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I close my eyes against the sound of footsteps in the rough grass, crunching on small sticks and fallen leaves as the person makes their way toward me. Maybe If I don’t move, they’ll think I’m dead and will just keep going. Other counselors are like bears, right? They don’t see you if you don’t move?
Really?” I’m surprised that his voice isn’t just a mix of garbled creepiness and evil. He certainly doesn’t sound like the devil spat him up just to come murder me, or like a monster. He sounds normal. He sounds amused, even, like I’ve done something funny and now he wants to have a conversation about it.
Cardio has never been my thing, but one look at his hand gripping that bloody machete is all the convincing I need.
It shouldn’t smell good, and I definitely shouldn’t be trying to chase the hint of spice under all that. But I’m about to die, so I probably get a pass for my brain being stupid and shutting down.
“Maybe I was just jealous that someone else was touching the gorgeous girl I’d been coming out here to watch all summer.”
“Unlike some people, I’m not stupid enough to show my face so soon.”
Bahaha talking about his friend from book 1? 🤣
It feels like it’s almost a compliment, but my mind refuses to accept that. There’s no way a serial killer is telling me I did good or whatever this is.
“You’re going to let me kiss you, pretty little bunny, and then I’ll let you out of my snare.”
“Did you hear me, bunny?” He touches my cheek once more, tone amused. “Or did I shock you into unconsciousness?” “That one,” I whisper. “Because I know I didn’t just hear what I think I did.”
that’s the wrong response for my body to have, and while I’ve known for a while I’m kind of fucked up, I can’t be that fucked up. Right?
I shouldn’t go the way the killer went… right?
“If you want to leave, you can leave. Even when I have you pinned to this picnic table and you’re about to come, you can ask me to stop and I will.” What… did he just say? “Do you understand me, Hazel?”
I’m going to cut off your clothes so I can fuck you like you clearly deserve,” he purrs against my ear, and I shudder. “But I can just take them off—” “No. You can’t.” “Why?” “Because I said so,
“Beg.” “What?” “Beg me to take them off instead of cut them off of you. Beg me to give you something so you can keep your dignity when you stumble back to camp barely able to walk and trying to hide that you’re full of my cum.”
“You’re taking this stalker thing way too seriously.” “It’s a bit of a hobby of mine,” he admits,
“Because they aren’t you.” “But I’m nothing—” “You’re mine, aren’t you? That means you’re not ‘nothing.’”
“I’d rather fuck you. And choke you. And watch you gasp as you come when I finally let you breathe,” Wren admits,
“I want you to run as hard as you can until you collapse in the dirt again. Then I want to hunt you down and ruin you so completely that you’ll never be able to stand being without me. I’ll find all the ways to make you mine that there could ever be, and invent a few of my own.”
“I have an SUV for that,” he says finally, sounding amused. “Who in the world would transport bodies in a sports car, Hazel?”
it’s Wren. This weird, problematic man with a charming grin is so weirdly alluring and charming that I always want him coming back for more. Not that I’ll say that out loud.
you’re perfect like you are, and you don’t need to pretend to be anything for me or them,”
I thought… ‘what does my little bunny need today?’” “Waffles?” I assume, using context clues. “Me in her apartment, telling her I’ve decided to never let her out of my snare.”
“I thought you were gone,” I whisper, eyes on his. “You didn’t act like you wanted to stay. You didn’t say anything—” “Not killing you was me saying something,” Wren interrupts.
I think about all the ways I want to claim you as mine, and how I want to make sure no one else ever gets the chance.”
“You’re all for me, and just mine. And I will never, ever let you go.”
I like watching you sleep, I’ve discovered. It’s a new hobby for me.” “It’s creepy,” I breathe, starting to move my hands, only for him to pin them over my head. “It’s something a stalker would do.” “It’s something your very devoted stalker does,” he corrects,
You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. I’m not going anywhere, not anymore. Not now that you’ve let me in.” “Yeah?” I ask drowsily, half-asleep again. “That a promise?” “An unbreakable one.”
I told her I was dating someone. Though, at the last second, I decided not to tell her you’re the serial killer who terrorized us at Camp Clearwater.” “Terrorized feels like a strong word.” “I don’t know. I felt pretty full of terror when you got Brett’s blood on me.” He snorts,
“That feels very villainous of you,” I point out, voice dry. “I am a villain, so that tracks.”
As long as I’m alive, I’ll always want you. Maybe I love you.” My heart flutters at the words. “Maybe it’s obsession. Hell, I kind of think it’s both. I’m fucking obsessed with you, Hazel. I will always be obsessed with you.”
Virgil told me he had his hands on you.” “Only for a minute,” I reply, breathless, as he strokes his fingers up my arms. “That’s sixty seconds too long. I’ll make it up to you, though. I’ll cut off his fingers and make you a necklace. Then I’ll remove his palms and make you a plate. “That’s fucked up.” “Then I’ll just have to settle for ripping out his heart and putting it on your coffee table for your new centerpiece.”
Wren is a monster, but more importantly, he’s mine. My serial killer, my monster.
“Because, Hazel. Now I have you. And you’re so much more interesting than taking people apart could ever be.”
