Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(22)

The cowboy rushes to his feet, bolting toward us, when fear overtakes me. With one, swift motion, Ghost swings, and his fist collides with Cowboy’s jaw.

He collapses onto the floor next, and remains there, completely motionless.

Everyone begins to scream. It’s a real-life blood bath, yet I don’t make a sound. Silently observing the blood as it spurts from his nose, I watch as it then trickles down his face.

Another tall, dark figure appears from the corner of my eye, bringing me back to reality. He grabs onto Ghost’s shoulders, trying his best to hold him back. Right there, it becomes evident that they know each other.

Without thinking it through, I push my way through the crowd of people, some laughing, some crying, and I lock my fingers around Ghost’s wrist. He looks back to his friend, who is wearing a Jason Voorhees mask, and in unison, they both nod.

Forcefully pulling him along with me as we exit the room, we turn a corner, nearly knocking someone onto their ass. Once we spot a large, spiraling staircase, I lead him to the top. It’s now much darker on this floor, although a bit less crowded, and the music only seems to grow louder. It echoes through the hallway, sounding like a beating heart.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Pushing open the nearest door and stumbling into the room, a pair of shoes knock me off my balance. Before I even have the chance to trip over them, Ghost catches me, bringing me close to his chest. He’s so firm. Masculine. Staring up at him through my lashes, I gaze helplessly into the large, black eyes of his mask.

Jason closes the door behind us.

Here I am, alone with Ghost and Jason, two people I’ve never met until only minutes ago, yet I’ve never felt so safe.

What does that say about me?

There’s red-hot sexual tension, an electrical current in the air, and my inner thighs once again become slick.

Well, shit.

I’m infatuated, on cloud nine. Over the moon.

Maybe it’s because Ghost is nearly crushing me against his body, and his cologne smells so goddamn seductive it makes my head spin. Or maybe, it’s the fact that he just kicked the shit out of some guy who wouldn’t take his hands off me when I told him to stop.

Suddenly, the rush of adrenaline makes me feel sick, and I peel myself away from him.

“There was so much blood,” I stutter, attempting to run my hand through my hair. Although it’s a sticky, tangled mess from the beer that was splashed on my face.

“You good?” Ghost asks me.

That voice. So powerful, so throaty, it makes me weak.

“Yeah,” I say, brushing out a knot with my fingers. “I’m fine.”

“I have this urge to kill—” he hesitates, his voice low. “—anyone who touches you.”

My eyes widen without my permission, and my lips part.

Holy shit. Did he really just say that?

“Do I know you?” I ask.

He steps forward, closing the small space between us. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t recognize your voice,” I let out.

With that, he turns toward his friend.

The Jason Voorhees mask he’s wearing is frightening. I’ve never been a huge fan of Friday the 13th, or any horror films in general, for that matter. Yet, there’s something about his broody, mysterious presence that has me completely aroused.

He’s tall, too, although maybe a bit shorter than Ghost, and his build is huge. Even though he’s wearing a bulky jacket, it’s not hard to tell.

“Did that guy hurt you?” Jason asks.

His voice also sends a chill down my spine. God help me.

Although, there’s a voice in my head that says, “God isn’t here right now.”

Now I know how Elena Gilbert felt, torn between two men.

“No. He didn’t have the chance to hurt me,” I anxiously reply, gazing up at Ghost with gratitude. “Thanks to you.”

“He knows what he wants,” Jason speaks up.

“Oh?” I sheepishly question, taken aback. “And what does he want, exactly?”

Ghost steps toward me, inching closer. Closer.

Staring up at his mask, I swallow hard.

“Don’t ask him, little Quinn,” Ghost says. “Ask me directly.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling washes over me from his seductive tone. “What do you want?” I finally ask, barely any sound to my voice.

“Silly girl,” he smugly retorts. “I want what every other guy in this party wants.”

He reaches for my hair, brushing it over my shoulder, his black, leather gloves lightly brushing against my neck. I feel so exposed as he stands over me.

Vulnerable.

“Say it,” I urge, gathering the robe over his chest in my hands. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

Without warning, the door opens, slamming against the wall with a loud thud. The music pours into the room, completely ruining the moment.

Someone dressed as Michael Myers stands in the doorway. How is every one of them taller than six feet? I’ve been reading too many smut books lately, and I clearly haven’t gotten out enough.

“Got your text,” Michael says, revealing that he is their friend.

“Couldn’t have been any better with your timing,” Ghost dryly mutters, dismissing them with a single wave of his hand.