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“Fuck no! What are you, nuts? That’s a fucking death wish if I’ve ever heard one. Just keep driving. This area isn’t safe.”

“Then why are we going?”

She’s too preoccupied with the GPS on her phone to answer me. “I got the address to load.” She shakes her illuminated screen at me, and sure enough, as she presses start, it connects to the speakers. “Also, to answer your question, the unsafe places are the most fun on Halloween. You know since it’s all about—”

“Facing your fears, I know,” I finish for her, unable to look away from her phone. There’s no service since we’re in the middleof nowhere. Let alone no Wi-Fi hook up in this beat up car I have, so getting the signal to work should be next to impossible. “Are you sure it’s working? There’s no service here.”

She shrugs. “Well, start driving and we can find out. I don’t want whatever that person was running from to get us.” She’s joking. Somewhat.

“This is fucked. We should…”

Unfastening her seatbelt she wastes no time contorting her body so her lips crash into mine for a kiss I have no time to react to. But fuck, if her lips don’t feel good on mine.

Like a jackass—and exactly how she intended—I’m completely distracted by her fucking lips. My tongue slips out of my mouth, ready to crash into hers, but right as I do, she pulls back. Her tongue clicks with a grin.

“Relaxed?” she whispers, softly humming against my mouth.

“Not really.” My thoughts spin again.

“Drive, Harlan,” she instructs, “and maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you kiss something else.”

The thought sends yet another rush to my cock, and like a jackass, I ease off the break and continue down the unpaved road.

“In a quarter of a mile, turn down 333 Summerland Drive.”

I follow the directions until my tires turn down the entrance.

“Hmmm,” Araceli hums.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she trails off, assessing the open lot as I park. “It’s just that this place looks familiar.”

I throw the car in park, and we exchange a look just as a chill runs down my spine.

“Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing.”

Eight

“Welcome to Heathen’s Cross!”a pre-recorded greeting announces, though its mechanical voice becomes lost to the symphony of noises off in the distance. An odd mixture of drums beating, people chanting, and screaming.

Tall corn stalks, most of which are bare, surround us as we approach the haunt’s entrance. The path is illuminated by lit jack-o’-lanterns that are scattered throughout; some on the ground and others resting on hay barrels. Though, as we approach the end of the widened path, the remaining corn stalks are decorated. Fashioned into a cross with bones centered on them, complete with decaying skeletons with hands bound by nails and heads drooping, reminiscent of a crucifixion.

I look over to Harlan. He’s been so quiet since we got out of the car. He’s probably just taking it all in. He isn’t used to—or even allowed to indulge in—Halloween celebrations outside of Holy Harvest, so this is a lot for him. The drugs add another element of things he isn’t used to, but to my surprise, he isn’t fighting it.

We reach the end of the pathway, and a wall made of wooden slats with an arched opening in the middle now faces us. Faux cobwebs line the wood, accompanied by more hay barrels andcornstalks. The drumming is now replaced with loud music and boisterous cheers echoing through the arched entryway.

I step in front of Harlan, holding my hand out for him to grab onto. Reluctantly, he does. The mask is still off his face, with the elastic strap clenched tight in his other fist.

“Your mask,” I remind him, tugging at his hand in mine.

A foreboding expression lines his chiseled features as his gaze alternates between the mask in his hand and the mask on my face.

We’re so close to being free, church boy, don’t quit on me now.

A sea of black consumes my vision as a group of people walk past us. All dressed in hooded black cloaks. The draping fabric brushes against the fallen leaves mixed in with the gravel we’re standing on, and the sound creates a storm in my eardrum. I can hear every footstep hit every rock.

“Are you okay?” Harlan asks in concern, but his gravelly voice is just another vibration. Its sound ricochets down my spine.