Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(45)

Ghost nods, before retrieving a black helmet from the back of his bike.

“Oh, it’s okay,” I blurt out. “You really don’t have to go out of your way—”

“Nonsense,” Ghost says, securing the helmet on my head and fastening the buckle beneath my chin. He lightly taps my nose with a wicked grin. “Little Quinn always comes first.”

Before I can even consider objecting, I’m straddling his bike, sitting snugly behind him. The motorcycles roar to life simultaneously, and then we’re off, my notebook and novel pressed between my chest and his back.

There’s one thing they’re definitely right about.

Experiencing this in real-life is far better than printed words on dead trees.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





QUINN





My arms are tight around Ghost’s body. Being this close to him makes my heart flutter wildly. Jason is to my right, and Michael to my left. This moment sends me back to last night when we fled from the police after the haunted house went up in flames.

All three of them escort me to my sorority house, and it’s just beginning to get dark. The clouds are painted a dark blue and purple hue, and there’s an eccentric chill in the air.

Halloween décor is still on display; the pumpkins just starting to rot.

“Thanks,” I tell them, before heading toward the house.

Ghost strides beside me and walks me to the front door. His demeanor changes as we make our way up the front steps and come to an abrupt stop.

There’s just something about the way he’s staring at me.

He reaches forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Can I get your number?” he asks.

And I let out a timid laugh, smiling up at him. “Yes.” After adding my number to his phone, I hand it back to him with a sheepish grin. “I’m not usually like this,” I admit. “With guys, I mean.”

“I know,” he coolly replies.

My heart hammers as I anxiously chew on my lip. “Back at the library, you said you’ve been watching me,” I say, my voice trailing off.

“That’s a conversation for another time,” he counters, tensing up. “Good night, Quinn.”

With that, he heads down the front steps, while I stare after him in awe.

“Quinn,” Jenna calls out to me as she opens the door.

After sharing one last stare with the three of them from afar, I slip past her and rush upstairs. She follows me to the room we share, and abruptly shuts the door behind us.

“What’s up, Jenna?” I nonchalantly ask, knowing she must have seen them outside. She has a terrible habit of snooping.

“Quinn—” Jenna briefly pauses, gazing down at Ghost, Jason, and Michael from the second-story window. “Do you have any idea who they are?”

“Ghost is the one who walked me to the door,” I tell her. “Michael is the one with longer hair. Jason is the other.”

Her eyes narrow with confusion.

She shakes her head in question.

My breathing hitches, and my knees grow weak.

No, actually, I correct myself.

I never did ask them for their names.

Their real names, that is.

She turns back to me, eyes wide. “You need to be careful,” she warns. “They’re dangerous.”

“Who are they?”

“The one you call Ghost,” she begins, dropping the curtains. “That’s Damien Sylvester.”

Damien.

“Jason,” she murmurs, releasing a small breath. “That’s Jensen Peterson.”

Jensen.

“And Michael,” I urge, as a sudden chill sweeps through me.

Finally, her eyes meet mine. “Micah Henderson.”

Micah…

“How do you know they’re dangerous?” I ask with curiosity, as they race down the street, finally out of sight. I look over at her and sigh. “You really listen to way too much gossip, Jenna. And enough with all the true crime documentaries. They’re really messing with your head.”

“Oh, they have a reputation. You can trust me on that.”

I roll my eyes. “And what’s their reputation?”

“For starters, all three of them have been in and out of jail,” she vaguely tells me. “I’m not sure for what, but they’re definitely bad news. I can tell you that.”

“Well, they’re nice to me.”

She snorts, plopping down on my bed beside me with a laugh. “They occasionally show up to parties, and they always start trouble—”

“They saved me last night,” I hesitate, the flashbacks playing on repeat in my head. “I could have been assaulted, Jenna. It was terrifying.”

Her eyes grow wide. “What?” she gasps, grabbing my hand. “You’re kidding me—”

“Not kidding.”

“Well, though they saved you, they’re into dark shit, Quinn,” she firmly states. “They always have been.”

“Maybe I like dark shit,” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows.

She giggles, rolling onto her back. “Bullshit,” she dismissively shoots back. “I can hardly ever get you out of this room.”

“Well, I ended up going to the Halloween party last night,” I point out.