Chapter Eight
If Lana or Kristy had told me I’d be lurking in the bushes like your friendly neighborhood woodland perv, I’d have told them to lay off the cheap vodka. But joke’s on me.
Now, I’m actually peeking, bark splinters giving me a shitty manicure, while Corset Barbie over there is kicking up enough dirt to plant a fucking garden. Or bury a body. Hard to tell with all the thrashing.
That pout. That prissy, over-enunciated ‘Please’—like she’s trying to sound dignified.
The one who ghosted Kristy’s cousin after one bad date.
Jessica Langley.
Prey #19. Group 4’s walking rulebook. The one who raised her hand to ask questions earlier like we were back in middle school.
She shouldn’t be here.
She belongs with The Wolf and The Demon, not pinned to an oak by our Ghostface in the wrong fucking sector.
Unless …
I wandered into their zone.
Their group’s third hunter was running late. Maybe they have a Ghostface, too.
The mask gleams in the moonlight, identical to Kade’s.
It’s not him.
It can’t be.
The hunter has her wrists pinned above her head, his body caging hers in that way that would be sexy if it weren’t so ... wrong.
“Please. Oh, God.” Jessica whimpers—and the sound curls low in my stomach.
I should leave.
The mask tilts as he murmurs something. Her mouth falls open, eyes going wide.
‘God’s not here tonight. Only monsters.’
Fuck, what if it’s really Kade?
He burrows his head in her chest.
So what? He isn’t yours. Just go.
But I have to know. I want to. Fuck.
She moans something—Please maybe, or More—and he answers by grinding into her.
I press a fist to my mouth.
It shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t burn.
But it does.
If it’s Kade under that mask … if he’s groping her right after he finished in me …
So she’s the main course and I’m the goddamn appetizer?
His hips roll into her. Same slow tease he used on me.
Not. Kade.
His hand slides from her waist to her throat.
My lungs stall. That move. The chuckle—smug, unmistakable. It’s him.
He drags his thumb across Jessica’s parted lips—
Her eyes roll back. She moans as he lifts her thigh over his hip and thrusts—rough, quick, cruel.
Could’ve been me. If I wasn’t standing here like a dumbass. If I hadn’t sent him off to fetch my stupid backpack.
Go. You don’t need to watch this.
I push away from the tree. Creep forward. Closer.
Jessica’s head tips back, and the hunter leans in, mask grazing her throat.
He’s hardly touching her. Just traces a gloved thumb along her collarbone. Her back arches. Her hips shift.
And he still doesn’t budge.
He’s waiting. My lungs seize.
Kade did that.
Pressed me against the tree and stayed there, hips flush against mine, letting me feel every inch of him without giving me what I wanted. Making me squirm.
His hand slips lower. Skims the line of her corset. Hovers just beneath the swell of her breast. And stops.
I swallow hard. Another step. Two.
Maybe he’ll see me.
Maybe I want him to.
Jessica’s clawing at his chest. “I—please … it’s in my back pocket.”
From this distance, the way her corset digs into her ribs with each breath is obvious.
Her head thrashes side to side—not an act.
The ‘Oh-shit-I-might-actually-die’ kind of struggling.
Those little gasps sound less like pleasure and more like the time Kristy and I tried hot yoga after three margaritas.
“Back pocket.” Her voice cracks. “Please—can’t—breathe—”
Wait. She was asking about her inhaler earlier.
He pats her ass. Slow. Like he’s deciding if saving her is worth the effort.
Jessica’s legs wobble. Another gasp—wet, wheezing.
And he’s still taking his sweet fucking time.
I lurch forward. “Hey!”
The word tears out of me, sudden and stupid—louder than I meant.
The mask snaps toward me. Those dead-eyed, peanut-colored voids. That silent, endless scream.
Then he tilts his head—just a fraction.
My spine turns to ice.
Kade?
Please don’t be Kade.
Please be Kade.
“Give it to her,” I mutter.
He fishes the inhaler out. Drops it on the ground.
Asshole. I’m about to lunge for it when the knife appears.
One quick slash.
Jessica yelps, chest heaving.
No blood. Only her corset sliced down the front.
The hunter tilts his head at me—watch.
The blade flashes again.
This time, a dark gash opens up on her neck.
“No …” My scream comes out as a squeak.
Jessica sputters. Froth. Blood down her bare breasts. She collapses—all fours—and her fingers scrabble in the dirt until they close around the inhaler.
She brings it to her mouth.
Puff.
Wheeze.
Puff-puff.
She looks around, as if wondering why it’s not working.
Her lungs rattle. The inhaler slips. She’s convulsing. Coughing. Blood spraying everywhere.
Somehow, she drags herself forward.
The bastard doesn’t move, his head cocked in my direction.
And me? I do nothing.
Nothing.
She doesn’t get far. Another ragged cough. Her eyes flick to me. Her lips move. No sound comes out—just a bubble of blood that pops wetly.
My vision blurs. My chest tightens.
The wet gurgling slows … stops.
“J-Jessica?”
Kristy’s words echo through my head—‘Karma’s coming for her tonight.’
No. Fuck no. She isn’t dead yet. She can’t be.
Do something. Check her pulse.
But those eyes keep staring at me. No, through me. Empty. Gone.
The hunter steps over the inhaler.
Toward me.
My pulse roars in my ears.
Run.
My legs wobble. I back up a step, then another.
Move, damn it.
I turn and finally—finally—my body obeys. I crash through the underbrush. No path. No plan. Just away.
Branches scrape my arms, snag at my clothes. Leaves crunch. Twigs snap.
He’s behind me—picking up pace.
Faster.
My lungs scream. My thighs burn. Something snags my ankle. I sprawl forward, palms slamming into mud.
Get up get up get up—
I scramble to my feet. Slip. Fall again. My knee cracks against a rock. Pain shoots up my leg, white-hot.
A twig cracks—right behind me.
I don’t look back.
Get up. Now.
A distant crack splits the sky. For one blinding second, the forest flares white—
The hunter’s shadow stretches toward me, knife glinting.
Then darkness swallows us again.
Thunder. Closer this time.
I skid around a massive oak—
And freeze.
A clearing. Empty. Too empty.
Shit. Where the hell is he?
Another flash.
The hunter. Standing a few feet away.
Something dangles from his fist. Not the knife.
Dog tag.
He twirls the chain lazily, the tag striking his blade with each turn.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The sound drills into my skull. My hand flies to my own player tag digging into my collarbone.
Lightning forks again. The mask leers. The knife drips. The number 19—smeared in blood.
I’m running again before I even know it.
Fuckfuckfuck.
Not real. Not real.
But the tag.
The blood.
Her eyes.
That wheezing as she breathed her last—
Keep going. Just keep going.
The cameras.
I stagger forward, waving at the nearest black dome mounted on a pine.
“Help!”
They can see and hear me. Right?
They have to.
I spin in a dizzy circle. There—another one. Perched above a gnarled branch like a watchful eye.
“He’s not part of the game,” I scream. “Help us.”
What the hell is the staff doing? Does anyone even notice?
“Jessica’s dead! You fucking hear me?”
A broken laugh slips out. Eight hundred bucks a ticket for the full Halloween experience. A scream. An orgasm.
A dead girl in the woods.
I whirl—
And slam into something hot, soft, alive.
“Damn, Red. You tryna knock a bitch out or what?”
Black latex. Killer curves. Her tag gleams in the moonlight: #4.
“Va-Vanessa?”
“Mmmhm.” A pink bubble blooms between plum-stained lips. Pop. “That’s me, baby. Scream Queen Supreme in the flesh. You lookin’ like you just seen a ghost.”
I grab her arm. “He killed her. He killed Jessica.”
“Hold up. Say that again.”
“I saw him. Ghostface. He—” I stop short.
Kristy’s not the only one who snuck in her phone. Vanessa has hers, too—aimed right at me. Hell, is she recording?
“Give me that.” I swipe for it.
She sidesteps, smooth as a cat in six-inch heels. “Uh-uh. This?” She wiggles the phone. “This is premium content, boo. We about to go viral.”
“Call 911. Now.”
“Oh, we callin’ the cops now? Over Mr. Ghostface doin’ his job?”
“He killed Jessica. Killed her. It’s not a prank. She’s dead.”
Vanessa freezes—then bursts out laughing. “Aww, shit. Y’all got me! Okay, that delivery was good, Red. Little shaky on the ‘dead’ part, but I see you. Horror improv, let’s go.”
“This is real.”
She waves me off. “Girl, please. You think they lettin’ some random-ass Ted Bundy sneak in here? This shit’s curated. Scripted. There’s NDAs longer than my lashes.”
“There was so much blood and—”
“Exactly. Premium package, duh. That’s that West Coast FX, babyyy.” She grins at her phone. “You hearin’ this, fam? Red just hit me with a monologue. We got ourselves a Final Girl in the wild.”
Something snaps in the woods. Closer now.
Vanessa gasps. “Oh, shit. That him? Where he at?” She spins toward the trees, flicking her hair. “Y’think he’ll stab me if I ask for a selfie?”
“No! I mean, yes.”
She strikes a pose. “I’m tryin’ to get murdered and moisturized, don’t block my shot.”
“Jessica’s dead.”
“Okay, you sure you ain’t been microdosing?”
“Please … I’m not kidding.”
Vanessa’s bubblegum grin slips. Then she laughs again. “Alright, Red. Let’s say I believe you. There’s a real killer out here, yeah? And he’s dressed like Ghostface?”
“Yes!”
She grins at the camera. “Fam. Y’all hearin’ this?” Back to me: “So, what’s the move? We find him and pull the mask off? Maybe get a lil POV action while we’re at it?”
“Are you insane?”
“Look. I paid eight hundred for scares, sweat, and scandal. You think I’m gonna pass up the chance to unmask the main event?”
Un-fucking-believable. I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
A pink bubble pops. “Besides, even if I believed you—and girl, I don’t—I couldn’t call nobody. Tried goin’ live earlier when that horned freak got all up in my grill, but guess what? No bars. No Wi-Fi. Nada.”
My breath saws in and out. “Do you know which way the base camp is? The entrance, whatever. Where we checked in?”
“Mmm. That way.” She points into the trees. “Unless they moved shit for aesthetic.”
I grab her wrist. “Come with me.”
She peels my fingers off, one glossy nail at a time. “And miss my main character moment? Hell no.” Her phone screen reflects my panic as she backs away. “You go tattle to the clipboard crew. I got a Ghostface to fuck—or fight. Depends on his dick energy.”
“Vanessa—”
“Relax.” She blows me a kiss. “Mama didn’t buy this ass just to run from the dick parade.”
Then she’s strutting into the dark, hips swaying. “Gonna get me a selfie with Ghost Daddy. He can stab me while I ride his face.”
I stay frozen until her laughter fades.
A scream shreds the night—or maybe it’s still her cackling.
I don’t wait to find out.