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“Thanks.” Could I be any more socially awkward? What do I say next? “So, do you like horror movies?”Fucking kill me now.

She levels with me with a look. “Michael or Ghostface?” she whips out faster than I can register.

“What? Oh. Uhh…” My face burns with humiliation. “Ghostface,” I reply.

“I should’ve guessed that one, hey. Considering what your boyfriend was wearing on Halloween.”

“If we follow that logic then I guess you like fucking ghosts and guys with big knives.”I know I do.

“Fair,” she jokes. “Your turn.”

“Okay, umm…”

A sharp whistle cuts through the bar, drawing our attention. Those two dicks from earlier are snapping and waving their fingers at Jessie. She rolls her eyes, rising from her seat. “Coming,” she calls over her shoulder. “Duty calls,” she says to me.

“They always harass you like that?” Something new slithers beneath my skin, the sensation not completely unwelcome.

“Yeah, and they aren’t even the worst of the scum that strolls in here.”

“Why not do something about it?”

She shrugs. “It’s my job, I don’t want to make a scene. Even if I would enjoy snapping their fingers in a completely different and entirely painful way.” She winks.I immediately like her a hundred times more with the little hint of violence she infused into the conversation. Even if she doesn’t enjoy a good bloodbath every now and then, at least me joking about it won’t send her running for the hills.

“HA,” I belt out a wholly unfeminine laugh. “I get it.”

“Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.”

“Okie dokie.”Who the fuck am I? Who says that?

Jessie turns, moving easily through the growing crowd of people until she’s sidled up at Dylan’s table. I watch the men paw at her, and I hate it. I detest that I know how she feels in this moment. Trapped. Vulnerable. Worthless. Nothing more than a warm piece of meat.

Abruptly getting up from my seat, I beeline my way out of the building. I need some fresh air before I make a scene. The last thing I need is to make a fool out of myself over some woman I clicked with for five seconds.

I move across the lot, and slide back into the driver’s seat of my Civic, glancing longingly at the mask in the passenger seat. The porcelain coloured exterior gleams in the moonlight beaming through the windshield, highlighting the fine line cracks discoloured by the blood I couldn’t scrub out. I pick it up, heavily debating if I should give in to what’s nagging at me.

The two men with no knowledge of how to keep their fucking hands to themselves exit the bar, obnoxiously laughing to each other. All hesitancy bleeds out from my mind as the once vacant eye sockets of the mask fill with my glowing whiskey orbs, pupils blowing wide as I steal a glance at my reflection. Excitedly, I wait. Watching intently as my heart pounds in my ears.

Finally, the men round the corner, disappearing into the shadows. I let my restraint crumble completely, wholly surrendering to the malice calling to me from the pits of my psyche. I exit the little black car once more, this time with a sinister smile painting my face beneath the mask as I silently stalk towards the darkness they disappeared into.

Chapter Sixty-eight

Mallory

Ihave to refrain from skipping into the shadows while following the men at a safe distance. Becoming one with the inky blackness, I hide in the void created by a stack of crates. It casts a long, dark pillar against the side of the bar which fits me wonderfully.

The two men talk animatedly while smoking until Dylan’s phone rings. He shoos the other man away, taking the call with a curt, “Yes, Boss.”

The lanky one walks by me, his worn sneakers scuffing through the rough gravel, mumbling under his breath about not being privy to whatever the Boss has planned for him. I guess he’s the low man on the totem pole.

Straining to listen, I hear the telltale squeaking of the heavy bar door. Signalling to me that this handsy loser in front of me is now alone.

His mouth pulls down in a full-faced frown, looking like a scolded child. Whatever’s being said on that call isn’t pleasing him. He huffs loudly, breath puffing out in awhite cloud as it mixes with the crisp late October air. Dylan pockets his phone without another word, then lights up another cigarette.

“Why so glum, chum?” I say cheerily, emerging from the darkness. This beer-bellied fuckwit just about jumps out of his skin, choking on the smoke in his lungs. Leaning his weight on his knees, a wheezing coughing fit ensues. I wait patiently for him to get his shit together; it’s not every day a bitch in a mask hops out of the darkness at you.

“What the hell?” he gasps.

“I just wanna chat. Are you good?”