Chapter 4
Ash
I arrived an hour early for my shift, which was becoming a bad habit.
I told myself it was about preparation, about wanting to get my costume right, about being professional and proving to anyone who looked that I was a smart hire.
That Jude usually showed up early too had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.
The employee lot was mostly empty when I pulled in, just a few cars I recognized from the tech crew. Jude’s car wasn’t there yet, and I felt the disappointment like a physical thing before I could stop myself. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.
I’d been working at Ridgeway Amusements for three weeks now, and I’d spent approximately seventy percent of that time thinking about Jude. The other thirty percent I spent actually performing, which probably said something unflattering about my priorities.
The thing was, I’d known about Jude before I even applied for the job.
Everyone in the local performance scene knew about him.
It was impossible not to know his name, especially once he started blowing up all over social media.
Not only had he been the main attraction at the Halloween Scream Scene, but he’d also been the guy to build the Hunters aesthetic from scratch.
The Hunters took the basic bloody ghoul idea and turned it on its head.
They made it something great where danger met sex appeal, all wrapped up in outfits that made me want to drool. The effect was hot as fuck.
But then there was Jude. The leader of the pack. He was the definition of the hot stalker boyfriend that drove all the book girls and guys wild on social media.
He drove me fucking wild, and I’d been smitten ever since the first time I saw a video of him strutting through the fog and the lights.
Jude was the sort of performer so committed to character that he’d made grown adults cry.
I’d watched videos of his performances online and thought, Yeah, I want to work with him.
Learn from him. Of course, I’ve had to hide the fact that I was one of those social media boys watching his performances with a raging hard-on.
That wasn’t why I’d taken the job, though. Not exactly. Sure, I’d watched his performances online—maybe more than was strictly normal. And yes, I’d learned his schedule, but then I practiced until I was good enough to get hired.
But it wasn’t obsession. It was... pattern recognition. I did this. Found someone unattainable, someone who wouldn’t want me back, and fixated on them until the inevitable rejection proved what I already knew: I wanted too much from people who could only give so little.
I had a type, and it was wrong in all the best ways. Bad boys and shades of gray that hide their pain. It was stupid, and it doomed me to fail with them every time, but I could never help myself.
But then I met him on my first day, and he looked at me like I was an obstacle instead of a coworker, and I’d realized that this was going to be complicated.
Things only became more complicated when Parker, the manager of Ridgeway, paired us together as fighters.
Jude’s old partner hadn’t returned for this season, and despite being the new hire, I was a better physical match to be Jude’s counterpart.
He was taller than me, but I was broader and thicker compared to his lithe physique.
Not that Jude was some breakable thing. The first time we’d run through the choreography, he’d caught me with an elbow to the ribs that knocked the wind out of me.
Stage fighting, my ass. The guy moved like violence was a second language, and maybe I was totally fucked in the head—actually, I knew I was—but that turned me on even more.
Which was becoming a problem.
Last night I’d moaned. Out loud. With Jude’s hand around my throat and an audience watching.
I liked to top usually, preferred being the one in control, but I wasn’t opposed to switching things up.
The thing was, being pinned down by Jude in that costume, skeleton paint stark against his skin, his grip tight enough to make me lightheaded—that had shattered every ounce of self-control I possessed.
I’d gotten hard. Right there on the fucking pavement.
And then I’d moaned.
Christ.
I’d fucked up big time, and all I could think to do all bloody night was to escalate it. To distract him with a grab here and a buck there. Anything to get his mind unable to focus on how I’d acted like a schoolboy discovering porn for the first time.
I headed through the back tunnels toward the storage area, needing to grab some extra gear.
The challenge Jude had thrown down last night was still rattling around in my head.
A competition to see who could get more audience reaction, like we were back in high school trying to one-up each other for attention.
It was stupid and petty, and I should’ve said no.
But the way he’d looked at me when he said it, like he was daring me to back down, like he actually gave a shit whether I accepted or not... I couldn’t have said no even if I’d wanted to.
I was halfway through checking inventory when I heard footsteps behind me.
It was Jude. Only one man here moved through space like he owned it, and I could recognize the sound of his modified combat boots, anyway.
It was an occupational hazard of spending six hours a night tracking his location across a scare zone.
“You’re here early,” I said, not looking up from the shelf.
“Could say the same about you.”
He was already half-dressed, cargo pants sitting low on his hips, black tank top that showed off the lean muscle of his arms. I’d seen him in various stages of undress plenty of times in the changing room, but it still did things to my focus that I couldn’t afford during work hours.
“I wanted to get a head start,” I said, which was true. “Big night ahead, apparently.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s just a regular Friday.”
“Right. Except for the part where we’re competing to see who’s better at their job.” I leaned against the shelf unit, arms crossed, and watched his hands still on the holster he was threading onto his belt. “Question though. What does the winner get?”
He looked up at me then, and I saw the moment of hesitation before he answered. “Satisfaction not enough?”
“That’s boring.” I kept my tone light, even though my heart was picking up speed. This was stupid. I should just drop it and get ready for my shift. Stop pushing him. “You issued the challenge, Jude. Surely you had something in mind.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
Liar. Jude thought everything through in painful detail. But I could play along.
I seemed to have been doing that a lot lately.
Playing along with whatever Jude wanted, following his lead and letting him set the terms of engagement.
During rehearsals, during performances, during these strange, awkward moments between us when I couldn’t tell if we were fighting or flirting or some dangerous combination of both.
I’d never been a follower, and I’d never backed away from a challenge.
“Fine. The loser buys breakfast at Frank’s Diner. After shift. Four a.m.”
As far as rewards went, it was pretty basic, but I needed it to be. I couldn’t risk anything too serious or anything that had the potential of giving my stupid crush away.
I watched him process it—watched the micro-expressions cross his face—interest, panic, something that looked almost like want before he locked it down. He was going to say no. I could see it coming.
“Fine,” he said instead. Well, call me fucking shocked. “But when I win, you’re buying me the full breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, the works.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest. He’d said yes. He’d actually said yes, and it was just breakfast after a stupid bet, so it meant nothing. But he said yes.
“When you win,” I repeated, and let myself smile. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I pushed off from the shelf and headed for the door, but I couldn’t resist throwing one last look at him. He was standing there holding his vest, staring after me, and his expression was complicated enough that I felt it all the way across the room.
Yeah. Tonight was going to be interesting.
***
My shift started at seven, and by seven-thirty I was fully in my zone. Both physically and figuratively.
I loved this part of the job. The adrenaline, the performance aspect, the way I could disappear into character and become someone else entirely.
I’d done theater in college, then moved onto stunt work after graduation, but nothing had felt as alive as this.
Especially not when I was performing opposite Jude.
I’d figured out his patterns by the end of week one.
I knew where he liked to position himself, how he moved through the fog and how he liked to slide on his kneepads so he could pop up behind unsuspecting guests.
It should’ve made our choreographed fights easier, if a little boring and predictable.
Instead, it made them more intense, because I could anticipate him and he could anticipate me, and we’d started improvising around each other in ways that probably drove our director crazy.
It made the crowds lose their minds, though, which was clearly a problem for Jude.
That was what tonight was all about. Who was best? The king of the park or some such shit.
Our first scheduled fight wasn’t until nine, which gave me time to build up the competition, to remind Jude—and myself—what I was capable of.
I hit every mark, terrorized the guests with devious satisfaction, and when a grown man stumbled trying to get away from me, I filed that away as a point in my favor.