I wait until he's climbed out before I press play on the video he's pulled up.

My mind goes blank, and everything that makes me, me … it all just disappears.

The world is evil; I've always known the world is evil.

But this, it’s even worse than I ever could’ve imagined.

My hands shake and fat tears roll down my face as I watch what I already knew to be true take place on a shiny glass screen sitting in my lap. My sister's most unbearable pain, and there it is, etched into technology forever.

I make myself watch the whole thing; if Penelope suffered then I can at least watch. I can watch. I can fucking watch.

Throwing the passenger side door open, I fall to my knees with the iPad clutched against my chest. Pushing up to my feet, I start running. I have no idea where I'm going, but I can't stay here. Heather will be safe with Havoc.

Despite everything else I know about them, I believe that part to be true.

So I run and I don't stop, holding the iPad like I'm holding Penelope's heart in my hand.

“Bernadette!” It's Oscar's voice, calling out to me.

But he doesn't stop me, and I don't slow down, pushing myself so hard that I trip and fall more than once, bruising my bare knees on the concrete, turning them bloody.

Numb, numb, numb.

All I want to be is numb.

Numb, like when I was locked in the closet. Numb, like when my foster brother smoothed his hands over my budding breasts. Numb. Forever numb.

How could they? All this time, they had this video. All this time.

The Thing knew—he knew—that this would freak me out, that it would make me question everything I thought I knew about the Havoc Boys. And he was right. I hate that more than anything, that he knew exactly how to get under my skin and destroy me.

There's video proof of Neil Pence raping my older sister.

And I hold it in my hands.

But if I turn it in, he goes to prison … and so do the boys.

At first, I don't realize where I'm going, not until I find myself outside the door to the Southside Dreams Dance Company.

I push my way in, my face wet with tears, my legs wet with blood, and I find my way down the hall to Studio C.

“Get the fuck out,” I snarl as soon as I step inside, still clutching the iPad, my skin soaked in fresh sweat, my heart in pieces. Callum pauses at the front of the room, turning to look at me with eyes the color of melancholy. That's what they are; they're not even blue, not really. Blue doesn't look like that, like a pool of a thousand tears, like crushed dreams and fragmented realities.

“Excuse me?” one of the girls at the front asks, and I flick my green eyes over to hers. If I were certain I could stop myself just short of murdering her, I'd storm over there and tear her pale pink leotard from her anorexic body.

“Out,” I repeat, and then I throw the iPad as hard as I can against one of the walls, shattering both the screen and the mirror. It comes down in silvery shards, sparkling as it falls, like my pain's an art project, on display for everyone in that room to see.

“Everyone out,” Callum confirms, turning fully around, his sleeveless navy hoodie unzipped over his black tank top and leggings. “You'll all get a full refund for today, and a free class. Go.” He waits as his students file out, moving past me to lock the door and draw the shades behind them.

“How could you?” I ask as he turns back to look at me, fully aware that I'm crying again. Silent tears, though. My pain is always silent. If I let it go, the monster inside of me will start screaming, and she won't stop until I'm deaf, until the world falls quiet around me and leaves room for only the worst thoughts. “All this time …” I start, a harsh laugh slipping past my lips. I should've painted them with that teal-gray color I like, the one that reminds me of zombies and graveyards. Pretty Little Dead Girl is the name of the shade. It seems appropriate in this moment. “How did you get it?” The words come out like a bite, a verbal punch to the gut. And then, the worst part of it: “and if you saw it, why didn't you stop it?”

Callum moves back to the front of the room, pushing play on his stereo and starting up Sex Metal Barbie by In This Moment; I recognize the haunting darkness of it right away. When he turns around to look at me again, he offers up a hand.

My footsteps are loud as I move across the well-worn floors of the studio, placing my hand in his and then kicking off my boots.

Cal pulls me close and then uses the force of his body to guide us into the center of the room again, spinning me and then letting me fall into his arms. Our gazes meet, and hatred ripples through me in a brilliant and violent wave.

After all the things they did to me, I still liked them all. I still wanted to be a part of their group, more than anything.

And now this?

I feel like a reaper's come and stolen my soul away, leaving me truly empty in a way that I never was before. No, instead, I was only trapped. Now, how am I supposed to survive this emotional blow? Because after everything, despite everything, I still had the Havoc Boys. I still had them. Even if this is a life lived in darkness, it's at least a life.

Now I have nothing.

Now I am nothing.

Callum guides me around in a circle, my hand in his, our bodies circling each other as the soles of his slippers whisper across the floor. When he drags me in close, slamming us together front to front, the music grinds on, desperate and low and angry.

I fucking lose it.

My fists pound against Cal's chest before he grabs my wrists, the strength in his grip surprising as he tries to hold me back. Meanwhile, Maria Brink continues to let the husky purr of her words weave through the still air in the studio, creating magic where there was none.

Today though, right now, it most definitely feels like black magic.

“Think about it, Bernadette,” Cal whispers, his voice just barely audible over the music. His eyes look down into mine, asking me to understand. He doesn't beg, doesn't plead, just asks. And all with a look. Tearing my arms from Callum's, I put my face in my hands as the song ends and a new one from the same artist—Big Bad Wolf—starts up. “If we'd seen it while it was happening, we would've done something about it.”

“Really?” I ask, dropping my hands down and turning to look at him. I'm not sure I've ever identified with a song more than I do right this second. “Even in these chains, you can't stop me.” “Because I don't know that. You guys are more than aware of all the seedy shit that goes on in this town. You knew about Principal Vaughn, but you didn't do fuck-all until I asked you to.” I storm back over to Callum, fully aware that I'm taking every bit of rage I'm feeling toward Havoc as a whole out on him. Maybe I feel safe to do that, like I'll somehow get a better reaction from him than any of the others. If so, it's a false sense of security. “You know about Nurse Yes-Scott, and yet you do nothing about her either. So don't lie to me and say you'd have stopped it. If it didn't interfere with Havoc's plans, then maybe.”

Those full pink lips of his twist up into a smile, the darkness in that expression at odds with the rest of his appearance. Callum looks like a fairy-tale prince, ready to ride in on a white horse and save the day. In all reality, he's the villain, the one you're supposed to hate, but can't because he's too damn pretty. That's how he gets you in the end, like a poisonous butterfly, too beautiful for the crow to resist.