10. Payton
TEN
PAYTON
It’s so not real, just fictional stories to entertain the women of this town, same as how parents sell the concept of a giant, fuzzy animal hopping between houses delivering chocolate, other sweets, and little toys to children.
This is what I tell myself all day as I pace the house Saturday, the note gripped in my hand. Normally, I wouldn’t consider myself a superstitious person, but after speaking with Gwen and Jace, this rumoured guy might be possible.
Last night, when listening for Aaron’s footsteps, someone showed up. When I saw the paper this morning, I immediately assumed my ex, but once unfolding it, the jagged words written with urgency weren’t in Aaron’s handwriting.
I’m feeling hungry, little rabbit. Up to our own personal egg hunt?
Be on the lookout Saturday for further instructions.
This has to be a joke. Gwen said it hasn’t happened in years— if the last report was true. It’s too much of a coincidence it happens to me so soon after learning about it.
Unless Gwen’s in on it. Even as the thought passes through my head, I know my anxiety is ruling my logic.
This can’t be real. It’s having me pacing my house half the day, worrying over nothing. Whoever wrote this note is fucking with me. While it’s not Aaron’s handwriting, it could be one of his friends’. That’d be the cherry on top of Aaron’s torment.
Or worse: Jace. After his strange behaviour the other night, is this his ultimate prank? Although, he seemed fairly normal yesterday when he and Brad dropped by for lunch, even giving me a large tip.
Or a severe case of gaslighting is happening.
Crack.
I freeze, gaze darting to the front door.
No. Fucking. Way.
It’s an animal, nothing more. A squirrel.
A squirrel wouldn’t make the entire porch crack, logic reminds me.
At this point, I’ll take Aaron looming to scare me.
In case it is, I rush toward the kitchen, grabbing the largest knife from the knife block. A fighter I am not, but any form of defence is better than nothing, because if someone’s there, and that someone is wearing a mask, I’m still not convinced this guy isn’t a serial killer who plants rumours to lure people in with the promise of sex.
Weapon in hand, I run for the front door, almost laughing at myself. Running toward a potential killer screams all sorts of saneness, yet I don’t pause as I yank the door open, freezing at the sight.
“Fuck.”
I can’t be certain who said that—him or me. Maybe both.
Gwen was right, or someone’s playing a really cruel trick.
Because there he is. A fucking massive shadow himself, a man wrapped in all black—pants, tee, sweater, and a wolf mask covering half his face—backing up from a golden egg about the size of a football.
“Who the fuck are you?” I lift the knife, gripping it harder to hide the quivers radiating down my arms. If I have any chance of convincing this guy I’m capable of defending myself, not shaking is probably the first step.
Instead of running away, Wolf Man steps onto the porch, only the egg separating us. He wasn’t supposed to approach the weapon. Maybe he’s crazier than I am. I press into the door at my back, mentally calculating how long it’ll take to slip inside and lock the door.
“Do you even know how to use that thing?” His voice is deep, throaty, and almost familiar. I’ve definitely heard it in passing; someone around town perhaps. Probably someone I’ve served at the diner.
One of Aaron’s friends playing a cruel trick?
“Slice and cut. How hard does it have to be?”
Beneath the edge of the mask, his mouth curves upward in a mocking grin. It irritates me to no end that he doesn’t believe I’d be able to save myself.
“You’re different than the others. It’s refreshing.”
Other s . Plural. Gwen missed a few facts.
“Different because I have self-respect and don’t want a masked serial killer to off me?”
Dark eyes clash with mine—also strangely familiar. They hold mine captive, a jail I have no desire to break out of. “If I were a serial killer, you’d be dead already.”
“Maybe you’re waiting until a better time?”
In a flash, he moves. Suddenly, I’m backed inside my house, the door left open. Instinct drives the knife up with no particular aim. His large hand, covered in a black, leather glove catches my wrist and pins it to the wall above my head. By the time my brain works well enough to recall having two arms, he’s capturing the other one, also lifting it above my head.
“Now…” He ducks his head, his breath warm on my face. “You were saying?”
“Let me go.” My swallow is rough; my breath staggered. Fear tenses every nerve, but there’s something oddly thrilling about this too. As long as he isn’t going to kill me, that is. Something exhilarating and stimulating at the idea of this stranger.
“I will, because we have a game to play later.”
“Take your egg and fuck off. Choose someone else. Not interested.”
Lie.
I spent all day dreading this possibility, but now I’ve seen him and know he’s real? Beneath the logic that’s driven me through life this far—though look how shitty that’s been working for me—there’s something that speaks to his own craziness. Something darker. After Aaron, something deserving.
It’s also everything with Aaron making me hesitate. Being hunted by a stranger in the same week my crazy ex is leaving notes doesn’t seem smart.
His chest rumbles against mine with his chuckle, those sinful lips curling. The wolf mask covering most of his face emits danger. “You’re very interested.” His eyes dip down as his tongue flicks against his top lip.
I follow his gaze to— oh, for fuck’s sake, why didn’t I put on a bra? My nipples are hard, evidence of my lie.
“Door’s open. It’s cold.”
He huffs his laughter, walking into me. My heart flutters in my chest, and my mouth parts with the start of a scream no one’s around to overhear. It’s quickly stolen by his fingers pressing so hard into my wrist, the knife slips from my grip and onto the ground between us. My scream transforms into a whimpered “ow.”
The sudden proximity makes me realize how big he is. How, as he’s pressed into me, I feel every hard plane. How the thin tank I’m wearing is basically nothing, and the sick part of my mind wants him to rip it off.
“If you weren’t interested, you’d be putting up a much better fight—kicking, screaming, hitting. You’d be trying to get free, but you’re not.” He squeezes my wrists, emphasizing both his words and the truth I’m hiding from even myself. “Deep down, you’re like me. You want this. You crave being hunted through the woods like an animal, to never know where I am at any given time. Wondering if your next step will be your last. How, when I catch you, I’ll take you. How many orgasms you’ll receive. And you’ll be good, won’t you? You won’t go easy on me. This cute little show you’ve greeted me with is an appetizer for the meal. That’s what I want. Fight me, little rabbit. Show me why the wolf should fear the prey.”
I want all of that.
Fuck.
He grins with a quick flash of teeth before glancing at the knife by our feet. “And if that’s your thing, I’ll play along. Not like you’ll ever nick me with it.”
His breath trails along my neck as he slowly lowers his head, but not before his lips, surprisingly soft, caress my cheek. Before I realize what I’m doing, I turn my head slightly, following his path until his lips brush over mine. So light, it barely counts as a kiss, but it’s a claim either way. A threat on its own.
An acceptance between us.
“How do I know you won’t kill me?”
He grins before returning a bit of my power by releasing my hands. His finger traces my jaw, petting my pulse until it reacts. “Why would I kill who I desire the most?”
His eyes flash with excitement and the promise of more to come before abruptly spinning on his heel and exiting my house. Once again, I’m struck with the familiarity of that look. Very familiar…like recently stared into them familiar. A shade of brown so dark, in many ways they remind me of Jace’s.
It takes me a moment to emerge from the maelstrom of my thoughts before chasing him onto the porch, but, like a ghost I’ve made up, he’s gone, like he was never here.
But he was. The knife on the floor, the golden egg on the porch, and my insides in a tight knot are proof he was.