Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Lana?”
Pigface goes still.
“Go ahead, Dollface. I’ll edit it out later.”
Her gloved fingers curl under the mask’s snout. The rubber lifts, and beneath it—
Black hair, sweat-damp. Cheeks flushed pink. Same smile she had in that Instax print.
Maybe the drug’s still in my system. Blood loss can do that too. But no. This is real.
The girl in the porch cam footage three weeks ago. She and Kristy showed up 48 hours post-ghosting—arms full of junk food and bad advice.
Lana Whitaker. Corporate law golden girl. Social media scrubbed clean except for LinkedIn and a single tagged brunch photo from three years ago.
Now she’s here. Bathed in someone else’s blood. Certainly not the corpse I imagined rotting under leaves while Payton screamed herself raw blaming me.
Lana peels back the robe, rolls her shoulders.
There’s a barbell at her throat—one meant to pierce a cock. His, probably. Or someone else’s. Either way, she’s wearing it like another trophy.
This woman faked her death just to watch Payton break.
My hand twitches. Blood slicks my fingers—Josh’s. Mine. Doesn’t matter. The pain keeps me focused.
Derek’s still got the gun—raised, steady. He hasn’t looked away from me once.
The knife I used on Payton is lying a few feet away. I could go for it. Faster than the trigger. Faster than Lana. That’s the math. Her knife’s already in hand. Taser clipped to her belt. Maybe more. Kristy’s still playing dead. That antler had better be worth something.
Fuck. If I don’t move soon, this blood loss is going to drag me under.
And then it’s game fucking over.
Payton slides off the altar and nearly collapses. I lurch forward to steady her—agony knifing through my arm.
“No,” Payton chokes out, her eyes locked on Lana. “Y-you … I watched you die.”
“Oh, P. You really think I’d be gone that easy?”
Lana holds out her hand.
Derek draws a knife from his robe. Drops it into her palm.
Blade to her side. The steel vanishes into the handle.
“Retractable,” she says, wagging the hilt. “Dual-function. Stage magic meets practical use. Handy, right?”
She grins at Payton. “Corn syrup in squib packs—same shit they use on holiday murder mysteries. Dark woods, stellar acting … and you were always such a screamer.”
A glance at Derek. “He had to choke me harder just to keep me from laughing.”
Payton’s throat works. “You—”
“I what?” Lana’s smile widens. “Let you play the ‘final girl’? Gave you a chance to finally ride your neighbor’s dick?” She flicks the cock piercing with one finger, and Payton flinches like she’s been slapped. “Shame your guy can only bleed. At least Pigface put up a fight.”
“What’d you do to Amanda?” Payton rasps. “You took her boots.”
Lana glances down, flexing her foot. “They look better on me, don’t you think?”
“What the fuck, Lana?” Kristy yells from the pew. “Is he making you do this?”
Lana angles her head toward Kristy. “Oh, no. I chose this. All of it.”
“You chose to slaughter people?” Payton spits out. “To fuck with us?”
“I graduated top of my class. Smiled through every brunch while they asked why I couldn’t be more like Elise—AmLaw cover story, thanks for asking.
Or Ryan. He’s hosting ethics panels between affairs, by the way.
Or even the baby of the family. Liam. Two Harvard degrees and a coke habit no one mentions. ”
Lana tests the knife’s edge with her thumb. “Years wearing a mask, and you know what happens? You forget where your skin ends and the performance begins.”
She points the blade at Payton. “You got to be a mess. Kristy got to be a mess. I made one mistake and got ‘tarnishing your future’ lectures. So I kept polishing it. Kept sanding myself down.”
A glance at Derek. “Then I met him. Two years ago.”
“Jesus fuck, Lana,” Kristy shrieks. “H-he was the guy who taught you things?”
“He got me, you know? Like, really got me. Figured out who I was before I did. Tonight was a fucking blast. Right, babe?”
Derek chuckles low. “You were born for this, Dollface.”
“He’s a psycho,” Payton snaps. “Can’t you see he’s using you?”
“Using me?” Lana echoes, quiet, amused. “Oh, P, he’s the first person who didn’t.”
She steps closer. “The only thing he wanted was honesty.” The knife flicks toward the altar. “And this? This was a study. Of what people become when they’re hunted. When they’re finally free.”
A wry smile. “You want to talk about ‘psycho’? You live next door to one.”
The knife. The altar. Payton coming apart underneath me.
Now this bitch is weaponizing it.
My jaw tightens. Blood wells fresh between my fingers. The pain’s the only thing keeping me from charging Derek’s gun just to wipe that smirk off her face.
She presses the knife under Payton’s chin, forcing her to look at me. “He stalked you here, P. That doesn’t worry you? The neighbor who couldn’t keep his distance—just happened to show up in the middle of this?”
Payton’s mouth opens then shuts. She probably already figured it out.
The bitch isn’t wrong. I did stalk Payton. I followed her here. I’d fucking do it all over again.
“So what? You’re gonna kill us all now?” Payton murmurs.
“This was your game the whole time?” Kristy hollers. “Our fucking girls’ night was bait?”
“Oh, no.” Lana’s smirk widens. “I told you I had plans. You both wanted to tag along. I even warned you things could get … intense.” The knife tip traces Payton’s jawline. “‘I want intense.’ That’s what you said. Remember?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Kristy chokes out. “Let us go. Please, Lana. We’re your friends.”
Lana scoffs. “Please. I kept you both afloat while I was drowning. You never noticed. I’m done being there for people who only reach out when it’s convenient.”
Payton swallows but doesn’t look away. Brave. Or stupid.
Me? I’m swaying, breath shallow. Eyes on Lana.
Payton’s been her target all along.
Fuck. The walls are pulsing. My blood’s leaking faster than I can blink. I need time. I need—
The doors burst open. Rain lashes in sideways. Four figures tumble through—two hunters, two prey, all soaked and buzzing.
“Jesus,” the blonde gasps. Lace teddy plastered to her skin. “It’s freezing.”
The other blonde hops in place. Tank top torn, fishnets sagging.
The Oni chuckles. Slaps a meaty hand on her ass. “Quit whining. We’re just getting to the fun part.”
The Void steps forward—then freezes, his smooth mask reflecting the candlelight like an oil slick. His boot lifts with a wet squelch, sole painted red. “The hell?”
White Lace follows his gaze. “Ew. Is that … blood?”
“Sick,” the blonde says. “The special effects are next-level.”
The Oni glances at the altar. At us. “Uh. Are we crashing a scene?”
Derek’s mask tilts, arms wide open. “Welcome to the Haunted Chapel.”
“Ooh, is this like a final boss thing?” the blonde whispers. “I love immersive shit.”
“Run.” Wesley lurches upright. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.”
Lana’s already moving.
The blonde blinks. “Wait, is this part of the—”
The taser crackles. Her body locks, eyes wide. She crumples. Garbled gasp.
White Lace stumbles back. Screaming.
The Void shoves her behind him. “Fuck this—”
Shouts erupt.
Kristy launches from the pews.
Lana whirls around just as she closes the gap.
The antler sinks into the meat of Lana’s shoulder. A perfect brachial plexus strike.
The taser drops.
“Run,” Payton shouts.
Kristy bolts—three strides, past the stunned newcomers—
bang.
The Void staggers into the blonde. They crash through a pew.
Lana scrambles upright, clutching her shoulder, eyes wild. “She’s getting away …”
“I see her.” Derek’s already tracking, gun raised—
But Lana lunges, right into his line of fire. The barrel snaps up.
bang.
The bullet pings off the chapel’s iron chandelier instead of blowing through her spine.
“You stupid …” he growls.
She’s already gone.
The knife. The knife is right fucking there—
bang.
The round catches Oni mid-turn. Blood sprays—fucking fountain of it. Arterial.
White Lace screams, crab-walking until her back hits the pew. “Oh god, oh god—”
The Void scrabbles away, one hand raised.
The girls in matching lingerie are moving, one dragging the other toward the exit.
bang.
bang.
I lunge sideways. Snatch the knife. My shoulder screams.
Derek.
I’m airborne before the shots finish echoing.
We slam into the stone, my kneecap cracking on impact.
I drive the knife forward—
He catches my wrist. The blade trembles between us. Tip at his throat.
His gun hand is still free. I slam my palm down on his wrist. Bone grinds. Iron grip. Won’t give.
Elbow to his face. Once. Twice. The plastic creaks. I want it off. Want to feel his nose break.
His knee to my thigh. Dead leg, fuck. I grind down harder.
Can’t feel my fingers. Can’t tell if the blood is his or mine or Josh’s.
“Payton—go!”
I twist, eyes locking on her—
She’s frozen, bloodied, staring like she might come closer.
No.
Not now. Not when I’ve got Derek’s gun hand under mine and my shoulder’s about to fucking give.
“Go!”
The doors slam behind her.
Derek bucks beneath me.
bang.