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Red Mask’s fingers circle a baseball bat that’s resting nonchalantly on his shoulder. Green Mask is holding a bow and has arrows with rubber points in a quiver that’s slung over his back. White Mask strokes a huge chain that’s draped around his hands like a snake. Orange Mask’s gloved hand rests on top of a metal golf club that’s propped on the ground. Yellow Mask has no weapon at all, but his fists are balled.
Orange Mask rises to his impressive height that nearly eats up the horizon, then slowly, too slowly, his head tilts in my direction. The neon stitches glow in the near darkness as eerie silence stakes its claim. My spine jerks when his rough, deep voice echoes in the air. “I know you’re hiding. Come out and I promise not to hurt you. Much.”
Please don’t tell me the Heathens participate in cult activities and have actual pacts with demons.
My thoughts are confirmed when he stares at me over his shoulder, his eyes still in tune with the night, tapering and shimmering with that mystic darkness. If anything, they appear more unhinged. “Come back when you’re ready to be fucked properly.”
That dull, maybe not so dull, person has gotten herself the worst type of attention. Mine.
At the top of his chest, he has a cursive scrip tattoo that reads, Veni, Vidi, Vici. I came. I saw. I conquered.
I caress her arm, her collarbone, and then her throat, pausing at the fading mark at the side. Note to self: make a new one.
scares the bejesus out of me.
“Or you can just go with me,” I say, tightening my hold on her hand when I remember that fucker Landon is one of their friends. I should’ve really put him in a coma when I had the chance. I stopped because people romanticize about anyone who’s hurt, and I wasn’t doing the motherfucker the favor.
The fact that I actually struggled to peel her warmth off me and leave is bothersome and downright annoying.
“Oh my God, but it’s freezing.” “It’s okay. I’m Russian.”
Creigh lied to me. He didn’t only want to talk to Annika. He meant to kidnap her all along.
I was a rigid dick who only ever saw the world in black and white. Cecily is neither. She’s the gray. She’s the colors. She’s every rainbow I never thought to stop and watch.
“I’m not a nice man, Cecily. I won’t pretend otherwise, or I’d be doing you and myself a disservice. What I am, however, is someone who’ll slaughter your demons one by one until you’re finally free of them. I’ll touch your scars until you normalize them and can live with them, because they’re part of what makes you who you are.”
“Kim, love, where’s my grandfather’s hunting shotgun? I found some bastard on our doorstep who claims to be our daughter’s boyfriend… Oh, here it is. Be right back. I’ll shoot him and come back in time for dinner.”
He has no business being here, so I’ll hastily get rid of him, throw him in the nearest ditch, then join my beautiful wife and daughter.
“You guys cook together?” Kim asks with a dreamy grin as if this is some happy occasion. “Most of the time, we do, yeah.” “That’s so sweet. Hear that, Xan?” “I see nothing sweet about him exploiting my daughter to fill his stomach. That’s called free labor.” “Oh, please. Is it free labor if I cook for you?” “That’s different. You don’t have to.” “I don’t have to either, Papa.” Cecily strokes my arm. “I just like cooking with him.” “That’s called Stockholm syndrome.”
Aiden The fuck is wrong with you two? It’s time to stop treating your girls like they’re nine-year-olds. Levi No daughter. No opinion.
I resist the urge to stroke the freckles beneath her eyes. The one hundred fifty-three of them. And yes, I counted them.

