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“Let’s go, it’s fucking freezing,” Rick orders, dragging me after him. Rio walks ahead of us, shooting an indecipherable look over his shoulder before he leads me into the house straight out of Courage the Cowardly Dog. Only double the size.

But I imagine the shit that happens in this house is full of horrors much worse than that purple dog ever experienced.

Adrenaline and fear swirl in my stomach, and although there is a heavy weight low in my gut, it's not the warm heady feeling I'm used to. This is dread.

It spikes higher when Rick hauls me through the entryway and pushes me forward. While the air is stale and musty, it doesn’t resemble a meth lab as I had expected.

This home looks like it comes straight from the 1800s, with an abundance of woodwork, outdated wallpaper, and odd nooks and crannies that make zero sense. I’m standing in a massive living room with brown, cracked leather couches, threadbare floral rugs, and crooked paintings on the walls. The TV is shoved into a corner, Tom & Jerry playing on low and a drooping cobweb hanging above it.

Grime is caked into the cracks, and every surface is coated in dust. The deep brown hardwood floor is wonky and uneven and creaks from the slightest shift of weight. I imagine if this place was haunted like Parsons Manor, no ghost could walk by undetected.

To the left is a dining area, paraphernalia everywhere. Crushed beer cans, needles, and crack pipes litter the table, along with a circular mirror, a small mound of cocaine on it.

Hesitantly, I walk farther into the house, the pit of dread growing wider and wider, like a shark’s mouth right before it ravages its prey.

It’s hard to breathe in here. It smells faintly of mildew and the entire house is wrapped in bad juju like a scratchy wool coat. It’s thick, uncomfortable, and suffocating.

“Welcome to your new home,” Rio declares mockingly. He’s been watching me take in the house, and even though it’s only been seconds, I’ve long since grown uneasy beneath the weight of his stare.

Before I can open my mouth, three men walk in from a doorway straight ahead. It seems to lead to the kitchen, based on the glimpse of a refrigerator from my standpoint. The raucous men were mid-laughter, but the second they noticed me, they quieted. Their movements are slow as they approach the kitchen table, more intent on picking me apart than watching where they’re going.

“This the diamond?” one of the men calls out, his teeth so black, it looks like bugs have infested his mouth.

Rick saunters towards the table and takes a dramatic seat, pride radiating from his face.

Smiling wide, he says, “You fucking know it is! Max already deposited the check so we can do whatever the fuck we want, boys.”

Their cheers arise, and the look on Rio’s face is near murderous.

“Fucking idiots,” he mutters under his breath. Then louder, he reminds him, “No, you can’t do whatever you want, estúpido, because you have a big fucking target on your head in the shape of a Z.”

Rick waves a hand, unconcerned. “Don’t worry, Rio. We’ll hide out until the fucker is dead, and then, we can do whatever we want. This payday is fucking massive, and not only that—we’ll get a taste of her, too.”

I shrink beneath their lewd gazes. Instinctively, my arms wrap tighter around myself, but that only elicits a few grunts of amusement.

“Aw, don’t be shy, baby girl. I promise I’ll make you feel good,” one of them croons, his black hair sticking up in several directions from the copious amount of grease in it. I swallow, a lump forming in my throat as my gaze fixates on a dark red puddle on the table I hadn’t noticed before.

I can’t even begin to imagine what that could possibly be from.

“What, princess, we ain’t good enough for you?” Rio asks. I glance at him and note the smirk on his face. But he’s tense, his grin strained.

I don’t even acknowledge him; my eyes trained back on the pool of blood. Tracking my line of sight, Rio turns to see what I’m staring at. He barks out a laugh when he sees it.

“Want to place a bet on what it’s from?” My face contorts in revulsion as I shoot a glare at him.

“My bet is that some bitch lost her virginity right there,” Rick chimes in, lighting a cigarette with a grin.

I bristle, and anger rises in my chest. “You’re sick,” I spit, my voice watery and full of so much hate. Rick only laughs and goes back to the conversation between his friends. I’m watching one of them inject himself with a needle when I feel someone charging in the house behind me. I startle and turn to find another man, and nearly lose my shit.

There’s a girl slung over his shoulder.

My mouth pops open, and his brown eyes settle on me.

“You got a problem?” he barks.

I flinch, panic rising as the girl’s lifeless limbs sway behind him. I’ve no idea if she’s dead or alive. I’d hope this man wouldn’t be carrying a fucking dead girl inside the house, but then again, these assholes would be the type to do something like that.

I shake my head, speechless as he walks toward me. He reeks of body odor, but that’s to be expected when he looks like he bathes in motor oil.