I fuck that up, too?
“You’re out of your element,” Kali says, smiling at me as she leans over the bed and looks down at me. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
And then she kisses me, and I wake up.
I have the dream again on both Saturday and Sunday night, waking up the next morning with an emotional hangover.
Fuck I hate Monday morning nightmares with a passion.
A serious fucking passion.
Sara Young surprises me on Monday with a map that leads right to Tom’s forested property. I’m so fucking tired that I can barely keep my eyes open as I lift my head up to see what she’s just laid out on the desk. As soon as I register what it is, the blood drains from my face and the room spins.
On the outside, I stay as stoic as possible.
“What is this?” I ask, yawning and letting the sleeves of the hoodie I’m wearing fall over my hands so Sara can’t see how hard they’re shaking. I’ve barely slept for three nights. And not because of the sex with Hael. Instead, it’s because I keep dreaming about Pamela and Penelope and ending that same dream with mocking remarks from Kali. And the more I dream about them, the sicker I feel on the inside.
“That’s what I came to ask you. It’s a map that Neil left in one of his jacket pockets. We found it when we searched his locker at the station.” Sara leaves the map where it is, a bad photocopy of a napkin with hasty scrawls on it. How could Neil have known about that place? I think, my mind scrambling as my body slumps in the chair, fei
gning boredom.
I spent the weekend riding Hael’s dick in too-tall heels. Today, I’m sitting here wondering how the fuck the Thing found Havoc’s hiding place. And what Sara Young is going to do about that.
“I followed the map out there, nice property. Seems to belong to a one Tom Muller. Does that name ring any bells?” Sara asks, and we both know she already knows the answer to that question.
“Victor’s mother’s boyfriend,” I say with a loose shrug. “What’s your point?”
I bet it was the night Neil killed Ivy; he probably followed the boys out there. I resist the urge to bite my thumbnail. Won’t help. I’ll just smear my lipstick everywhere. I’m already wearing a wrinkled hoodie, my blond and red hair loose and wavy over my shoulders. Not sure how Cal or Oscar would miss that, but what other explanation is there?
“I walked the property, but it’s several hundred acres.” Sara exhales and folds her hands together on the surface of the desk. “I should be honest with you, Bernadette.”
“Okay?” I start, my heart thundering. So what? Some street cop found a map to a forested property. Doesn’t mean shit. But it does. It means everything because that’s just the sort of place a person might bury a body that they don’t want found.
“I’m not with the Springfield Police Department. I’ve actually been working undercover for the VGTF.”
I stare right back at her, no reaction. Bullshit, I think, but the way Sara’s staring at me, I wonder if she isn’t telling the truth.
“You’re with the VGTF?” I repeat, thinking about the Violent Gang Task Force. It’s a division of the FBI, a division focused on—surprise, surprise—gangs like Havoc. But there’s no way. There’s no way Sara’s here because of Havoc.
“I’m not here for your gang,” she tells me, as if she can read my mind. There’s something patronizing in her tone that tells me she considers us kids. All of us. At least for now. She has no fucking clue. What is it about people over the age of twenty-one? It’s as if your brain snaps and you can’t remember what it’s like to be young and angry and desperate. Being in high school doesn’t preclude us from anything—not even murder. “I came here to investigate your stepdad, actually, right from the moment I was assigned as his partner.”
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