Chapter 3 #2
My husband became my bodyguard when I turned eighteen. Despite his stubbornness and overprotectiveness, we got along quite well because we mirrored each other more than we cared to admit.
Leather rustles behind me as I walk forward. The wind blows through the row of bare trees lining the sidewalk. I grip my pocket knife tightly and slant my head, just enough to catch a faint shadow in my peripheral vision.
The contract I signed never specified when or where I would be taken away, and it’s been a week. I go out every night, waiting for them to come and get me. Whoever they are, they watch me closely. I can feel their laser gaze boring through me.
I count to ten and then spin on my boots, but there’s no one behind me—the street is empty, and a couple dressed like Jack and Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas on the other side appears to be heading toward the party.
Where are you?
I scan the pumpkin-infested yards and the vacant roofs on each side of the street before turning around. He comes into view two houses ahead, adjusting the hood of his dark leather jacket and walking past a row of vehicles that lead to the party.
While metal music blares from the speakers inside, the shapes of shadows against the house’s exterior wall catch my attention.
The LED lights decorating it change color as people come and go.
I climb the four steps to a wraparound porch and pass the creamy stone pillars decorated with fake cobwebs, spiders, and skeletons.
Fake blood drips down one pillar, continuously dotting the floor.
“Let’s paint the town red.” A big, red Joker smile is all up in my face, whispering before he brushes past me straight to the black SUV I saw earlier. The driver immediately steps out, raking his tatted fingers through his blonde mullet. They share a brotherly handshake and laugh about something.
A familiar tingle of awareness snakes down my spine, and the hairs along my neck bristle as I glance to the left. The back of a dark leather jacket disappears behind the wall leading to the back of the house—bingo.
My legs immediately charge in that direction.
“Excuse me,” I repeat, shouldering my way through groups of people circling the two-story house from all exits and corners.
The sensation of being followed or watched is not foreign to me.
I’ve lived under heavy surveillance and had bodyguards my entire life. There’s always someone lurking in the shadows.
As I pass, clouds of smoke blur my vision, urging me to clear them away. I approach the open glass doors, scanning the large crowd reveling in the back before I enter the house.
“I’ve been a bad girl, officer.” The girl in the bunny costume whispers seductively to the guy at the entrance—I zoom in on the spider web tattoo on the side of his face before I move forward. “You can cuff me later, Baby.” Her voice trails behind me.
I brush past a few more costumes.
The couches are packed with huddled college kids, but I recognize some older faces from back in the day. Some have never outgrown this phase, including the owner of this house, Cash Andrews, who went to college with me. He’s been hosting parties for years since.
This place looks exactly the same.
Honestly, I never liked those parties, but I preferred being here to being lonely in a big house. I suppose I still do subconsciously, because here I am.
I make it to the less-crowded kitchen, allowing me to see all the exits at once. Summer Kent, the girl I saw in the jeep earlier, stands right next to me, drinking booze and smoking a joint.
She’s the only survivor from last year’s deadly game. It never hindered the city’s beloved college kids, who would give the middle finger every time the subject was brought up.
“Wants some?” She takes a long drag, letting the weed infiltrate her lungs —I’m struck with a reminder of the present I got—before she hands it to me, looking in the other direction.
She didn’t bother to dress up like the rest. A red bandana is tied around her long, chestnut-brown hair, and a dozen silver bracelets hang around her forearm—something is written on her skin too, but it’s not a tattoo because half of it is smeared.
“No thanks. I promised my boyfriend we’ll get high later.” I reject her offer with a grin while pouring myself a glass of vodka that I won’t drink.
“That’s nice.” She takes a swig straight from the bottle. “I wish I could find someone like that, you know.” She wipes her mouth on her wrist.
“Decent,” I give her the side-eye and arch my brows. My eyes keep searching for the mystery guy who’s following me, but the question is, why am I here?
“Exactly! Someone who doesn’t party with everyone and sleeps with every girl he meets.”
Something tells me she’s talking about the guy in the officer costume, since her eyes shoot daggers at him. I scan the room, and a group of girls looks at Summer with terror, probably thinking, “What the hell is she doing in the open?”
She did survive, so I guess lightning can’t strike twice.
“My girl is here, so don’t worry about it.” The guy in the Joker costume rounds the kitchen island as he talks on his phone, stopping beside me. “I’ll end it tonight.” He licks his lip ring.
“I thought you already ended things with her,” Summer says, handing him the joint, but he shakes his head.
“I told him to, but he never listens.” The Joker’s friend from outside chimes in and snatches a bottle of whiskey, overlooking the piece of paper underneath it.
They all do.
I pretend to check the bottles while taking the paper.
Flames licking the darkness of the night create the best final show.
Another nightmare-riddled note that could either be a prank or an ominous sign, but I’m not sure which is worse. I scrunch the paper and shove it into my pocket.
“I’m doing this tonight, but if I end up fucking her, that’s not my fault.” The Joker’s bright smile pops as his phone pings with a message. “We gotta go. Come on, Mitch.”
“You’re doomed,” Summer says, rolling her eyes as they leave.
“Hey, is that mine?” Says another guy in a Joker costume as he approaches Summer and takes the joint from her hand. “Thief.” His voice is stiffer and lower than the other one.
How many more jokers are out here?
“What are you going to do about it, Klaus?” She stares at him as he places the butt of the joint between his parted lips, letting it rest against his lip ring.
“Do you want me to take you in front of these people? Show your officer what he’s missing.” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’ll think about it.” She whispers teasingly.
Klaus’s eyes slide to mine with growing curiosity. “Who’s your friend?”
“You don’t have to speak about me like I’m not in the same room.” I push the glass of vodka toward him. “I’m no one important, just a girl trying to have a peaceful night.” I sum up our brief interaction.
“Well, shit.” His smile widens and widens. “You just made yourself important, but nothing about tonight or this place is peaceful. We all know that.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Summer lifts the bottle again and guzzles a quarter of it in seconds.
“Slow down.” Klaus snatches the bottle from her hand and slams it against the counter. The liquid drips down her chin before he wipes it with his thumb. “Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.” He wraps his arm around Summer, passing the joint to a group of girls nearby.
The officer clenches his fist and bites his lip hard enough to bruise it as he glares at them with a hate-filled gaze. Then, his bloodshot eyes turn toward me.
I look away from him just as Klaus’s voice captures my attention.
“I hope to see you later.” His murky eyes search between mine.
“Sure.” I lie, grinning sweetly at him, before the loud football team files inside the door with cheers and claps.
Amid the chaos, large arms clad in leather lift me.
He quickly maneuvers us between the players and lowers me into the empty hallway.
His body heat engulfs me like a warm blanket.
It happens so fast that I don’t have enough time to see who it is besides the tactical half-mask covering his lower face—it’s dark and stiff like a helmet against my skin.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re following me.” His voice is slightly muffled. He pulls a phone out of his pocket and walks to the bathroom.
“That’s funny. I can claim the same thing,” I shout as the door slams shut behind him.
A group of football players pretends to holler in the kitchen while a joint is passed around among the group I’m sitting with.
Larson from English class scoots closer to me on the couch with his twisted grin, but I keep moving away from him.
Sometimes he can’t read the room until I point it out.
He is the reason I have friends to begin with, if it weren’t for him introducing me to his friends.
He’s the lone wolf type, yet somehow he knows everyone.
“Quit it,” I warn. My words hang heavily in the space between us. I hate when he crosses the boundaries I’ve set countless times before.
“W-what?” He stammers, rubbing his greasy, dark-brown hair.
“I don’t like it when people invade my space. Respect my boundaries. I’m also not your girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes, “and… you can be.”
I tune him off, fixating on the annoying pillar, constantly watching from across.
His eyes burn a hole through the side of Larson’s skull.
Too close for comfort. I know he cares, even when he thinks I can’t read him.
I read him better than anyone, and he’s scared.
I am, too. I don’t hate his protection, and I don’t hate the way he looks at me from across the room, eyes burning, consuming, unyielding. Eternal.
I feel it deep within my soul, and I’m scared he might walk away if I give in.
We’ve only known each other for a year.
I don’t want to give in so easily.
I’m not sure he would either.