Chapter 25
25
KATRINA
T here’s nothing quite like Halloween in Las Vegas.
Not my favorite holiday, of course. I vastly prefer the coziness of Christmas morning or the warmth of the Fourth of July. But I have to admit, Halloween has its charms.
Pumpkins with carved grins. Strings of flashing orange lights. The air thick with the scent of caramel and popcorn.
And the costumes.
I hop back as a parade of skeletons twirls past, their bones clicking together in a choreographed dance. Across the street, a woman dressed as a demon towers on stilts, exhaling a burst of fire into the air. Just behind her, a zombie Elvis throws up a peace sign, snapping a selfie with a group of drunk tourists in superhero suits.
“Hey.”
Logan appears beside me, his voice a low murmur beneath the thump of music. He takes my hand, gives it a light tug, his black-lined eyes smiling as he says, “Keep up.”
My stomach flutters with nerves as I scan the crowd for onlookers. But as Logan pulls me deeper into the festival, it becomes clear that no one is looking at me. No one notices the rockstars in their midst. I blend in with my black corset and jade green skirt, just another girl in a tight, sexy costume at the biggest party in town.
We catch up to Goldie and Tesla at the end of a row of vendor stalls. The scents hit all at once—roasting peanuts, fried dough, something savory I can’t place but immediately want. Goldie’s laughter cuts through the night, high and bright, rising above the pulsing music and the delighted screams spilling from the haunted mirror maze at the end of the street.
“Okay, one more,” Goldie says, rolling an old baseball between her fingers. She lifts it, taking a second to aim at the pyramid of milk bottles stacked at the other end of the stall.
She launches. The ball slams into the base, sending the whole thing crashing down.
“Damn, blondie!” the game attendant, a haunted ringmaster with smudged makeup and a blood-red coat, whistles. “You’ve got quite the arm.”
Goldie flexes. Tesla swoons.
“I’ll take the vampire,” Goldie says, pointing up at a massive teddy bear sporting a tiny black cape and adorable white fangs.
The ringmaster hands it over with a dramatic flourish. “Won him fair and square, miss. Enjoy.”
Goldie promptly spins on her thigh-high boot-clad heels and drops it into Tesla’s arms.
Tesla gasps, hugging it to her chest. “Thank you.”
Goldie plants a kiss on her cheek. “Anything for you, blue.”
The ringmaster’s gaze shifts to Logan, his smirk widening. “How about you, slick? Care to test your arm for the pretty lady?” He nods in my direction with an exaggerated wink.
“Oh,” I start, shaking my head at Logan. “You don’t have to?—”
“Sure.” Logan ignores me completely, already reaching into his pocket for cash.
The ringmaster lines up three baseballs on the counter. “When you’re ready.”
I step back to stand with Goldie and Tesla as Logan picks up the first ball. He bounces it in his hand, testing the weight, before winding up.
He throws.
And misses.
“Ha!” Goldie howls. “Loser.”
I snort, quickly covering my mouth.
Logan fires a playful glare at the three of us before picking up the second ball. “Just getting warmed up,” he says.
“Right,” Tesla says, nodding sagely. “Sure.”
The ringmaster chuckles. “Tough crowd of ladies you got with you.”
“The bane of my existence,” Logan replies, but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, he enjoys it. He enjoys making them happy, even at his own expense.
His next throw hits dead center at the top of the pyramid, sending a few bottles flying. The bottom rows stay put.
“One more!” the ringmaster urges. “Come on, don’t disappoint now.”
Goldie and Tesla cackle, but Logan just grins, lining up his last shot.
The ball sails through the air. It knocks over another few bottles, but three remain standing.
The ringmaster slaps the counter. “Not bad! Go on, pick a prize.”
Logan scans the display, his smirk growing. He points to something tucked away in the corner.
The ringmaster hands it over. It’s small, and I don’t see what it is at first—until Logan steps in front of me, lifting it up.
A headband. Black cat ears lined with soft pink.
He slips it onto my head, his fingers grazing my hair as he adjusts it. “Now,” he murmurs, making one final tweak before letting go, “you look the part, kitty.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I barely have time to process it before he dips down and brushes a quick kiss to the tip of my nose.
Snap.
My stomach twists.
I glance left, catching sight of a man with a camera.
Snap, snap.
“Hey!” Logan barks. “Piss off.”
More clicks. Then the guy turns and bolts.
“Logan,” I say, my pulse kicking up.
“Ignore them.” He takes my hand again. “Let’s move on.”
We do. Down the street, past more vendor stalls and game booths. But my gut tells me it isn’t over.
And then I see them.
One by one, they slink toward us, cameras in hand, weaving through the crowd like sharks smelling blood.
Snap. Flash. Click.
“Logan,” I whisper.
He glances at me, then at them. His grip tightens. “I know. I see them.”
“We need to get off the street,” I say, a lead weight forming in my stomach.
It’s already too late.
I was an idiot to think we would blend in.
Soon, they’ll be swarming. And then?—
Everyone will know.
Logan tugs on Tesla’s arm. She and Goldie slow as he murmurs something to her. Tesla nods, then leans into Goldie, a whisper that makes Goldie’s lips curl upward.
“Katrina.”
Logan pulls me closer, his breath brushing the shell of my ear.
“When I say run, you run,” he whispers.
“What?”
Click, click. Flash, flash.
“Run.”
Logan snatches my hand again, and we run.
We scatter in opposite directions. Goldie and Tesla dart left, slipping past the game stalls toward the fortune teller’s hut, while Logan yanks me right, weaving us through a maze of vendor carts.
The paparazzi hesitate for a second, then split, some charging after the girls while the rest surge toward us.
“Come on, kitty!” Logan shouts over his shoulder. “This way!”
I keep up, somehow. Running in heels isn’t exactly my talent, but I manage, dodging through the crowd as curses and shouts trail behind us. We cut through a fog of sugar and smoke and dazzling lights, the scent of candied apples thick in the air as we rush past.
We reach the haunted mirror maze and plunge into darkness. The air inside is cool, a welcome change from the chaos outside. Dim orange lights flicker from hidden corners, their reflections stretching endlessly across the glass.
Logan grips my hand tight as we slow our pace. “You okay?” he asks.
I gulp, trying to steady my breath. “Yeah.”
“They went in here!” a voice shouts from the maze’s entrance.
“Shit,” Logan mutters, his smirking face multiplying in every direction around me. “Come on!”
We jog forward, the distorted maze warping our reflections. My own panicked face stares back at me a hundred times over, fractured in jagged angles. The world tilts left, right. A dead end and back again. I lose track of where we are, but so do they.
Then, up ahead—a faint glow. The exit.
Logan grabs my wrist and veers sharply to the left, pulling me behind a curtain, the fabric painted with neon arrows pointing the way out. He presses me against the cool wall, his breath warm against my cheek, the air smelling faintly of old dust and fog machine smoke.
A single finger grazes his lips.
“Shh,” he whispers.
Boots pound against the floor just beyond our hiding spot.
“They made it out!” someone shouts. “Go, go, go!”
We stay frozen, listening as the chaos rushes past, their strides barely audible over my pulse hammering against my ribs. I tip my head to look at Logan. The sharp cut of his jaw. The flicker of amusement in his blue eyes. The protective way he holds me close.
My heart flutters.
“I think they’re gone,” he whispers, stealing a glance beyond the curtain. “We should wait. Let them get some distance first.”
I nod, breathless. The adrenaline in my blood turns absolutely electric. From fear. From safety. From something wild and so utterly reckless.
There’s no undoing this.
They saw us. They took pictures.
By morning, Gossipa will be on fire.
My bandmates will know.
Knox will know.
But the burn in my chest isn’t guilt—it’s exhilaration. The raw, forbidden thrill of rebellion, of breaking the rules I once held sacred.
Of running into the dark with a boy I have no business holding hands with.
“Katrina,” Logan whispers, looking down at me. “You okay?”
I nod.
And then I kiss him.
It’s like pouring gasoline on an open flame. Heat surges between us, igniting every inch of my body. Logan cups my face, fingers threading into my hair, and kisses me back. Hungry, unrelenting. I press into him, gripping the firm lines of his body, pulling him impossibly closer.
Teenagers laugh as they sprint past our curtain, a blur of footsteps and voices, but we don’t stop. We just quiet our breath, stifle our chuckles, stealing kiss after kiss.
“Logan,” I whisper, so softly I barely hear it myself. “I?—”
“Shh.” His hand skims my body, fingertips tracing the curve of my corset, my waist, down to the edge of my velvet skirt. “Don’t make a sound, kitty.”
His fingers graze my outer thigh, then slip higher. I shiver, his touch slow, deliberate. A cruel kind of patience flashes in his eyes.
When his fingers slide over my panties, pressing where I need him most, I gasp against his lips.
“Shh,” he warns wickedly.
He rubs, and every thought in my head vanishes. My grip tightens on his jacket, holding on as pleasure coils inside me, as my body betrays me with every eager pulse. Voices drift past, laughter rising and fading, but the danger only fuels the fire in my blood.
Any moment now, someone could move the curtain aside, exposing us, but something in me doesn’t care.
I want this.
I want Logan .
I bite my lip, fighting back a moan as heat unfurls inside me, sharp and consuming. Logan kisses me again, his lips swallowing the breathless sounds I can’t hold back. My thighs tremble. My hands shake. The world outside this curtain doesn’t exist.
“Look at me.”
My gaze locks onto his, and he smirks, so smug and knowing.
“Good kitty,” he says, his lips ghosting against my ear. “Don’t you dare moan.”
He pushes a finger inside me.
I jolt, my breath stalling in my throat, my whole body tensing to stay silent. But I don’t make a sound. I don’t even gasp as he plunges deep, his digit curling against my inner walls, touching me in ways I’ve never been touched before. His palm pushes against my clit, pinning me even harder against the wall, and I… I…
Logan clamps his other hand over my mouth. I whimper against his palm, my body molten, my head light as climax rolls through me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his mouth brushing my ear. “I’d tie you down and make you come for hours if you’d let me.”
A breathless laugh escapes me, muffled against his hand.
“Quiet,” he reminds me before sliding his finger out of me, leaving me shaky. My ankles sway as he sticks his finger in his mouth and sucks it clean. “So fucking delicious.”
My skirt flutters back into place, threatening to pull me down with it. I cling to his arms, taking soothing breaths to steady myself.
Logan peeks beyond the curtain again, checking for cameras, but I barely care anymore.
All I want is…
“Logan,” I whisper. “Take me somewhere.”
He looks at me, brow furrowing. “You want to go home?”
I shake my head. “Take me somewhere no one will find us.”
His smirk is slow and lethal. He kisses me again, my taste lingering on his tongue. “Come on,” he says, straightening the cat ear headband somehow still fixed on my head. “We’ll have to be quick.”
Again, we run.
And this time, I don’t look back.