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The masks. The black hoodies and the masks.
Damon Torrance, Kai Mori, Will Grayson III, and—I locked my gaze on the bloodred mask covering the face of the one always in the lead a little more than the others—Michael Crist, Trevor’s older brother.
I’d always been scared of him. The thrilling kind of scared that got me turned on.
“Night, Little Monster.”
My favorite color. It was brave and confident but also aggressive and violent. Not sure why I favored it, but I always had.
“Own who you are,” he commanded. “And don’t apologize. Do you understand? Own it or it will own you.”
To have a little fucking fun before I died.
“Run all you want, Little Monster,” he said, sounding like a threat. “We’re faster.”
“When you want to make an impression and you think you’ve gone far enough, go a little further. Always leave them wondering if you’re just a little bit crazy, and people will never fuck with you again.”
