Chapter 11
Jude
It had been one week—seven nights of madness since Murphy’s—and I still couldn’t get enough.
We’d settled into something that defied definition.
Enemies with benefits, maybe. That term had started rattling around in my skull somewhere around Thursday, when Ash had pinned me against the prop storage wall after our second run through and we’d rutted against each other like animals in heat.
No talking, no touching. Just friction and fury and the kind of release that left us damp and uncomfortable for the rest of the night.
Our performances had also never been better. The numbers didn’t lie: park attendance was up, our zones had the longest lines, and Mia kept sending screenshots of social media metrics that actually made Parker smile. That was rare.
The promo shots from the night of the storm had gone viral, each post getting hundreds of thousands of shares and the comments that ranged from thirsty to downright filthy.
Someone had created a GIF of the moment Ash had grabbed me by the throat, and Mia swore it had been used in response threads with the word ‘Daddy’ over forty thousand times.
I’d always cultivated this. The dark romance angle, the aesthetic that made certain corners of social media lose their minds. Taylor and I had been popular, sure. We’d gotten our share of fan edits and shipping posts. But this? This was different. This was insane.
The analytics Mia showed me were staggering. Fan accounts dedicated solely to us. Think pieces about the chemistry. TikToks analysing our body language frame by frame. People were buying park tickets specifically to see us, planning entire trips around our performance schedule.
We were becoming something bigger than just some ‘scare actors’ with a Halloween vibe. We were icons of violent attraction, but I was too caught up in the secret war Ash and I fought in the dark to care.
Tonight’s crowd was already thick when I stalked through the foggy haze.
The downside of our sudden fame became clear the moment I tried to weave through the crowd.
Hands reached for me constantly; phones thrust in my face begging for selfies.
I’d started declining every request because otherwise I’d spend the entire shift posing instead of performing.
Someone grabbed my vest, another tried to touch my hair.
“Just one picture!”
“Can you sign my shirt?”
Christ.
I yanked free from grasping fingers, shot them my coldest glare—the one that usually made people back off—and disappeared into the fog before they could follow.
Somewhere in the darkness, Ash was moving. I could feel him like a second pulse racing under my skin.
Our overall choreography had become suggestion rather than script. We’d stopped following Parker’s notes entirely, and I’d allowed myself to stop stressing over the lack of control.
Instead, we fed off each other’s energy, and let the tension between us bleed into every interaction.
When Ash went high, I went low. When I circled left, he mirrored right.
The guests ate it up. Screamed and cheered and pulled out their phones to capture every second. After all, no two shows were the same.
A group of college girls spotted me and immediately started squealing. It wasn’t the scared kind of squeal. It was the excited kind.
“Oh my god, it’s him!”
“Can we get a picture?”
Jesus Christ. They never let up. But I was in position now, and miraculously early, and it would be bad if I suddenly avoided everyone. I could even picture the comments: ‘thinks he’s too good for us now he’s trending’.
I shifted modes without thinking, sliding from what had become a serious predator mindset back to the charming performer, and softened my dangerous edge to be approachable. “Make it quick. I’ve got prey to track.”
They giggled and crowded around me. I loomed behind them, letting my expression go sharp and hungry. One of them gasped when I put my hand on her shoulder and then I was almost blinded by the rapid-fire flashes.
“Thank you so much! We love you guys, like, you and Ash are literally the best part of this whole place.”
“Where is Ash?” another one asked, craning her neck to peer into the shadows.
Movement caught my eye as Ash materialized like smoke given form, tactical vest dark against the crimson wash of the zone’s strobe lights.
“Closer than you think,” I said.
I’d memorized every inch of him weeks ago and mapped the lines of his muscles during our brutal encounters.
But lately I’d been cataloging new details.
The way his shoulders tapered to narrow hips.
How his forearms flexed when he gripped his prop weapons.
The exact angle of his jaw when he tilted his head back, silently challenging me with a jut of his chin.
It was dangerous territory.
The girls erupted in delighted screams.
“Both of them!”
“Oh my god, take our picture with both!”
Ash’s eyes met mine across the distance and, fuck it and him, but my knees threatened to give way. I licked my lips and tried not to look interested or like I didn’t want to ditch this whole night and go somewhere he could bend me over a hay bale.
Maybe he saw right through me, because he was moving, closing the gap with that predatory stride that made my blood run hot.
We flanked the group, bracketing them between us like we were about to devour them whole. Not because we wanted them but because they were in the way.
The phones came out again. More flashes. More excited chattering.
“Can you guys do something cool? Like, act like you’re about to fight or something?”
Ash’s hand went to the prop knife at his belt. I mirrored the gesture. We circled each other slowly, letting the tension build, and the girls went absolutely feral.
It would be on TikTok within the hour.
I lunged. Ash blocked. Our forearms connected with a meaty thud that was half performance, half genuine aggression. We grappled for a handful of seconds, close enough that I could feel his breath on my face, could smell sweat and that body spray that was always a little too strong.
His knee came up. I twisted away. The crowd gasped.
Then we broke apart, both breathing hard, and the spell shattered. The girls applauded like we’d just performed Shakespeare.
“That was amazing!”
“You guys are so hot together.”
“Is there, like, lore? Are you enemies or partners or what?”
Ash fielded that one. “Neither. We’re hunters. That’s all you need to know.”
His voice had that rough edge it got when he was worked up. I knew that tone intimately. It was exactly what it sounded like when he was three seconds from losing control.
The group finally dispersed, heading deeper into the zone to experience the rest of the attractions. Ash and I stood in the dissipating fog, alone again.
“Getting soft,” he said. “Posing for selfies instead of scaring people.”
“Says the guy who just flexed for those girls.”
“Didn’t see you complaining.” He was smirking at me. No, not smirking. Leering. Even through all the layers of black and white face paint, he was able to get that snide expression across.
“It’s just good for the park.” I didn’t believe a goddamn word that was coming out of my mouth. “Good for metrics, we get to keep doing whatever the fuck this is.”
“This?” Ash took a step closer. The space between us crackled. “And what is this, exactly, Jude?”
I weighed my answer against the hunger in his eyes and decided on evasion. “A good time.”
“Right. A good time.” His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he wouldn’t spit out.
The truth sat heavy on my tongue. That I thought about him constantly. That he’d gotten under my skin in ways nobody had since Dylan, maybe even worse. That every time we touched, I wanted more, wanted everything, wanted things I had no business wanting from someone I was supposed to work with.
People left. That was the lesson I’d learned young and hard.
Dad first, then Cait, then a parade of Mom’s boyfriends who stuck around just long enough to make us all believe before vanishing.
Dylan had lasted longer than most, but the ending was the same.
I was too closed off and messed up to give a shit about.
I’d built my walls for a reason, but Ash seemed determined to find handholds I hadn’t known existed, but for both our sakes, I had to stop him from cresting over the top.
My mind flashed back to Murphy’s bathroom.
The way he’d tasted when I’d finally stood up, the salt of him still coating my tongue.
I’d gone back to the table and ignored my drink, unwilling to wash away that evidence.
I had sat there for another hour with the phantom sensation of his cock in my mouth and his hands fisted in my hair.
Then I’d watched him across the table, trying not to smirk each time he moved and looked uncomfortable. He was a dirty mess under his clothes, and knowing what I’d done to him and how I’d marked him made me want to drag Ash back to that bathroom and put him face down on the floor.
The power of it had been intoxicating.
All week, we’d been chasing that high. Finding dark corners and empty corridors.
The park had become our playground and our battleground.
We’d fucked in the costume storage room, in his car again, against the back of the prop shed while the muffled screams of guests echoed through the walls.
He’d cornered me in the showers last night and
Two nights ago, Ash had cornered me in the showers after close.
He’d fucked me against the tile, water pounding down on us both, and when Jonas walked in Ash had clamped a hand over my mouth and stayed buried deep.
He’d jerked me off while Jonas showered three feet away, oblivious.
The terror of discovery mixed with the pleasure had nearly made me black out.
When we’d finally been alone again, Ash had wrecked me. Pounded into me until I couldn’t stand, until I was begging, until my voice gave out entirely.
I’d loved every second.