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“Hey Mason Miller, why are you so nervous to talk to me?” “Have you seen yourself, Jenna Laing?” She bursts out laughing,
“I guess I’m asking, are you a nice guy or a sick fuck?” He traces his finger down the column of my throat. “Heaven forbid a man wants to be both.”
“So what’s the verdict?” I ask. “I think you’re my dream girl, Jenna Laing.”
finally understand the meaning of a blood-curdling scream when the lights flash and she realises I’m right behind her. Her fear triggers mine, and I turn the chainsaw off, calling after her as her feet pound against the floorboards. “Safeword, Jenna?” “Green, motherfucker,” she yells back at me, her middle finger held up over her shoulder.
