Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
BETH
I ’m not one to back down from a challenge, and this offer felt like one. I have been curious about what happens to people who break the rules in Grove Hill, but I have the feeling that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Especially once Nigel drives out of Grove Hill and takes Highway 290 into Houston, turning onto 610, heading for The Ship Channel.
It’s been a very rare occurrence when I go to the big city. Heading in this direction for this purpose makes me anxious.
The sun has set. Orange and pink hues blanket the sky as Nigel pulls off the highway and takes a few turns on what seems to be random streets, but there must be a method to his madness.
He takes one final turn onto a dirt road that seems to only lead to a large abandoned warehouse.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“This is Warehouse Five.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I wonder why it's called Warehouse Five. There isn’t a number on it.
“It’s the warehouse that belongs to The Five Families. This is where all the magic happens.”
Magic? What kind of magic, or is he being sarcastic? I swear, sometimes I can’t tell with Nigel. Whatever they do to make people leave Grove Hill can’t be pretty.
“This is the moment of no return, butterfly. Once you’re involved in this, you’re in for life.”
My heart races with anxiety, but his words snap my confidence into place. “I’m in. I’m not changing my mind.”
Ego doesn’t eradicate fear. I know I’m not backing down, but not knowing what I’m agreeing to doesn’t help anything.
Nigel pulls me into his arms, straddling his waist, as he smirks at me with pride. “That’s my fucking girl,” he growls before stealing a searing kiss.
Out of nowhere, a loud rap sounds against the window.
“Fuck,” he groans as we pull apart. “Come on, babe. Let’s get this show on the road,” he says with a big smile, and we get out of his truck.
I’m unsure what to make of the pedo-van parked beside the truck. It isn’t one of the vehicles from Nigel’s house. No, this is a van I’ve never seen with blacked-out windows, including the windshield. Whoever owns this van doesn’t want anyone to know who they are or what they’re doing.
Red flag.
“Can you focus now that you got your dick wet, Ni?” Charlie asks as he rounds the van, tossing a pair of keys in the air. They nearly hit me in the face, but Oliver’s hand snatches them from mid-air as they are about to make contact.
“Watch it, Kennedy.” His tone and the seriousness in it leave no room for argument. The warning is clear, but I don't know what it is about. Is he pissed that Charlie almost hit me with the keys? One thing I can't deny is that my body relaxes just seeing that he's here. And, that is the stupidest shit I've ever heard. Why him? Other than the few minutes he was kind and gentle, Oliver has been nothing but a beast. A mainly silent beast, but a beast nonetheless.
“Sorry. Slight miscalculation.”
That’s an understatement, but it might not be slight for him since his eyes are bloodshot, and he’s swaying a bit. The man is blazed out of his mind. I hope they’re not planning for him to drive.
“That’s enough. Saddle up, buttercup,” Nigel growls the words viciously as Ronan rips open the sliding door of the van and red light floods the space.
I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but the space is bare except for the black hard rubber lining on the van floor, two small pieces of rope, and a stack of what looks like masks.
Halloween masks.
What the hell do they need Halloween masks for? Are we playing Ding Dong Ditch or something?
“Come on, babe,” Nigel whispers to me before turning his attention to Oisin. “You’re on driver duty tonight.”
“Ni, seriously? Why can’t Ronan do it this time? I’m always the driver.”
Wow. I guess being the driver is a bad thing. Poor guy might as well have stayed at the house with Arely.
“Because I gave you the fucking task.” Nigel tosses the keys at Oisin, who flinches when he catches them. “Plus, your girl pissed me off.”
I climb into the back of the van and sit on the bench with the same thick rubber covering it. As a matter of fact, every single surface in the back of this van is covered in that stuff, but the front seat is a different story. It’s upholstered like a regular car.
What the fuck am I involved in here?
Nigel climbs into the van, followed by Ronan, then Charlie and Oliver, before the final man slams the door closed. I force my breathing to stay calm despite my heart slamming against my ribcage.
I’m afraid of what I might be involved in, but not of the man sitting across from me no matter how much I should be. Even with him staring at me in a way I've never seen before.
What are you thinking, Oliver?
However, the look he gives me says I’m in trouble, and he doesn’t entirely trust that I’m not going to snitch on them. It's a mixture of protectiveness and a guarded disposition.
Nigel sits beside me as the others get settled before Oisin speeds out of the parking lot. My nails dig into the bench to keep myself upright as Nigel throws his arm around my shoulder.
“Breathe,” he whispers in my ear, his voice so raspy I would think he was trying to seduce me if we weren’t on our way to participate in illegal activities.
I let out a deep breath before relaxing against the seat.
The van sways and turns, and there’s even a point where the tires lift onto the curb from Oisin’s reckless driving.
A growl rumbles deep within Nigel’s chest, full of irritation.
My guts bark from the tension in my abdomen, but I’ve never been one to complain, so I stay silent about my nerves. Besides, the last thing I want is for everyone to think I’m a wuss just because I’m anxious about this situation.
* * *
The van runs straight over a fucking stop sign, and no one looks twice at it as Nigel picks up the masks, passing them out.
They’re Ghostface masks.
“Why Ghostface?” The words don’t come from me but from the person across the cab –Oliver.
He hasn’t spoken a word to me since last night. I’m not sure if the question is directed at me, though.
“What?”
“That’s the question written across your face, princess. You want to know why Ghostface–if it means anything to us,” he explains, his icy blue gaze blazing through me.
I feel all eyes zone in on me as my eyes stay trained on my target, the masks.
“Yeah. Why Ghostface?” I finally ask the question plaguing me, and Oliver smirks.
“He’s the only slasher the victims don’t see coming unless he consciously wants them to. Freddy Krueger had no choice. As soon as they realized they were dreaming, they knew he was coming. Jason Voorhees didn’t care if they saw him coming, and neither did Michael Myers. Unlike those three, Ghostface was always mortal and easy to kill, yet he would still taunt his victims like he was invincible. Ghostface can blend in with the shadows as he stalks his prey, watch them make hundreds of mistakes, and strike when they least expect it.” He never loses focus on me or the silver coin that dances between his fingers the entire time he speaks. It’s so creepy the way his eyes stay locked on my face while he talks about a fictional serial killer like he’s something to be idolized. And that stupid coin flips over each knuckle of his fingers mindlessly, but the twisted fuck never misses his target.
Oliver Doyle is a full-blooded psychopath.
“Don’t listen to him. Ollie is certifiable,” Nigel mutters as he tosses Oisin a mask.
“Yeah, and I’ve got the documentation to prove it.” Then, Oliver sends me the most diabolical smile I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong. Physically, Oliver is ungodly perfection with straight white teeth, clear skin, tons of muscles, and perfectly groomed black waves, but the lack of anything in his smile makes me uneasy at best.
And yet, I can't deny that I've been drawn to him since we met. I get sucked in by the sound of his voice, the way he smells, and those eyes. Those hypnotizing eyes. I know I should keep my distance, but I can't, even though he's probably more likely to kill me than anything else.
Suddenly, the van comes to a screeching halt as the guys pull the masks over their heads.
“Stay here,” Nigel says.
“What? Why did I come if I’m just going to sit in the van?” I complain. Honestly, I don’t want to witness whatever they are going to do, but riding along is pointless if I’m just going to sit around like a good little girl.
“Butterfly,” Nigel grumbles before he hops back into the van and pulls up his mask, flashing those icy blues at me. “This is the only part you won’t be involved in. We won’t be more than five minutes. Just, please, do not get out of this van. There could be cameras anywhere, and the last thing I want is for the cops to come after you for this, okay?”
That makes the blood in my veins run cold, and a shiver runs through my body. Nigel isn’t making me stay because he doesn’t want me to be a part of this. It’s to keep me safe from prosecution, and there were only five masks. I’m the sixth person on this adventure.
That’s why.
“Okay. Be quick,” I demand. He jumps back out of the van and slams the door shut.
I bathe in the red light as the air rushes out of my lungs. Anxiety pumps through my veins with each passing breath and thoughts of the unknown mesh with the few knowns concerning this situation.
If I get out of this van before Nigel tells me I can, I might go to jail for an unknown amount of time. Whatever they are doing is so dangerous they can’t show their faces. It’s the best-kept secret of Grove Hill. No one truly knows what it is, but they fear what it might be. All they know is people who break the rules are never seen again.
I barely make it to five hundred in counting the seconds–which only comes out to roughly eight minutes–when the sliding door is thrown open, and I hear the sound of a muffled, masculine cry for help. What I witness is something I can never unsee.