Chapter 10
Salem
The farmhouse was supposed to be creepy. I mean, that was the whole point of the dare, right? Spend the night in the haunted place and prove I wasn’t some scared little girl. But this? This was something else entirely.
I could feel the house watching me, like it had eyes in every shadow, every crack in the wall. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the flickering candles around me, trying to focus on their steady glow instead of the gnawing unease creeping up my spine.
Heresy was sitting in the corner, looking like he wanted to punch a ghost in the face. He tried to act like none of this bothered him, but it was evident in the way his shoulders tightened every time the wind howled through the cracks in the walls. Tough guy routine—typical Slayer bullshit.
“You're a little pale, Heresy,” I teased, smirking as I settled into my sleeping bag. “You scared of a little wind?”
He shot me a look that would’ve sent most girls running. “I don’t do ghosts.”
I rolled my eyes, biting back the urge to laugh. Of course he didn’t. Skeptic to the core, this guy. And maybe that’s why I liked poking at him. “Ghosts aren’t real,” I said, mimicking his deep voice. “But you sure as shit look like you believe in them now.”
“I believe in what I can see,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “And I don’t see a damn thing in here but you acting like this is some kind of fucking seance.”
I’d seen enough strange shit to know that there was more to this world than just what we could see. The dark, the unexplained? It intrigued me. And this place had plenty of it. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the way the wind howled louder outside. Just a storm. Just an old house. Nothing out of the ordinary. I had already tried to banish any evil eye or curse that lingered. I was pretending it had worked.
Then I heard it.
CRACK.
My eyes flew open as I shot up. “What the hell was that?”
Heresy was already on his feet, knife in hand, looking around like he expected something to come charging at us. The fog reappeared, hanging heavy around us, like we were out on a lake.
Then I saw it.
The mirror on the far wall. The one that had been perfectly fine a minute ago, now had a jagged crack running right through the center, like someone had smashed it with a hammer.
Neither of us had touched it.
Heresy moved closer, eyes narrowing as he examined the glass. “It’s just old. Probably cracked from the cold.”
“Bullshit,” I muttered, stepping next to him. “Mirrors don’t just crack like that out of nowhere.”
His jaw clenched, and I could tell he was trying to keep it together. He didn’t believe in this kind of stuff, but the unease was written all over his face. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all me.
Another gust of wind rushed through the room, and suddenly the candles blew out, plunging us into darkness. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my fingers twitching toward my knife.
“Okay, that was weird,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched for my liking.
“Fucking hell,” Heresy growled, his voice low and controlled. I could hear the scrape of his boots as he moved through the room, looking for something to relight the candles. The sound of his heavy breathing was the only thing grounding me as I sank to my knees to feel for my flashlight.
“Relax,” I said, trying to calm myself. “Could be a draft. This place is a hundred years old, easy.”
“I’ll relax when we’re out of this goddamn house.” His voice was hard, but there was a crack in his armor now. Something was bothering him, even if he refused to acknowledge it.
I grinned in the dark, the thrill of it all racing through me. “You know what’s funny, Heresy? You’re acting like you don’t care, but I can practically smell the fear on you.”
He turned toward me, and even in the pitch black, I could feel his eyes on me, sharp and intense. “I’m not scared of some broken mirror and a little wind.”
Just then, a loud banging echoed through the hallway, and my stomach flipped. The sound was hollow, like someone knocking on the walls—or the floor. It reverberated through the room, making every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Heresy stiffened. “What the fuck?”
“See?” I whispered, my voice trembling in spite of myself. “Told you this place was haunted.”
He didn't answer, his hand still gripping the knife like he was ready to go to war with whatever was banging around in the shadows.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the growing knot of anxiety in my chest. This was what I wanted, right? The thrill, the fear, the danger. I lived for this shit, but right now, I was questioning just how far I was willing to push it.
The banging stopped suddenly, and the silence that followed was worse than the noise.
“Salem,” Heresy muttered, his voice lower now. “I don’t like this.”
For once, I didn’t have a smartass response. I just nodded, even though he couldn’t see me in the dark. I didn’t like it either, but the fear was laced with excitement, like some twisted adrenaline rush I couldn’t get enough of. That’s why I loved this life. That’s why I was trying to become a Heel in the first place.
I stepped forward, toward the door that led into the hallway. I wanted to see what was out there, what was making all the noise. Heresy’s hand shot out, grabbing my arm before I could take another step.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice tight with frustration.
“Checking it out,” I replied, yanking my arm free. “What do you think? You gonna hide in here all night?”
“I’m not hiding,” he growled, but I could hear the tension in his voice.
“Good,” I said, moving toward the door. “Then come on.”
Heresy cursed under his breath, but he followed me into the hallway. The air was colder out there, the wind louder somehow, but the banging had stopped.
We stood in the dark, listening, waiting for something to happen. My heart thumped in my chest, and I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in a long time.
“Salem,” Heresy said softly, his voice close to my ear. “We’ve already checked all the rooms. I think we should get the fuck out of here.”
I was about to argue, but then I heard the faintest sound of footsteps, coming from somewhere deeper in the house again. They were slow and deliberate, like someone—or something—was moving toward us.
Maybe Heresy was right.
Maybe we should get the fuck out of here. In unison, we went to the front door. Heresy tried the knob again. He kicked it, trying to dislodge whatever structural damage that was keeping it closed. He pulled so hard, he pulled the doorknob clear off. The damn thing wouldn’t budge.
He started toward a broken window. The rain poured in and lightning flashed.
“Hold on,” I shrieked at the lightning more than him. “Maybe were overreacting. I’m not sure I want to give up.”
With that, we made it back to the main room, both of us retreating to our respective spots. I relit the candles. The farmhouse creaked and groaned as the wind howled outside, battering the old wooden structure like it was trying to tear it apart.
Heresy sat in the corner, sharpening his knife, the sound of metal scraping against the stone a steady, almost soothing rhythm. But no amount of calm could quiet the storm raging inside me.
“You're too quiet,” Heresy's gravelly voice cut through the silence, his eyes lifting from his blade to meet mine. “What's eating at you?”
I hadn’t talked about my past much with anyone in the Hell on Heelz MC, not even with my sisters, and definitely not with Heresy. Not yet. But being in this decrepit farmhouse, with the wind whistling through cracks in the walls, it was like the past wouldn’t leave me alone. Memories flooded back, unwanted, uninvited.
My fingers traced the edge of the tarot deck in my pocket, the worn cards comforting me, grounding me in the present. But even they couldn’t erase the ghosts of my past.