***Possible Spoilers***

Anarchy at Prescott High is a reverse harem, high school, enemies-to-lovers/love hate/bully romance. What does that mean exactly? It means our female main character, Bernadette Blackbird, will end up with at least three love interests by the end of the series. It also means that for a portion of this book, the love interests are total assholes; there are also flashbacks of past incidents involving bullying. This book in no way condones bullying, nor does it romanticize it. If the love interests in this story want to win the main character over, they’ll have to earn it.

Might be hard though, considering the Havoc Boys are dicks.

If you’ve read my other three high school romance series—Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, Devils’ Day Party, or Adamson All-Boys Academy—then just know this one is a bit more intense, and character growth/redemption are needed more than ever. Stick with us. It’s fairly similar to I Was Born Ruined (the first book in my Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club series).

Any kissing/sexual scenes featuring Bernie are consensual. This book might be about high school students, but it is not what I would consider young adult. The characters are brutal, the emotions real, the f-word in prolific use. There’s gang violence, group sex scenes, and a school shooting.

None of the main characters is under the age of seventeen. This series will have a happy ending in the final book.

“Alright, darling, keep your head,” Victor tells me in a voice crafted of confidence and desire, possession and pain. He knows me so well, everything about me, really. He knows the darkest recesses of my heart, but he also knows that deep down, on the very inside, there is something about me that still wants to believe.

Believe the world is good.

Believe that love prevails.

Believe that there is justice.

I’m standing in the Prescott High School gymnasium, surrounded by people, watched by cops … and yet, all I can think about is how I’m going to flay Kali Rose-Kennedy and lay her to waste. I am done with her shit. And I am done with shit from people like Neil, and Eric, and Coraleigh.

Done. Done. Done.

“They’re all watching you,” Callum says, stepping up close, like a dark avenger in his black suit and crossbones cufflinks, with his imperfectly beautiful voice. “There are five police officers in here, Bernie.”

I’m standing there in that stupid pink dress—why did I pick this? It isn’t me at all, is it? No, it’s what Pen would’ve worn. But I … I am not my sister. And I never will be. As soon as I get my ass out of here, I’m dying the tips of my hair as red as the red, red motherfucking rose.

As red as blood.

As red as the blood I’m about to carve out of Kali.

She stares at me from across the room, and I swear to god, I can’t see anything else. If she hurt Aaron, God nor the devil will be able to save her. I wet my lips with my tongue as she turns away from me, threading her way through the crowd toward Sara Young.

Why on earth she would go back to a police officer when she’s already been labeled a snitch is beyond me. Sometimes people do stupid things, I guess. Sometimes people do really stupid things.

Fortunately for Kali, this will be the very last stupid thing she ever does.

“The fuck is she going?” Hael grumbles, swiping a hand over his face. My body shivers at his nearness, but I just stroke my lioness down and let her know that it’s time to hunt, not time to mate. Not yet. Maybe later, in Kali’s blood.

Shit, I’ve already been labelled the school bully for throwing Kali’s face into a locker, so I might as well tell the truth, right? If I’ve got the title, then I’ll earn it. Like I said, there are two sides to every story, but usually, only one of them is true.

“Cops, got it,” I say belatedly to Callum. Oscar’s eyes track my movements as I start off in Sara’s direction. With all his weird issues about touching people—you know, unless they’re on their period or tied up in his bedroom—I don’t expect him to touch me.

“Whatever it is that you plan on doing, run it by us first.” He puts his long, tattooed fingers on my arm, searing my skin with the type of mark you can never scrub clean, one that’s made up of desire and unfulfilled promises.

I just stare into his gray eyes for a moment before giving a brief nod.

My feet are moving across the floor before I even realize it, the boys trailing just behind. I continue to feel Oscar’s stare on my back, and I think about the way he put his hand on my head and told me he was sorry. Too little, too late, maybe, but I don’t care.

He’s mine, and we both know it.

He can be fucked-up; he can run away after sex; shit, he can trade barbs with me all day long.

That doesn’t take away from our belonging to one another. Signed and sealed, written in blood. Cannot be undone.

“Bernadette,” Officer Young says, her doe-brown eyes flicking past me to land on the boys. Like a murder of crows with sharp-sharp beaks, they scatter, dispersing into the crowd as if her presence has any effect on them at all. In reality, I know Oscar would put his revolver to Sara’s temple, pull the trigger, and not lose any sleep over it.

It’s up to me to act like a moral compass in this situation. Not that the boys have a terrible one, because they don’t. After all they’ve been through, despite the darkness in which they thrive, they do good for this city. Springfield could only be so damn lucky to have us run the underground.

Somebody has to do it, right? Why not a bunch of somebodies whose hearts actually beat? Who care for other souls beyond their own? Who actually have souls, I should say. We won’t sex traffic little girls; we won’t hurt bystanders; and I’ll be damned if we kill cops whose worst sin is that their hands are a little too clean.

Kali turns her toxic gaze to mine, and I swear on the devil’s perky tits that I feel something slash through me, like the fangs of an arachnid. Poison, poison, poison. I’ll admit: I’m a little sexist. After everything men have done or tried to do to me, I know the depths of their evil. Women, overall, are not nearly as bad. But when they are, they’re fucking venomous.

“Do you need something?” Sara asks, seemingly oblivious to the silent battle of wills taking place in this stupid dance. This stupid, motherfucking idiotic bullshit dance that I, for some silly reason, wanted to come to with Aaron.

I wanted to be seventeen for a night.

I wanted to be in love.

Instead, I’m going to soak my pretty, pink dress in blood.

I smile.

Kali senses my intentions; I know she does. Good. As she should. That’s my only regret in finding out that Coraleigh and her idiot husband Marcus had their heads chopped off by someone that wasn’t me: intent. They need to understand where I’m coming from, and why they’re being punished. But whereas Leigh was delusional enough to fool herself into thinking she’d done nothing wrong, Kali knows.

Kali. Fucking. Knows.

My tongue slides across my lower lip and tastes the waxy texture of my lipstick; it’s called Anarchy by the way, and it’s pink and vibrant and terrifying when paired with a rictus grin.