27. June
JUNE
I’m not sure how many girls are still alive.
Now that Lexie’s gone, the grounds are less like The Purge and more like The Shining.
Quiet. Eerily quiet. And with an ominous undercurrent I can’t shake.
I fold my arms and peek around the building into the main area again.
Hawke and Ethan are out of sight, though I have no idea what happened or what the fallout was between them.
It shouldn’t matter. The less I have to do with the Harden Brothers and all their turf drama, the better.
Besides, I’m here for a classic Harden Night and a solid distraction from my lackluster love life. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Which means one thing. I need to get my head back in the game.
If not for me, then for Lexie. She deserves a win.
I slip through the small alleyway and round the edge of the grounds when an old, decrepit building comes into view.
It almost looks like a haunted house, complete with a small porch and a creepy rocking chair out front.
Add in the cobwebs I pray are fake, and the crooked shutters framing barred windows, and it looks straight out of a horror movie.
They wouldn’t be that…on the nose, would they?
To hide the halo in there? What would Ford do?
Where would he hide the halo? After all, it’s his brainchild. I need to get into his head.
What were you thinking, Ford?
My brows pull, but I quicken my steps and race toward it.
My hands tremble as I reach for the iron handle.
The door is cracked open. Does that mean someone’s inside?
Duh. What am I thinking? Of course, people are inside.
There are only so many buildings, and the ratio of participants to hiding places is… I don’t know, I don’t do math.
Sorry, Ford.
The name brings another swell of regret and anticipation. Ever since my kiss with Ford, he’s had a habit of consuming my thoughts to a point that’s borderline unhealthy, but I can’t help it. He’s just so…so different from what I expected.
I push open the heavy door out of sheer desperation for a solid distraction. I doubt it’ll help.
The black lights flicker off again, both outside and in the haunted house’s entryway.
They’re all on the same timer. Clever, yes.
Convenient? Not so much. It’s so dark in here, I can barely see anything.
I could wait another thirty seconds for the black lights to turn back on so I can see a little better, but every second I’m not searching is a second lost, and it’s not like I’ll survive in this contest forever.
It’s only a matter of time before I’m marked and cut from the game.
Nope. I don’t have time to wait, even if it would make my search easier. Moving forward, I drag my fingertips along the walls. They’re empty. Nothing to search. Nothing to inspect. Nothing to camouflage the halo in question.
Maybe the haunted house was a bad idea.
When a girl squeals outside, “Nathan! No!” I nearly jump out of my skin. Giggles erupt, followed by a loud thump from the porch as something slams against the front door while simultaneously barring the girl and Nathan from joining me in the house.
Quickening my pace, I take the set of stairs to the second floor.
The lights flicker back on, and I squint, letting my eyes adjust to the change.
Multiple doors line either side of a long hallway, and even with the black lights, it’s still eerily dark, thanks to the lack of windows.
The question is, which door do I enter? And will anyone be waiting for me on the opposite side when I do?
My pulse quickens at the thought. Seriously, whoever came up with this idea is an evil genius who should really be studied. Oh, wait. I already know the culprit.
Ford, you’re a psycho.
I rush toward one of the closest doors, but stop short.
The handle is coated in hot pink paint. It’s as if someone grabbed it.
Heck, I’m pretty sure I can see individual fingers hidden in the paint.
Is whoever this handprint belongs to still inside?
Are they waiting for me? Another dose of adrenaline shoots through my veins as the lights flicker off again.
I move toward the closest unmarked door.
Hands shaking, I grip the handle and slowly twist. It’s unlocked.
Instead of opening the door fully, I press my ear to it and wait.
Not a sound. Not a squeak or a laugh or a grunt.
Only silence is on the other side. To be fair, the door Lexie and I walked through before we were ambushed by Hawke was silent, too, but considering my options, I don’t know what else to do.
With a deep breath, I slowly push open the door, grateful the hinges have seen WD-40 within the last decade, and peek inside.
A cracked window is the focal point on the opposite wall.
Pillows in all shapes and sizes litter the ground, like the room in the last building.
There’s also a small folding table scattered with Red Solo cups on my left.
Each is filled with different shades of neon paint.
No boogie man, though. Not this time around.
That’s something, isn’t it? Stepping further inside, I close the door behind me and press my back to it as my heart continues galloping.
Okay. Okay, what now? If I were Ford, where would I hide the halo?
Obviously, plain sight isn’t an option. That would be ludicrous.
So, where could it be? Not somewhere high.
That’s too easy. Most wouldn’t be able to reach it, and Ford wouldn’t give the upper hand to the tall girls.
He would make sure it’s accessible to everyone.
Hmm. I bend down and pick up one of the pillows scattered on the floor.
Squishing it in my hands, I search for something hard, like a tiara or, you know, a halo. It’s nothing but feathers. Shoot.
It was probably in the room I ditched with Lexie.
Not that I can go back and check. Wouldn’t it be my luck?
My lips scrunch to one side. I pick up another pillow and squeeze it.
Nope. With a quick toss, I throw it over my shoulder and bend to pick up another one when the floor squeaks.
My neck snaps toward the sound, and my heart jumps in my throat.
“Who’s there?” I whisper, but it’s too dark. I can barely see anything. I blink quickly, praying for my eyes to adjust.
There. In the shadows. Across the room.
There’s a man dressed in black from head to toe. The dark face paint makes his eyes look like nothing but hollow pits of coal. Has he been there the whole time?
I stumble back, nearly tripping over one of the discarded pillows, but I catch my balance at the last instant, my fingers digging into the chipped plaster on the wall.
“Careful, June Bug,” the man murmurs.
My body turns to stone. I recognize the voice as much as I do the nickname. Something else swells inside of me, replacing my fear with a rush I’d rather not analyze. “Ford?” I whisper.
The black lights flicker on, highlighting Ford’s pearly white teeth.
Maybe it’s the creepy face paint. Maybe it’s the black lights.
But I can’t tell if it’s a sneer or a genuine smile.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. He steps out of the shadows and over the scattered pillows, moving closer to me with a nonchalance that only feeds my adrenaline.
“Am I not allowed to be here?” I whisper.
He reaches me, and his gaze drops to my mouth. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
My boyfriend? He wants to talk about Bryan?
What a loaded question. One I could answer in a hundred different ways, though none feel right. Not when I don’t know where we stand.
I bite my bottom lip and search for the safest option. The one that doesn’t include assumptions or vulnerabilities or…any substance at all, really. “As Lexie puts it, Fireman Bryan is no more,” I tell him.
The lights go out once more, blanketing us in darkness and making my heart leap all over again.
“Did she kill him?” Ford asks.
My mouth lifts in spite of myself. Wouldn’t that be a twist? “Not exactly,” I answer.
“What happened?”
The heat of his body seeps into mine. It only fuzzes my thoughts more. Why is he standing so close? Why is he here at all? There are a hundred girls he could corner tonight. A hundred girls he could kiss. So why is he here? With me? When he could be anywhere else?
“Not gonna tell me, huh?” he prods.
What did he ask again? Oh. What happened between Bryan and me.
Right. If the lights were on, if I couldn’t pretend I’m alone in this room, talking to my conscience instead of the man consuming my every thought, I might lie.
But there’s something about this moment.
About the darkness and the heightened senses and the way I can still feel his mouth on mine despite my best intentions of erasing it from my mind in hopes of protecting myself from what I’m starting to feel for him.
For a guy who could never and will never be anything but a fuck buddy.
Gotta give the man credit. Even when I know all of these things—heck, they’re screaming at me—he’s a hard one to resist.
“Tell me,” he pushes.
“I, uh, I kind of kissed someone else and figured it’d be best to end things.”
“Someone else, huh?”
Despite the darkness, I nod, my tongue too thick in my mouth to actually respond.
How do I tell the person I kissed that I actually liked it…
and it stuck with me. Stuck with me enough to end things with a guy who, for all intents and purposes, could star in a fairytale as Prince Charming, thus ruining any potential possibility of me actually winding up with a guy I should be with.
“How was it?” Ford asks.
My forehead wrinkles. “The kiss?”
He drags his hand along my arm, causing a shiver beneath the thin cotton of my sleeve. “Yes.”
“It was…” My eyes threaten to roll back in my head before I remember who exactly I’m dealing with. “Wait, did you just mark me?” I ask.
A breath of his amusement kisses my cheeks. It proves exactly how close we’re standing as the lights flicker back on. Gotta give Hawke props on the face paint choice. In this lighting, Ford looks creepy and hot in a way that doesn’t even make sense. I should be absolutely terrified, and yet…
His dark eyes drop to my mouth. “Do you want me to?” he rasps. “Mark you?”
My pulse throbs, and so does my core. I’m going to keep blaming the ambiance. The lighting. The quiet. The adrenaline from running all over the grounds while being chased. It’s a completely normal reaction, all things considered. Isn’t it?
“And how many have you marked tonight, Ford?” I whisper. I shouldn’t. It’s not like I don’t know I’m a dime a dozen to this guy, but I can’t help it. Guess the lack of light has a way of shining on my insecurities, too.
Slowly, Ford lifts his hands, showing me his unpainted palms in the black light.
He hasn’t marked anyone tonight. Why is that such a turn-on?
Lowering his hands again, he grabs my hips and deliberately moves me backward.
I follow his guidance, though I don’t know why.
He’s the enemy. At least, from a game standpoint.
And that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To play a game?
When my back finally hits the wall behind me, the lights flicker off again, and his hand disappears from my waist before my ears perk at a strange noise.
It’s quiet. Almost soundless, but thanks to my sight being taken from me, my hearing is amplified.
The subtle scratch of material brushing against itself sounds in the room.
He lifts his hand with the same slow, meticulous calculation I’ve come to expect from him when something wet and cold touches the side of my face.
Paint. He moved us closer to the wall so he’d have access to the paint.
I open my mouth to protest, but before I have a chance to utter a single syllable, his mouth is on mine.