Your Fangtasy (Fangs Out #1)

Chapter 1 Trick-or-Treat

My tits are rock hard.

They’re frozen to the nth degree, and not only that, but the cold is biting every literal inch of my body.

Midwest winters can be so brutal, but for a crisp autumn day like today, the sudden temperature drop was unexpected.

I was sure that when I bought my costume three weeks ago, the weather would hold, but I was wrong.

So unbelievably wrong. Hobbling home in a tight corset, a latex black dress, and a flimsy little habit to keep my head warm is a whole new level of Catholic shame.

Sexy for the Halloween crowd, not so hot now that it’s below twenty, I think bitterly.

This wasn’t how my night was supposed to go.

I had it all planned out. I would take lap dance after lap dance, make a few stage appearances, then have a couple shots with the bartender, Trace.

After all the money I made was stacked and stashed in my overnight bag, I’d sink into bed naked and buzzed after a proper fuck with my boss, Dax.

Unfortunately, I had one too many shots, some of them with patrons, and Dax didn’t like that.

He had every right to pull me off to the side and scold me for it, too.

But like an animal backed into a corner, I snapped.

Great job, girl. You really know how to fuck shit up for yourself, don’t you?

Outside of being a damn good stripper, I also excel at ruining good things.

I could have apologized and chugged a glass of water, but I stormed out of String Theory and haven’t looked back since.

And now, I’m regretting that decision more with every step.

I shiver from the chill and pull my thin jacket closer.

It isn’t just the fight, my self-sabotaging nature, or the cold that has me on edge.

I’m pretty sure I’m being followed. It’s just a feeling, but for the last four blocks since leaving the club, I’ve felt uneasy.

I’m not totally unused to a couple of stray clubbers following me out after a shift, but they never get far.

They’re either too drunk to make an effort, or I’ve got myself in fine company. That isn’t the case right now, though.

I’m alone, and it’s Halloween.

I’m almost too scared to look back, but the lights are spreading thinner along the sidewalk and I’m passing fewer people that might help if I need it.

The last guy I passed was slumped up against a sign pole, mumbling to himself with his eyes half-closed.

The sound of my heels clacking on the pavement didn’t faze him at all, so I doubted he would be of any help in a ‘worst-case scenario’ situation.

Take a deep breath. Sneak a little peek and see if there’s anyone even there. It might all be in your head, I try to tell myself calmly.

One soothing, deep breath later, I turn my head until I can just see the sidewalk over my shoulder.

For a minute I almost relax, but my relief is quashed when I see a skulking, man-sized shadow pass under one of the dim street lamps.

My skin prickles with goosebumps as dread washes over me.

I bring my eyes back around to the buildings and the path ahead.

Alarms are going off inside my head, sirens as loud as tornado warnings.

You are in imminent danger! Take cover! They seem to scream.

For once, I’m glad that my granny is a hyper-vigilant kind of woman.

She took one look at me and knew I was trouble.

Every day since the day she took me in, I learned just about everything there was to know about stranger danger.

As a kid, I didn’t take it as seriously, but now that I’m older, I don’t leave the house without pepper spray or a self-defense item of some kind.

Still, being prepared doesn’t keep the hairs on my arms from standing on end.

Stay calm. I take a second deep breath, then reach for the phone in my pocket and pull it out as subtly as I can without drawing attention.

Once it’s in hand, I pop the socket on the back of the case and ease it between my fingers.

When the face lights up, my hope goes with it.

I’ve got a ten percent battery, which is plenty to make one phone call.

I can dial up Dax and ask him to pick me up somewhere nearby.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

My hope dwindles to nothing. The little bars on the top right indicate ‘no service.’ Without that, it’s useless, unless I can somehow use it to bludgeon my stalker or hit him so hard in the face it breaks his nose. Unlikely.

With ‘calm’ out of the question, anxiety is rapidly growing in the pit of my stomach, and my mind is racing to keep up with every ‘what if’ scenario my imagination regurgitates.

Rationally, I know I’m in danger, but there’s also this really insane part of me that’s trying to convince the other half that it’s Halloween; it’s just some asshole trying to play a prank.

It’s that impractical part of my brain that wants me to stop and confront him.

Thankfully, my legs have a mind of their own and keep me moving.

It’s like they know, even if they’re screaming at me for wearing my favorite eight-inch heeled boots tonight.

They were made for the stage, not for outrunning weirdos.

Running in these won’t be any different than dancing, I try to tell myself. I’ve taken tougher heels classes in a skinnier stiletto.

Tucking my phone away, I pick up my pace a fraction and quickly search for the keys in my other pocket.

I feel the brush of the kitty keychain, and slip the eye holes over my long nails, gripping it between my fingers.

Sadly, it’s all I’ve got. Without my bag, which was conveniently left back at the club, I don’t have pepper spray or my usual taser.

The keychain will have to do, even though I never thought I’d have to use it.

No time like the present. I pull it out of my pocket and curl it close to my chest.

“Hey!” Heavy footsteps sound behind me where there weren’t any before. He’s closing in. “Hey! Didn’t I see you leavin’ that strip club a few blocks back?”

I don’t answer, which I know will make him angry.

Guys like him always get angry when girls don’t answer their questions.

In response, his feet strike the sidewalk harder, faster, so I do the same.

My thighs are killing me, but I know that if I push myself a little further, I can make it.

Thankfully, I know this street and the layout of the buildings, which means I know where the best hiding place waits.

Down one of the alleys, there’s an old churchyard on the other side that sits abandoned.

I can make it there, I just need to outrun him, or at the very least, get myself a better lead. I have to hope that dancing and twirling around a pole for the last eight years wasn’t just some trick pony show.

“Don’t fucking ignore me.” The sound of his voice is deeper now, tinged with anger.

Run, I tell myself. It pounds itself into the lining of my skull, resounding like a brass gong after being struck several times. Do it now!

Once the familiar alley is in view, I turn tail and book it.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he shouts. I have no doubt in my mind that he’s going to chase me. It’s just a gut feeling, and I have to trust my instincts and keep my feet moving.

My grip on the keychain tightens. At the end of this alley, there’s an old, boarded up church where squatters and addicts used to go. With any luck, I can hide there, because I don’t think my heels can support my aching legs for much longer. I’m quickly running out of steam.

“Didn’t you fucking hear me?” His voice booms beside my ear just as the collar of my coat is ripped back.

I lose my balance and stumble sideways. It isn’t the best opportunity I’ll get, but it’s an opening, nonetheless.

Using the momentum of my stumble to swing my body around, I extend my arm in a slicing motion toward his face.

I’ve never hit anyone before, yet somehow manage to land a blow.

The man snarls, wincing from the pain, and reels backward as he throws his hands to cover his face.

He sounds like a wounded animal, which means blindly swinging actually worked for once.

While he’s distracted, I push my hands into his chest and give him a hard shove backward.

In the darkness, he goes down, falling into what I can only assume is trash cans and garbage. Luck is on my side!

It's too soon to celebrate. I can pat myself on the back later. Right now, my focus has to be on the end goal: the churchyard. Quickly, I turn on my heels and push myself into a full-blown sprint.

By the time I reach the end of the alley, my lungs are burning. With a puff of breath, a sigh in relief, “Made it!”

The churchyard is small, unkempt from years of neglect, but it’s all I’ve got.

At first glance, it reminds me of the St. Germain in New Orleans, only smaller.

I hurry to the face of the old church and start searching for some kind of entrance.

Boarded-up windows line its faded face, ivy grows around the double-door of the entry, and a great tower rises up from the roof.

The tower looks out of place, too new for something so old.

In a way, though, it’s like my lighthouse, and the low moonlight reflecting off the surface of its lone boarded-up window is what’s guiding me.

A howl of anger bellows in the night, a reminder that I’m not alone. Sounds like my stalker has untangled himself from the garbage.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I breathe, running to the back of the building.

Tumbling into the shadows behind the church, I search anxiously for a way inside.

The clouds part above and the full moon reveals a broken window with a poor patch job just above my shaking hands.

It’s low enough that I can push myself through it, though I might cut myself on some of the residual glass.

It’s the best option I have, so I haul myself up and flip through to the other side, landing on my ass with a loud ‘oof.’ Dust and dirt cloud around me as I urge myself to stand, my legs and hands stinging from fresh scratches.

Outside, I hear my stalker grumbling. “You bitch! You fucking cut me!”

Hell yeah! He’s pissed, but that little victory just gave me a sorely needed boost of confidence. Uncurling my fingers, I kiss the kitty ear keychain before slipping it back into my pocket. With a steadying breath, I carry on, cautious of my footing in the darkness.

Slants of moonlight creep in through various cracks and holes, giving me some guidance through the old structure.

It makes it a little easier to step around broken pieces of old furnishings and holes in the ground.

Quietly, I thank the city for giving no shits about zoning.

The church itself should have been condemned, but for whatever reason, it’s still standing.

“If Gran could see me now,” I mutter under my breath. This wouldn’t be my first time breaking and entering on private property.

I plan to call her this week so we can have a laugh about the irony of this whole situation together.

There’s something comical about finding myself inside of a church on Halloween dressed as a slutty nun, even if it is because of grim circumstances.

It would be a lot cooler if I were here by choice, ghost-hunting like I used to back when I was still a thoughtless tween.

But that was Millie at sixteen, and I’m twenty-six now.

And an abandoned church isn’t where I want to be at the moment, ghost-hunting or not.

I should be in Dax’s bed, safe and curled away, not licking my wounds.

I swipe at my eyes and brush away a frustrated tear.

I have such a bad habit of blowing things out of proportion.

It’s why my ex, Ronnie, broke up with me—it’s why every person after her never lasted.

If only I hadn’t let my pride or embarrassment get in the way.

“I know you’re in there! I fucking know it!” I freeze as the distant sound of doors shaking echoes in the vast silence of the building. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but I can make an educated guess it’s the main entrance.

I swallow the rising panic in my throat and shift myself backward, down a different hall, and away from the main room.

I feel along the walls, passing old rooms that used to be living spaces or offices.

At the end, I bump into a thick wooden door, stopping short of going in.

The doors I heard earlier bust open with a sickening crack, as if they’ve been torn off the frame completely.

“I’m gonna wring that pretty fucking neck of yours,” my stalker roars, now inside the building, “and I’m gonna fuck you while I do it, you stupid bitch!”

I pale at the threat. I do not want to die here.