Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(147)

“If you won’t come with me, can I come with you?” I ask, sidestepping every sexual innuendo in favor of fear. “Moffy has toys inside. I can distract him—”

“Okay,” he agrees before I even finish. “But only because they’re just teenagers. Otherwise, you’d be in a car right now, understand?”

I nod. He’s not afraid that they’ll do something to me and Moffy, he’s saying. Or else he wouldn’t even chance this. He clutches my wrist and begins to guide me behind him, shielding my body by keeping me very close to his back.

I glance once over my shoulder, and I notice Rose and Connor following, in a similar line, with Rose behind Connor to protect Jane. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen her walk behind her husband and not beside him.

Ryke and Daisy are the only two that don’t join us. He lifts my petrified sister in his arms, cradling her easily, and he carries her to the garage, where they can drive off in one of the cars. Lo wanted all the girls to flee, like in the horror movies, but reality is a bit different than that. It might seem stupid, but being by his side, not splitting up, sounds right.

Lo grips me hard, maybe worried that I’ll break away. But I want to stay pressed against him as we enter through the sliding door.

When we near, a gargoyle-masked teenager whizzes past with “spirit fingers” and darts upstairs. I almost startle backwards, but Lo pulls me closer to his body.

This ends tonight.

I really, really hope so.





{ 63 }

LOREN HALE



My son’s distressed cries are nails in my eardrums. I can’t stand it. The sound triggers my flight-or-fight response and elevates my pulse. I’m not running away. I want to run towards them. Wherever they’re hiding.

After stepping into the house, I guide Lily to the living room. Jesus f*cking Christ—they’ve cut up the couch with a knife, foam poking through the cushions.

“They’re morons,” Connor says, his voice tight.

“Morons with knives,” Rose retorts, her brows pinching in anxiety. She taps her heel repeatedly on the floor.

Someone shouts “BOO!” at the top of the staircase.

Trying to be creepy, they cock their gargoyle head, masked and empty-handed. Police should be here soon. Maybe in a couple minutes. We have no time to block every exit, but if I grab one, he’ll rat out his friends.

“I have this,” I tell them. I can barely meet Lily’s gaze without all of my muscles coiling—a natural instinct to shield her. To ensure that no one will touch her. Or my son. But I have to do this.

As I force myself away from her side, Lily scoots closer to her sister. Bouncing Moffy in her arms. For some reason, I expect Connor to distrust me, to step in. To take control of the situation. But he gives me a single nod and then whispers to Rose in French. He zips Rose’s fur coat, hiding their daughter beneath it.

I attempt to exhale the rock in my chest. It’s nearly impossible. I just head to the banister, the staircase tall and wide, and the teenager towers above me at the top. His red Vans match the ones I wear. I scrutinize his lanky frame, his gray jeans, black crew neck and dark blue gargoyle mask.

With about twenty stairs separating us, the teenager slowly extends his arm and points at me. He thinks he can freak me out.

He can’t. “It’s not going to happen,” I tell him flatly. I’ve never been frightened of horror movies. Never been terrified of the dark. I’ve always considered myself a bigger monster than every creature on Halloween.

In my life, I’ve only ever been in peril when I feel like I’m losing Lily. Mentally, physically, entirely. But these teenagers aren’t going to hurt her or my son tonight.

I’m not even entertaining the idea.

It’s just me and him right now.

He takes two steps down, bridging the gap between us. And then he tilts his head, slowly. The banging and clattering upstairs suddenly dies down. And I realize that his friends have gathered on the top of the staircase behind him. I count five bodies.

One pats their friend’s shoulder and gestures to the hallway, antsy to leave. The friend waves him off and stays put.

“You want to know what I see?” I say, a bitter taste rising in my throat. I want to hate them. But I just can’t. I hate their choices. I hate that they’ve broken into my house and terrified everyone. But I can’t hate them.

“What?” the closest one asks, his voice muffled behind the mask. I can’t tell if he’s Garrison, the one who’s been the most vocal with me. He cranes his neck over his shoulder and whispers something to his friend, his fingers nervously curling into a fist.

I step nearer, my hand skimming the railing as I ascend the staircase. “I see five teenagers who are going to spend a lifetime regretting this night.” As soon as I pick up my pace, they curse and the guy sprints back up the stairs, joining his friends as they rush down the hallway.

I run after them.

“Go, go, go!!” they shout at each other, passing Jane and Moffy’s nursery.

“Head for the back staircase!” another yells, banging into a picture frame on the wall. They have maybe five feet on me.

Before they reach the corner of the hall, the closest guy trips over his own two feet, his red shoes, a size too big. I have a minor flashback, of the last time I chased these teenagers down the dimly lit street. He struggles to stand, but I grip his black shirt. As he flails out towards his friends, I yank him back to me, knotting his tee around my fist.