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On the outside, I’m as calm as I always am. On the inside, I motherfucking burn.
I’m Victor Channing. This is Havoc. We’re OG, and everyone else can get fucked. And Bernadette Blackbird … she’s going to be my goddamn wife if it kills me. Which, thinking about it now, it just might.
There are two sides to every story, but usually, only one of them is true.
“You okay?” I ask him, and he lifts his head up just enough to look at me, a frown darkening those perfect pink lips. He’s still holding the bat, like he can’t bear to let it go. “I’m okay,” he replies, but I’m not sure that’s true. He killed somebody tonight. For me. He’s bound to be a little fucked-up. Callum smiles, like he can sense the direction of my thoughts. “Just to be clear: I’m not upset that Danny Ensbrook is dead. I’m upset that I did it with too many witnesses, and that I put us all at risk. I’d kill the world to save you, Bernadette.”
I end up curled on the couch beside Aaron, my head resting against his chest, just so I can make sure his heart is still beating, that he’s still breathing. That he’s still around for me to hate.
“They all wanted that for you,” Victor says quietly, dark eyes simmering. “An escape. A different life. A chance to be something better than a gangbanger.” “They all …” I repeat slowly, thinking of the other Havoc Boys. “Except for me. Some men sleep and dream. Some men have nightmares. You’re a nightmare, Bernadette, a beautiful nightmare.” Vic grabs my arm and leans in even closer, sending my pulse racing. “We’re both nightmares; we belong together.”
“That's what happened, Bernadette. We met up to discuss your price. They fought against me. They demanded we give you some bullshit, made-up price, some nonsense.” He laughs again, and the sound is that of a villain, staking his claim on the princess’ heart. Just like Callum. None of these boys are princes, not even Aaron. “We could've … no, no …” He rubs at his chin for a moment, the HAVOC tattoo on his knuckles making me shiver. No part of me believes I'm exempt from having that mark needled into my skin. “We would've done all the things you asked of us, and then set you free.”
“I am selfish,” he says, exhaling and then moving forward. He pauses just two feet in front of me. “I could've let you go, but I wanted you here instead, wrapped up in Havoc. Wrapped up in me.” He turns and takes off toward the front door. I try to tell my feet to stay where they are, but I end up scrambling around the corner as he grabs the door handle and then pauses to glance over his shoulder. “So go ahead. Fuck Aaron if you want. I'm sure he'd be better for you than I am.” Victor opens the door and then pauses again, like he's just thought of something. “Better, maybe, but not like me.
...more
“Nique ta mère, Mitch,”
He who dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose. Anne Brontë was overlooked in her time. I’ve stolen her words. You will not steal mine. I’m not afraid of thorns; I will pluck the petals from your rose. Even if I have to pay the price in blood.
She takes another step forward, but I press my body back into Hael's. I licked him; he's mine now.
I once read a book, some time loop story called Devils’ Day Party, where the main character said, “Lying to other people is insane; lying to yourself is suicidal.”
“We became something for you, Bernadette. Havoc is a blade; wield it.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? If you want to have a breakdown later, I’ll hold you all damn night. Right now, though, if you can function, we need you. We’ve got urgent business.” I feel a sense of relief in that, in knowing that I have to push my feelings aside for the sake of Havoc. I’m good with that sort of thing, with violence and intrigue. Not so much with my own emotions.
“Just trust us.” And I do. Always.
“My only question to you today is,” Oscar continues, reaching up to adjust his glasses as he looks between us. “Are you willing to bleed for each other?”
“Victor, please repeat after me. I, Victor Channing, am an asshole who in no way deserves Bernadette Blackbird, but who, through some strange fault of the universe, will be marrying her today. I will bleed for her; I will die for her. I agree to marry her.”
Victor leans over me, licking the side of my face before stealing my soul through my lips. His kiss is the most exquisite sort of torture, like licking the brownie batter spoon before you wash it. There’s just enough chocolate to tease, but the real dessert is in the oven; you’re just waiting for it to heat up.
“I love you, Victor Channing,” I tell him, and he freezes. I swear, he even stops breathing. After a moment, Vic exhales and his tense muscles relax. “I love you more, Bernadette, and I always will.” I frown at him, but he just lifts his head and lets his mouth twist into a villainous smirk. “Don’t argue, just enjoy.” “You’re a fucking prick,” I growl as he rolls off of me with a laugh.
Vic then pulls a small pocketknife from his jacket, cuts his palm, and offers the blade out to me. I take it, slicing my own palm and curling my fingers through his, our wedding bands brushing together. We look at each other, past our clasped hands, and he smiles. “Blood in,” Victor tells me with a nod of his chin. “Blood out.” Together, we walk hand-in-hand through the gravestones toward Vic’s waiting bike.
