Aaron snaps, standing up from the couch and knocking stray kernels of popcorn everywhere.
“We have a problem,” Hael says, panting heavily, his forehead dotted with sweat.
“What is it?” Vic asks, making me jump as he appears out of freaking nowhere.
“Ivy Hightower is dead,” Hael says, surprising the shit out of me. I sit up suddenly, upending the bowl of popcorn to the floor.
“Where is she?” Vic snaps, which is a strange question to ask, if you really think about it. But then, he knows this game a hell of a lot better than I do.
“Outside,” Hael says, his mouth turned down in a severe frown. “On the front lawn.”
“Well, fuck me,” Vic growls, and then he, Aaron, and Hael are moving in unison, like a murder of crows. Perfectly aligned. Perfectly in sync. As it often did when I was in junior high, my heart thunders at the sight, and my mouth waters with the need to belong.
I join them.
And there she is, pale body stretched across the grass like she’s sleeping. Obviously, Ivy hasn’t been dead as long as Danny, so she can still fake it. Life, that is. At least from a distance.
“We just saw her in the hallway today,” I manage to get out, anxiety flooding my body with adrenaline. It’s interesting, isn’t it, how perceptions and needs can shift with time? I’m worried about the boys getting caught, more than anything. What if that douchebag detective Constantine were to drive by? What if the Thing were to cruise up in his Dodge Charger?
Shit.
Oscar and Callum join us. One from inside the house, the other from the shadows. The fuck was Cal doing out here? Nobody else seems to care, so I figure he must’ve been on watch or something. I’ll tell you one thing: I would not like to find Callum Park crouching in the darkness, waiting for me.
“Grab the tarps and gloves,” Oscar says, yawning. He’s dressed in black satin pajama pants, hung criminally low on his hips and showing off all those pretty tattoos of his. Even though it’s obvious he’s just woken up out of sleep, not a hair is out of place. His glasses are clean. Oh, and he’s still a goddamn asshole. “Bernadette, are you deaf? Move your ass and get the tarps and gloves,” he snaps, and I scowl at him.
If this were a different time and place …
But a group is only as tough as its weakest link, and let’s be honest here: I’m flagging.
I move into the house, glad that the girls are long past the point of waking up for the night, and grab the extra tarps from a plastic bag near the front door. There are dozens of them, and I can’t help but wonder if the guys keep them on hand, like paper towels or some shit.
Heading back out into the dewy grass, I pass the tarps to Callum.
“You look rough, my friend,” he whispers to Hael as they unwrap one of the tarps with freshly gloved hands. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened? Brittany’s dad is the head of the anti-gang force. He’s a cop with an extra dose of asshole attached to his title. He beat the snot out of me and then threatened to press rape charges. You like that one?”
“I oughta box your fucking ears for getting us into this shit,” Vic snarls, and Hael’s entire face flushes with shame. He grits his teeth as he helps Cal roll the body of our dead classmate onto the tarp. Second time we’ve done that today.
This time, I won’t look at Aaron. I hate how right he was about all of this.
“Bernadette, I tried to warn you. We’re messed-up. Havoc is fucking messed-up. You just—”
He never finished what he was going to say, and I never got the chance to clarify, but I’m pretty sure it was you just never saw it. And I didn’t, because they didn’t let me. Even when they were metaphorically kicking the shit out of me during sophomore year.
These are my boys.
Mine.
I have to protect them. Even if I hate them a little bit. Even if they’re fucked-up and twisted and their spirits are darker than pitch. This is it for me, my endgame.
Yanking on a pair of gloves, I help the guys wrap Ivy up and bind the tarps with rope.
Cal says it’s the cheapest goddamn rope you can buy at Wal-Mart. Their guys pick it up on the regular, usually in a large load of groceries,