Scream For Us (Holiday Masked Men #1)(13)

The engines go silent, and suddenly I’m able to hear the faint sounds of Halloween-themed music in the distance. The tune of Michael Myers theme song.

“Just for you, Mike,” Ghost says to Michael, before helping me off his bike and removing my helmet for me, draping it over a handlebar.

“Where are we?” I ask, over the sound of the buzzing insects and leaves rustling on the ground from the wind.

“Back entrance,” Jason smugly answers, reminding me of earlier.

“We’re at the haunt?”

“Don’t you want to have some real fun?” Ghost asks, adjusting his mask. “Let’s pay your bullies a visit. It’s time for revenge.”

“I don’t want them to see me,” I stutter, uneasily, following behind them as we enter the dark, wooded area.

“You don’t have to, baby,” Ghost coos, linking his gloved fingers through mine. “Leave that part to us.”

Michael leads the way with his flashlight. The music grows louder with each passing minute. The atmosphere is frightening, exhilarating, as the screams from guests echo through the night air. Entering a cornfield, my three protectors march toward the side entrance to the haunted house in the distance.

Coming across a group of four, we stand silently behind the trees, watching the glow sticks grow brighter and brighter as they approach us.

Michael steps out, getting a bloodcurdling shriek out of them as they run up the path. Jason laughs at the encounter, yet Ghost remains silent.

Completely on edge. Boiling with rage.

“What are you going to do?” I ask him, staring into the dark eyes of his mask.

“I’m going to scare them,” he responds coldly. “I want to see the fear in their eyes.”

Jason slows his pace, facing us as he walks backward. “How many?” he questions, his business-like tone sending a shiver down my spine.

“They all work in the haunted house,” I anxiously reply. “Every single one of them.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Jason mutters.

“It’s fine,” Ghost dismisses, as we come to a halt, and he gazes down at me. “I need names.”

“Names?” I ask.

“Name the ones who were the worst,” he orders. “The ones who really hurt you.”

Memories come flashing back to me, as I take a moment to ponder my response. This one isn’t hard. It’s easy.

“The guys were the worst,” I carefully answer. “Derek. John. And Alex.”

“Good girl,” he breathes, caressing my face. “Do you want to watch, little Quinn?”

My heart pounds as I slowly shake my head.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Then you stay right here. Don’t move. No matter what you hear, or see, do not move from this spot.”

“Okay,” I whisper back.

And they stalk toward the house.





Chapter 8





Ghost POV



“Block the front entrance,” I instruct Michael, pure hatred boiling inside of me, determined to break free in a form of utter chaos. “Jason, you cover the exit. Text me when the last group of people is out.”

“On it,” Jason says, disappearing around the side of the house.

Michael moves to the top step, blocking the way.

“Nobody in,” I bite out, seeing red. “And nobody out.”

Stepping inside, there’s a gloomy, gray vibe. The windows are heavily boarded up, the wooden floor creaks beneath my boots, and the music grows louder. Scanning the dimly lit hallway, nobody is in sight. Even through my mask, this place wreaks of gasoline from nearby machinery and damp wood.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Jason

Last group is out





Removing the knife from the back of my waistline, I turn the corner.

“Derek,” I call out, taunting him, tracing the blade with the tip of my fingers, as adrenaline pumps through me.

“Yeah, bro,” he calls backs almost immediately. “Who’s that?”

“Come find out.”

He steps out from behind a fake wall, dressed in his stupid little costume. “Sick Ghostface mask,” he observes, laughing. “Do I know you?”

Stalking toward him, my grip tightens on the handle of my knife. “Not quite,” I answer. “I’m a friend of Quinn’s.”

Confusion claims his face as he moves beside the dim light plastered to the wall. “Quinn?” he asks.

Impatiently cocking my head to the side, I nod. “Ring any bells?”

“Oh. Yeah. That weird little bitch whose dad offed himself, right?”

Tossing him against the wall of the hallway, I waste no time in jabbing my knife into his chest. There’s blood spurting, bones crunching. Over and over, and over again, I gut him, painting the walls, floors, and my mask in red. He chokes on his own blood, gurgling, half-sobbing for me to put an end to my vicious attack.

There’s no stopping now.

I made a promise to my little Quinn that I would make them pay. With their life.

Their blood.

His body becomes limp against the wall. Yanking the blade from his ribcage, Derek lifelessly drops to the floor with a hard thud.

One down.