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This is for the ones who lost their voice. This is for the ones who wish they could be Lana Myers. This is for the ones people still whisper about. This is for the ones who fight every single day to forget. You’re not alone.
Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they’re worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted. —Lana Myers
Fuck the list. It’s time for the endgame.
“Her name is Lana. Victoria Evans was killed by this town. She can’t be Victoria Evans. She had to reinvent herself just to find the will to go on. You called her sick, but you have no idea what you’re up against. You have no fucking idea what she survived.”
I’ve always been on one side of the law, working tirelessly for justice through all the proper channels. But Lana tried. Jake tried. They were denied.
“Real love? The kind Lana gave you? It’s the kind of love that looks beyond one’s offenses against others and only calls to the soul. Lana saved a child. Lana risked everything to save you. Lana saved countless women by killing Plemmons. Yet you still view her as a monster by not meeting your generalized populous version of morality. In your eyes, it’s better to forever be the victim than to ever feel peace again, because a real monster might die at the hands of someone who won’t show mercy.”
“He doesn’t love me like I love him,” I say hoarsely. “I love him enough to burn the world to the ground in his name.”
Einstein believed that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
They stole. They lied. They brokered peace with the devil in exchange for the souls of an innocent family. Yet you call me the monster. Fuck you. <3
“I’m still the twisted monster of the night, while you’re the honest hero in the light.”
Usually, as everyone is aware, I hate surprises. But my heart ends up beating to a new rhythm when Logan surprises me by crushing his lips to mine.
“I can’t let you go,” he says against my lips as he shuts the water off.
I can’t let you hold on, I silently tell him, refusing to ruin any more of our night with heartbreaking truths.
“Depends on the country. Precious. Little Rock. Sun Ray. But Dad said it was the Hawaiian meaning above all else that suited me—afloat; calm as still waters. It took a storm to offer me a calm.”
“You’re good, Logan,” Lana says quietly, drawing my attention to her as she perches on the edge of a dresser. “It’s the thing I love most about you. Do whatever you feel is right. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”
“Citizens of Delaney Grove. It’s time to purge the town. You have until sunset to leave…to save yourself. We’re claiming this town now. For your sins, you shall repent. For your past, you shall endure the nightmares you caused. And for your eyes that you closed so willingly, now you shall see.”
My eyes narrow on what looks like a set of wings imprinted in the blood, where Marcus was, and my mind goes back to the message written about angels on that first day.
I hope she fucking kills every last person with a badge who didn’t come to save her when she was left to bleed out.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sheriff Cannon barks, slapping his hand on the driver’s side window of a car. The man cracks the window an inch. “I’m getting my family out of this damn town before you drag us all to hell for what you’ve done.”
One person cannot change the world. But one person can strike terror into multitudes. —Robert Evans
Any demon is capable of cruelty, but only an angel is majestic enough to rain down vengeance for the innocent. —Marcus Evans
Little eyes see. Little eyes learn. Be a good example for all the little eyes watching you. They’re everywhere. —Jasmine Evans
The wicked can fake nobility, just as the damned can fake innocence. But only the truth will rise from the ashes when we all start to burn. —Victoria Evans
A wise man knows when the war is lost, and will understand retreat is the only way to save lives. A foolish man will condemn all his followers to death because of his pride. —Robert Evans
If hatred didn’t exist, love wouldn’t either, for one is formed by the other. I love and hate this town. —Marcus Evans
I believe the souls of the wrongfully persecuted often haunt our world, bringing the same grief they feel from beyond the grave. —Jasmine Evans
Never mock or harm the passionate, for they are the fiercest with their wrath. —Victoria Evans
“I’m the girl you sent your son to kill. I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.”
Staring at the white, plain shower curtain, I pull out my knife. A dark smile curves my lips before I start playing the music from my phone, and I stab him through the curtain. A cry of pain and surprise echoes off the bathroom walls. But I stab again. And again. And again. Until he’s just gurgling sounds. Then I jerk back the curtain, smirking. “Life goals,” I say to myself, still smiling as I leave the dying man in the tub.
“I love you, little sister,” he says softly. “I love you, big brother,” I say back, clutching him tighter. He pulls back, cupping my chin in his hand as our eyes meet. “Now go kill them all while I burn the town to the ground.” I nod. “Phase ten.”
Too late did I realize I still wanted to live. Too late did I realize I’m not ready to die.
Suddenly there’s a face in front of me, and more tears leak out as I see my brother. “Marcus,” I whisper, touching his cheek as more tears race down my face.
I should have never left Delaney Grove. I should have risked my career. Now I don’t even want to be anywhere.
I didn’t realize until she was gone that nothing else mattered at all. Nothing I stood for was worth more than her. Nothing I valued held any true value at all. Everything I have is pointless without her.
“Logan, Jason Martin was just found dead and castrated in South Carolina,” she says in a hushed tone reserved for blasphemy. Blood rushes through my veins, and I squeeze the box in my hands as I lower it back to the desk. “Was it—” The words break off, because hope like that could destroy me if I’m wrong. She nods slowly. “They sent me the pictures. I told them it wasn’t our Scarlet Slayer because she was dead. But it’s her, Logan. The knife is the same type, the wall was painted red, and there were no hesitation marks at all. Also, the shoe was a woman’s size. It wasn’t Jake. It was her.
...more
Am I missing anything, Christopher Denver?”
“It’s too late for him. I drew out his agony as long as I could. But you can’t save him now. Good luck finding me.”
“I decided if I could choose anywhere in the world to be, it’d be wherever you were,” he says before he kisses me, silencing whatever girly, swoony thing that would have come out of my mouth.
“I love you,” I whisper across his lips. “I love you, Lana Vorhees,” he says, grinning. It’s our own twisted version of perfection.
Her ex-husband killed himself a little over two years ago. Lana and Jake broke out the champagne to celebrate, since they’d apparently driven him to that.
She takes my hand, and I pull her up, my thumb brushing the red ruby on her ring finger.
Most importantly, we dance every night.
I never pictured anything at all about my life as it is today. Which is why I love Lana so much. She still continues to surprise me, and I’m fairly positive I’d be the one burning the world down if anyone ever tried to take her from me. She calls me a romantic for that. It’s a life I love.
“Yeah. We’re just a typical romance,” she deadpans, but her lips lift in a small smile. “Horror romance. That’s a genre, right?” I ask, smiling when she laughs.
