I’d done everything I could. I’d warned him, and that was more than most people would have done. What happened now wasn’t any of my business. If Manson would stay away like I told him, Kyle would eventually calm himself down and get over it.

I started the engine and turned up the heater, trying to chase away the chill in my hands. I could still feel Manson’s heat on my chest. That weirdo. That freak. Why did he get to live in my head rent-free like this? They were all supposed to be beneath me, lower than gum on my shoe. Instead, I felt obsessed, like I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop looking at them, taunting them, seeking them out.

I couldn’t stop wanting them.

“Get it together, Jessica,” I said, clicking my seatbelt into place. I glanced over to check my side mirror before I put the car in gear —

And shrieked at the sight of Lucas looming outside my window.

“What the hell are you doing?” I rolled down my window but quickly realized it was a mistake. He gripped the opening, knuckles flexing against the inside of my door. “Move it, Lucas, seriously.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

His voice was sharper than a knife’s blade. My mouth hung open in shock, but the anger on his face was stifling.

“You know you went too far this time, Jessica. You fucking know you did.” He leaned in, and my entire body tensed as I stared him down. “You thought you needed to warn Manson? How about you warn that fuckboy you open your legs for? Warn him there’ll be hell to pay if he tries fucking with any of my boys again.” His face was so close to mine, but he didn’t touch me. Lucas never touched me. His eyes alone were enough — how they dragged over my skin as harshly as teeth and nails. “Fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us.”

Then, so quickly I hardly realized what was happening, he pulled the bubblegum from my open mouth, fingers brushing over my lips like an electric shock. He tucked the wad into his cheek, and with the first wicked grin I’d ever seen on his terrifying face, he gave me a two-finger salute and stepped back from the car.

He chewed, blowing a bubble that audibly popped, before he said, “Get lost, Jessica.”

Dread was stifling me as I arrived at school the next morning. Manson didn’t even look at me as he shoved books into his locker, no matter how hard I tried to catch his eye.

Finally, I hissed, “Manson, go home. Please.”

“Save it, Jess.” He slammed the locker shut, hauling his ragged backpack over his shoulder. His mohawk was spiked up, a rigid spine on his shaved head. He wore the same tattered jeans he had on every day, the same worn lace-up leather boots and denim jacket. “Don’t start acting like you care. Being a bitch suits you better.”