“What I mean to say, Bernie, is that we weren't there when it happened; we didn't film it.”

I turn in a small circle, pacing in place, trying to keep my hands to myself. My go-to reaction to everything is violence. Despite my anger right now, I don't actually want to hurt Callum. To be quite honest, I'm not sure that I could hurt Cal, even if I wanted to.

He might be able to beat me.

Maybe.

“Even if you didn't film it,” I bite out, pausing and curling my hands into fists at my sides, “you knew about it. All this time, you've held Neil Pence's smoking gun in your hands, and you chose not to pull the trigger.” Callum watches me carefully, his blond hair bright beneath the track lighting above our heads, the muscular curves of his biceps dotted with sweat.

He's staring at me like he … feels sorry for me.

That look makes me want to kill him.

“What do you want me to say, Bernadette?” he asks me, cocking his head slightly to one side, as cute as a puppy gazing at his master. Only, this boy is no puppy. He's cute, sure, but underneath all of that pretty, there's a whole hoard of ugly. “I killed a man to protect you last night. Do you think I would lie to you now?”

I grit my teeth.

I'm obstinate, but even I can't deny that.

“Why?” I ask, putting my hands together in a prayer position and gesturing at him with them. “Just tell me why.”

Callum pauses for a moment, pulling in a deep breath, and then holding out both hands for me.

It doesn't take a genius to know he wants me to dance with him again. Why, I'm not sure, because I'm a shitty dancer. Maybe because it's the only way he knows how to express himself?

Even though it fucking kills me, I put my hands in his and let him pull me close. The track switches to Rise Above It by I Prevail and Justin Stone. The song starts slow, so Callum and I do, too.

He pulls me close, plastering us front to front, his movements forcing my own. He turns me into a decent dancer by simply using his form to dictate what I do with mine.

Doesn't make me any less pissed.

My very cells vibrate with rage, and I know he can feel it. I know he can.

His hands, my hips, it’s impossible to tell where Cal’s body ends and mine begins. He walks me backward, until we’re in the center of the room, using his foot to sweep one of mine out from underneath me. I dip back, and he catches me like it’s nothing, lifting me up and then hauling me into his arms. We turn in a slow circle before Callum sets me down again.

His fingers trail down the side of my face as our mouths come close enough to kiss, but then the drop in the song comes, and Cal pulls back from me, encouraging me to spin in place. He lifts me up by the hips and my legs go around him, the music fading to a slower beat. My fingers dig into his blond hair as he turns us in another circle, my gaze tilted down toward his.

I don't quite expect him to push me against the mirror, to let my body slide down the front of his until we're face-to-face. Cal leans in and captures my mouth with his, leaving me with the taste of regret and pain on my lips.

It’s a kiss for the ages, a defining moment in the storybook of my life. Callum’s kiss forces his spirit into me, brushing his very essence up against mine. I can see now why he didn’t kiss me before. It’s too personal for him, too deep.

Yet … he’s giving it to me now.

I gasp as we separate, like I’m coming up for air. Like I just found myself sweetly drowning and didn’t care if I died or not. Now that, that is one dangerous motherfucking kiss.

“Whatever is best for Havoc, Bernadette, that's what we do.” His mouth is pressed up tight against mine, but I can barely think beyond my anger. Even if my body is flushing hot, and all I want right now is to fuck Callum against the wall of his dance studio.

“Yeah, well, screw you.” I shove him back, letting my feet fall to the floor, but he doesn't let me go, grabbing my wrists and slamming them into the mirror behind my head. “I bet there isn't a single one of you who would've told me about that video.” I sneer at him and then, when I try to pry out of his grip and he doesn't let me go, I spit at his feet. “I had to hear about it from the Thing. Do you know what that was like? It was like being taunted by the devil himself. He took pleasure in telling me. You gave him that pleasure by keeping this from me.”

“Bernadette,” Callum growls, surprising me as he grabs me by my hair, keeping the fingers of his right hand around my wrist. “I spilled blood for you last night, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. I’m not sure what it is you’re looking for, an escape route, or a reason to run, but you won’t find it here.”

“Let me go,” I grind out, but Cal ignores me, leaning in to put his lips near mine. My heart is pounding like crazy, but I’m not sure what to do. I want to leave here, but then where will I go? Liar. You don’t want to leave at all, do you?

And that’s the worst part of it all: I don’t.

I want to stay with the Havoc boys; I want to be a Havoc Girl.

I always have, since I was eight years old. They might not’ve called themselves Havoc back then, but they were still my boys.

When Cal turns and presses his mouth against mine, I see stars. The fingers of my right hand dig into his shirt and my body arches, like we’re dancing all over again. His arm, the one with the ballerina tattoo, wraps around my waist as he releases my other wrist. When he picks me up and slams me into the mirror again, I gasp against his lips, my legs curving around him, ankles locking.

Callum is soaked in sweat, his cheeks pink from whatever workout he must’ve gotten in before I got here. I wonder if I’m too much for him to hold up, with his injuries and all, but he doesn’t act like I weigh anything at all. His fingers slide from my hair to cup the side of my face, thumb dipping between my lips. This time, when he leans in toward me, he kisses the side of my neck instead of my mouth.

The sensation burns like fire through my veins, traveling to my fingers, my toes, making my cunt pulse and throb as he grinds his erection against my pelvis. It’s impossible to miss, behind those sweatpants of his. Callum waits for the beat of the song to pick up and then starts to move in rhythm to the music, stirring up this delicious friction between my thighs.

That’s when the power cuts again and the studio goes dark.

“Fuck.” It’s the only word he manages to get out before the rain starts to come down, battering the old skylight. The song ends and suddenly, it’s just way too fucking quiet in that studio. Part of me wonders if some of those pinging sounds I hear are Callum’s dreams, shattering to glass on the tin roof above our heads. “It’s always bad timing with us, isn’t it?” he asks, but I’m not entirely sure what he means, other than that I was just here, with the rain coming down in sheets.

Cal releases me, and I shove him back. He stumbles a bit, but only because he's letting me push him around.

His blue eyes watch me as I head for the door, shoving it open with both palms. I've left little spatters of blood in my wake, and my bare feet smear them as I continue down the hallway, not caring that I've left my shoes behind.

Regardless of where and how they got it, the Havoc Boys had that video.

They didn't tell me about it.