I choke on the feeling of helplessness, as familiar to me as my own breath. It comes in uncontrollable waves, an ebb and flow that I couldn’t resist if I tried, just as impossible to resist as holding my own breath until I pass out.

Who cares about a fake marriage? I ask myself. It’s a common enough trope, a central focus of dozens of TV shows, movies, books. What’s so much worse about pretending to be a bride? Isn’t that better than finding myself in the beds of all five Havoc Boys?

Hmm.

“You’re on my orders and nobody else’s.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean anyway?

I slump down the wall and wait there until my anger subsides. I’m committed to this. I spent the entire summer hiding out with Heather at the lake and the park, mulling this over.

There are people in my life that have to pay, and I don’t have the strength or the resources to make it happen on my own.

So if I have to slip on a ring for Victor’s mommy, so be it.

It won’t be the worst thing I do this year.

Not by a long shot.

Besides, if I try to leave, I don’t know what they’ll do. Well … actually, I guess I do: they’ll kill me.

That much, at least, is a definite.

Sitting with Havoc at lunch every day is disconcerting; I'm pretty damn sure the whole school is staring at us. Other stuff I noticed: Jim Dallon didn't ask to bum a cigarette from me, Mark Charlin didn't hit on me when I was digging through my locker, and my ex-bestie, Kali Rose-Kennedy, saw me coming down the hall this morning and went running.

She's coming down, like all the rest of them. The people who ruined my life. Havoc did a good job. Hell, they really are professionals, but they were the symptoms, not the cause.

I'm taking down the ringleaders of my destruction.

Sometimes, when I feel like this, I'm certain that I'm a ghost, come from the grave for vengeance. There's no way I could be alive, not with the way I feel. Living things shouldn't be so full of misery.

“Where'd you get the sweet bike?” Callum asks, his voice low and dark, rough. Stacey claims a rival gang member once hit him in the throat so hard that he suffered permanent damage. I'm not sure if I believe that, but the guy has this coarse, shadowed sound to his words. “Did you pinch it?”

“I got the parts out of the dumpster behind the cycle shop downtown. Wait around long enough, and they throw out a little of everything. Some elbow grease and YouTube videos was all it took.”

I glance over at the shiny red ten-speed on the bike rack and shrug my shoulders.

I'm trying to eat my cafeteria food, this nasty ass greasy pizza plus the bag of chips and soda that come with it. But I can't. I feel like I'll be sick if I do. Tossing the slice of pepperoni down, I sigh and wipe my shiny fingers on a napkin.

“Can I have this?” Cal asks, pointing at my soda, and I nod. Aaron still won't look at me, and I don't care. He doesn't like me in his gang? Too damn bad. He's the idiot who helped create Havoc and their rules: if the client is willing to pay, never turn down a gig.

“Tonight, we'll meet at my place,” Vic begins, sitting up straight, and giving a passing boy a look that's all sorts of cold hell. The kid stumbles over his own feet, looking sheepish, and empties his pocket into Victor's hand. It's just a big baggy of weed, but I don't see any money exchange hands. Instead, Vic nods and the student scurries off like a mouse. I hope I don't look like that, like some sort of frightened rodent looking to pay the dog to scare off the cat. “Eight sharp. Bring shit to stay the night. The old man's off to poker night; we'll have the place to ourselves.”

“Stay the night?” I ask, feeling my brow go up. Vic frowns and looks at me with that scary ass face of his. My palms go up in a placating gesture. “I'm not complaining, just asking.”

“We have my mother's breakfast thing on Saturday, so get ready to gussy yourself up: you're going.” Vic rolls toward me, putting his palm on the step on my right side, and sliding his big body between my legs. He smirks and puts his mouth up against mine, brushing across it until his lips are at my ear. “And you will impress her. I want her fully convinced we're in love, fucking like rabbits, and destined for forever. You hear me?”

Victor undulates his body, so that his hips rub against my groin, making me groan. It feels so damn good, even with the whole school looking at us the way they are. What breakfast thing? I think, but my lips form words without my brain’s permission.

“I hear you,” I tell him, and he grins, rolling back over and kicking Hael's tray down the steps. Trash goes everywhere, and a girl in a short white dress pauses to pick it all up, her eyes never straying higher than the top of Hael's boot.

Weird.

“We'll need a dress to cover her tattoos,” Victor muses as Oscar writes everything down, inked fingers moving quickly as they slide the tip of his stylus against the screen. “My mom hates tattoos. Figure out how to cover up the pink in her hair, too. I don’t want it dyed.”

“Yes, sir,” Oscar purrs, the edge of his lip quirking up in a smirk. He adjusts his glasses, eyes flashing as he glances my way. I pretend not to notice. “Have you thought much about the ring?”

“I have my grandmother's band, that'll do.” Victor's eyes scan the crowd before turning back to me. “Make sure everybody knows she's ours. I pity the guy who misses that memo.” He rises to his feet and takes off, just before the bell rings.

“See you tonight,” Cal whispers, sweeping past me like a shadow. Oscar follows him, still jotting notes, with Hael on his heels. Aaron is the last to go.

“I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into,” he says, waiting for me to stand up. He escorts me to class by following three steps behind, and then disappears. I don't know where he goes, but he definitely doesn't go to class.

There's nobody home when I get back from school, letting myself in the back door and packing my sleeping bag, pillow, and some clothes. Mom is gone, and so is the Thing. I'm glad he's not here, and I can't wait for him to see the evil I've unleashed. Fortunately, Heather is off to a sleepover at a well-vetted friend’s house, so for tonight at least, I can leave without worrying about her.

I feel much safer biking the sixteen blocks to Victor's house today, like the whole city knows I belong to Havoc. And you don't mess with Havoc, unless you're willing to pay.

I'm going to pay handsomely with my body, but I don't care. There's nothing I want more than vengeance, and nothing that turns me on like danger.

When I arrive, the boys are in the front yard, smoking and drinking. Hael offers me a beer right off the bat, and I take it, finding that my fingers tingle when we touch. He smirks, like he knows exactly what I'm going through, and then gestures at my sleeping bag.

“It's adorable,” Vic says, ashing his cigarette, “but you won't need it. You're sleeping in my bed tonight.” He leans back in his chair, watching me. I half expect him to order me onto his lap again, but I think this time he's more interested in seeing what I'll do on my own.

I sit down in the center of the group, right on the dead grass, the yellow-brown strands digging into my thighs as I lean back in my red and black plaid jumper, my ratty combat boots crossed at the ankles. They all watch me, like they did the other day when I walked around the back of the school and saw them hanging out next to Hael's car.