All’s Fair in Love & Chaos (Queens & Heathens #1)

Prologue

SAIGE

“Remember, we’re having girls’ night tonight.

It’s our last one before you leave us on Sunday,” my mom says, her voice somber, while her eyes get misty with unshed tears.

“I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye to my girl.

” Lately, she’s been behaving like going off to college is the equivalent of dying from a terminal disease.

I’ll be four hours from them, not six feet under, and not on the other side of the world.

Four. Hours. Not on a plane, either. A drive. In the car.

“I remember. I can’t wait,” I reply, my mouth overflowing with a bite of hot, gooey mozzarella stick.

My mom, younger sister, and I have been having monthly girls’ nights since Willow was born.

It’s a tradition that we’ve always kept and made a priority, and one I’m actually going to miss when I leave for school in a few days.

“How much do you want to bet she has us watch The Notebook again?” Willow whispers as she plops down on the couch next to me, stealing one of my mozzarella sticks from the plate balancing precariously on my lap.

“No way. She seems way too cheerful today. I’m going with How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.”

“Oh, fat chance! I’ll bet you a single scoop cone of black cherry ice cream that she picks something that will have us all in tears.”

“Make it a double, and you have yourself a bet. She’s totally going for something happy and smoochie tonight.”

“Done!” Willow drops her half-eaten stick back onto my plate and flits out of the room like the little ray of sunshine she is.

We’re four years apart and pretty close, as much as two teenage sisters can be.

We also couldn’t be more opposite. Willow got our dad’s light brown hair that glows gold when the sun hits it just right, whereas I inherited our mom’s sleek black locks.

Willow exudes pink and rainbows, while I’m more edgy and moody.

She’s the Tigger to my Eeyore. If Eeyore had retractable claws that came out to harm anyone who threatened her Tigger.

That’s the way it’s always been. I’ve been Willow’s protector since the day she was born.

I examine my chipped black nail polish for a moment and wonder what they’d look like in Willow’s signature pale pink before rolling my eyes and finishing off her half-eaten cheese stick. Lunch of champions.

I spent the entire summer soaking up the rare Washington sun while doing a million and one things with my friends.

Now that it’s the last weekend before I need to get moved into my college dorm, I have one plan and one plan only: to eat an obscene amount of mozzarella sticks—my comfort food—and binge-watch the latest season of Criminal Minds.

Nothing will deter me from those two things.

Life is about to kick me right between the legs come Sunday when my parents drop me off at college to study criminal justice.

Willow and I have very involved parents, so living away at college is going to be my first real jump into independence, as long as I can keep them from showing up randomly to check on me.

That would probably make for some awkward conversations that I’d rather avoid at all costs.

I can’t wait to be there.

My family and I live in a tiny town about four hours west of Seattle.

It’s so small that it can hardly be considered a small town.

We have one main street, zero streetlights, and a whole lot of space.

There’s one elementary school and one middle school, but once we all get to ninth grade, we’re bused into the town of Amberwood for high school. That kind of tiny.

It hasn’t been bad, though, growing up here. Both my parents are paramedics, and while their jobs keep them busy, they wanted to buy their house out here in middle-of-nowhere, Spruce Harbor, and I’m forever grateful for the life they’ve given my sister and me. It’s peaceful. Just the four of us.

I stretch my legs out in front of me, propping my heels on the edge of the coffee table as I finish off the last of my deliciously fried, cheesy goodness. The snack for queens, if I ever was one.

“Alright, my darling, beautiful daughter, we’re taking Willow into Amberwood for the back-to-school fair.

We have plans, so you had better be here when we get home tonight,” my mom reiterates as she slips on her practical tennis shoes and grabs her purse.

My dad appears not a moment later with Willow hot on his heels.

“Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” I reply as I wave my hand up and down my body.

I’m wearing a pair of well-loved leggings, a Black Sabbath crop top T-shirt, and my hair is piled high on the top of my head in a haphazard bun.

And you definitely can’t miss the plate full of mozzarella sticks and the crumbs on my T-shirt. A queen indeed.

My parents both pause and look me over with a disapproving glance that makes me laugh. “Way to make me feel loved and accepted, you two. Parents of the year,” I jest.

“Honey, maybe take a shower while we’re gone?

” my dad suggests, and I fling a pillow in his direction, pelting him in the side with it.

His laugh reverberates off the old walls of our house, making us girls giggle.

My dad’s laugh has always been infectious, loud, boisterous, and so full of life. It’s one of my favorite sounds.

“I smell like roses, so piss off with that, Dad! You three have fun! I’ll be here.”

“Shower!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Love you.”

My family leaves me laughing on the couch as I wiggle further into my seat, clicking play on the next episode of Criminal Minds, and pulling my mom’s favorite throw blanket over my legs. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m totally taking this to school with me in two days.

A loud, heavy knock stirs me from sleep, and I wake disoriented. Sitting up straight, I blink my bleary eyes open and realize the sun has long set since I fell asleep on the couch. I rub the ache at the back of my neck from the shitty angle I was sleeping at when another loud bang startles me.

“Mom? Dad?” I yell through the house, hoping like hell they’ll come and answer it so I don’t have to go to the door looking like a swamp creature.

When I don’t hear them, I sigh loudly. It’s not like them not to wake me up, especially when we have movie night plans.

Another knock and I’m finally awake enough to realize I need to get off my ass to see who’s here.

Standing up, I push the loose, stray strands out of my face and straighten my clothes before heading to the front of the house, unsure what time it even is.

I open the door, startled to find two police officers standing on the patio, looking at me without a shred of annoyance for my lackadaisical effort in answering their call.

“Saige Russo?”

“Yes, that’s me, officer,” I reply, confusion and worry starting to take over. “Is everything okay?”

“Can we come in? We’d like you to have a seat.”

My spine straightens, clarity finally kicking away the post-nap fog.

Alarm bells go off in my head, sending tingles down my spine.

My arms cross over my chest, my hands rubbing up and down my biceps to stave off the chill washing over me.

Even though I know I’ve never broken a single law in my entire life, nerves take root.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m home alone right now and not comfortable with that. Have I done something wrong?” I look around the officers and into the driveway, trying to see past my Honda Civic for my dad’s car.

“No, Ms. Russo, not at all.” The officers look at each other, their faces solemn and expressive, as if they’re having a silent conversation before turning their attention back to me.

My heart swoops down into my stomach as that bundle of nerves that had dug down deep rushes forward.

“Ma’am, your parents and sister were involved in an accident. ”

“An. Accident?” I repeat slowly, stumbling slightly on my feet. My vision gets hazy, a gray color moving in from all sides as the officers speak, but their words are otherworldly, muffled, and distorted before everything goes pitch black.

Giving the eulogy at both my parents and my sister’s joint funeral at eighteen wasn’t on my bucket list. Hell, wasn’t even on my bingo card.

But here I am, standing in front of all our extended family and friends.

My eyes track over each coffin, the polished wood that you can practically see your reflection in, the heavy grain in perfect lines, the gleaming silver hardware, the large flower arrangements sitting in the center of each that I never could have afforded if it weren’t for an anonymous donation to cover the expenses. I look at my sister’s last.

The wreath above where her body rests inside the wooden box holds her photo. I chose one of her that she would want—a picture of her at the beach, her beautiful hair whipping around her face from the wind, a huge smile on her pretty face. She always loved the sunshine.

Willow Maeve Russo

Loving daughter a fatal accident caused by a bunch of bikers that we couldn’t have prevented if we had tried.

No charges were ever filed. I couldn’t save them. I can’t even give them justice.

I can’t bring myself to look at my parents’ photos, so instead, I take a deep breath and focus on the people in front of me, all dressed in mourning black.

I deliver the speech elegantly, poised, but inside, a numbness has taken over.

Below it? A fiery pit of rage. Some girls mourn.

Some girls seek out therapy or attend survivor groups.

Some girls act out or let it destroy them completely, wilting like a plucked flower on a hot summer day.

I’m not some girls.

This was no accident.

My family was brutally taken from me because of the actions of lawless criminals, and I’m going to get revenge for their deaths.