“Callum’s knife, huh?” he asks casually, still barely bothering to look at me. Some part of me wants to start another fight, just to get him worked up, to draw that focused attention of his over to me. “That must’ve felt good, to stab Kali like that.”

“I messed up,” I admit, reaching up to run my fingers down my freshly braided hair. “How much is Aaron going to pay for my mistake?”

“Kali was barely injured, and we know some people down at juvie.” Finally, Victor moves his dark gaze over to me, and I shiver beneath the intensity of it. “No harm done. But next time, talk that shit over with me before you do it. If you want to jump Kali, we can make that happen. I’d just prefer nobody else knew about it.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Vic tosses his cigarette into the grass, and I follow suit. He mounts his bike, and as I’m sliding up behind him, I can hear his deep voice rumble through me.

“Are you on birth control?” he asks, and I grit my teeth. Of course we can’t just let yesterday go, can we?

“No.”

Another moment of silence before he grunts, and then kickstarts the engine. We take off, my cheek pressed against his back, my heart thundering in my throat. It’s too much, to be pressed up against him like this. You goaded him into fucking you yesterday, I tell myself, and I can’t decide if I’m truly a glutton for punishment or if I was testing him because I didn’t think he’d actually do it.

Either way, those thoughts keep me distracted as we weave through the middle-class areas of Springfield, and into the prestigious Oak River Heights district. If the neighborhood, shopping center, or school has the word oak in it, you know you’ve reached one of the ritzy areas.

We pull up outside a pretentious white Greek revival style mansion with a two-story porch and a massive oak tree in the front yard. When the city was first founded in 1890, that was one of the ways the rich designated themselves and their businesses, by planting oak trees in and around their properties. Thus, the theme of including the word oak in the naming of certain locales.

“Your mother lives here?” I ask, and Vic shakes his head, climbing off the bike and looking up at the house with a scowl that breaks through that fine control of his.

“Her new boyfriend owns this place.” Vic glances over at me, that hot anger of his making my skin prickle. “He comes from old money, but when his parents died, they left everything to their daughter. The asshole got nothing, so he’s putting pressure on my mom to make sure she takes over my inheritance. After all, how are they supposed to live their fancy lifestyle if neither of them has any money left?”

I glance up at the house again, but I can tell that Victor’s gaze is still on me, tracing the sweetheart neckline of the blouse I’ve got on. When I close my eyes, I can feel the rough press of his cock at my opening, the sensation of his hot, hard flesh filling me up.

“Do you want to stop and get a morning-after pill when we’re done here?” he asks me, and my brows go up.

“I get a choice in the matter?” I ask with mock surprise, turning my attention back to him. “Aren’t you supposed to just order me around and tell me you’ll shove one down my throat?”

Vic’s jaw clenches, and he looks at me like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to him, like he’s seriously regretting the deal we made.

“Is that what you want, Bernadette?” he snaps, turning to look at me. “You want me to order you around and treat you like a whore? Because I can, if you’re so goddamn excited about the prospect.” Victor steps toward me and pushes me into the tree, setting his forearm against the trunk as he leans over me. “Why are you so determined to make this suck?” He snaps this last word out like a whip. “I’ll remind you: you came to us. You called Havoc; you made a deal. I gave you more than enough chances to change your mind, to run, which is more than I’ve ever given another client.”

“Why?” I ask and he goes almost completely still above me. I’m shaking now, but for whatever reason, I can’t figure out why. Why I want him to hate me. Why I keep provoking him.

I’m scared to belong because I’m scared of being rejected.

The thought pops into my head before I can banish it, and Victor exhales, his breath ruffling my hair.

“We’re gonna be late.” The words come quiet and soft, not at all like I was expecting. He pulls away from me and turns toward the house, leaving me with my back against the tree, my knees weak. After a moment, I follow after him. As I step up on the front porch, the front door opens to reveal a butler.

Huh.

I didn’t know people actually had butlers anymore.

The man ushers us inside and leads us to a solarium on the far side of the house where Ophelia’s waiting, her hands folded carefully over one knee, her dark eyes watching the pair of us as we step into the sunlit room. There are well-tended plants along all the walls, green tendrils draped over ceramic pots, flowers blooming and filling the air with sweet perfume.

The table itself is set with a silver tea set, a coffee pot, and various platters with cut fruit, pastries, and breakfast meats.

“Have a seat,” she says, and her smile is downright poisonous. There’s a special sort of gleam in her eye that infuriates me from moment one. Or maybe it’s just her son, crawling under my skin, making me bleed emotionally?

“Mother,” Vic says, leaning down to press a cold, clinical sort of kiss to his mom’s cheek. What did he call her? The egg donor? I feel like that better encapsulates the scope of their relationship. She’s jealous of us. When Vic first said that, it didn’t quite make sense to me. Seeing Ophelia sitting there in her floral skirt, hair perfectly coiffed, her face painted on … I start to get it. Maybe she feels as numb as I do most days, but there’s no pain in her life to temper it, just ruthless greed. “How long has it been since we had breakfast together? When I was in the womb? Or just before that?”

“Funny,” Ophelia says, but I’m damn near positive her son is telling the truth.

Victor pulls out a chair and indicates for me to sit in it. I’m loath to get that close to him right now, but I sit, if only because I know that losing out to Victor will kill Ophelia. And I really don’t like her. We spent one lunch together, and I know that for a fact.

I reach out for a croissant as Vic sits beside me, pulling his chair so close that our knees touch. Heat travels through me, this violent surge that takes over my entire body and makes it hard to breathe. I shouldn’t be having such strong reactions to him over so little. Clearly, I’ve gone mental.

Ophelia notes our closeness, and her carefully crafted smile slips a fraction of an inch.

“What’s this I hear about you getting expelled?” she asks, lifting her coffee to red-painted lips. Her dark hair is smoothed back into an intricate up-do, one that most girls and women only wear to proms or homecomings or even weddings, not to a casual breakfast with their kid.

That’s the first sign that she’s afraid of Victor.

She wouldn’t bother to put on her armor if she weren’t.

“Not expelled, Mother,” Vic says, resting a big hand on my naked thigh. His fingers slide back and forth, stroking me and making it extremely difficult for me to focus on the conversation at hand. His flint-like eyes are locked on hers in challenge, his purple-black hair slicked back, one tattooed hand resting on the table. “Suspended. And only for two days. Don’t worry: I’m right on track to graduate.”