Page 1 of Fright Night (Twisted Holidays #3)

ONE

KNOX

Fear.

The dictionary defines the term as an intense emotion in response to believing someone or something is a threat.

Fight, flight, or freeze are usually one of three bodily reactions to it, but what the definition fails to consider is the other unlisted response.

Desire.

Fear can generate a heart-pounding awareness that sets blood aflame with the thrill of trying to choose between fight, flight, or freeze—only to fall submissive to the more potent reaction of desire.

Lust. A yearning to delve into the darkness and discover what a bit of that adrenaline can feel like if actually explored.

Few truly appreciate how stimulating such an effect can be, and they’re the ones who run from the perceived threat. Fight, flight, or freeze; they choose to bolt. Others, like myself, allow that fourth reaction to take control.

It’s ecstasy. The exhilaration. The taboo of the emotion. What people believe they should hide from, some secretly long for.

Of course, as wind blows the chilly late Fall breeze across my face, I consider how we’re days away from Halloween; the time of year where scaring one another is a theme.

Which makes it my favourite holiday because fear doesn’t always equate to pleasure.

It’s all in one’s perception and the trigger.

For example, there was a time when I felt scared about a perceived threat. It was a fear of the unknown, fear of what it’d mean being away from her.

It was the time when cops hauled me away from a stupid party for carrying drugs on me, when I wasn’t the dealer . All because she wanted to save her little boyfriend, who was the one selling. She ratted my name instead of his, all for their happily-ever-after to end a few short months later.

Oh, sweet revenge, yet not nearly enough to be satisfying.

Seated on a park bench in late October, a cigarette in one hand and the sky filling with my occasional released puff, I’ve recently returned to my hometown, much to the chagrin of my father.

After being arrested two years ago, Dad, conveniently being the town’s mayor, managed to swing a deal, thanks to the pricey lawyer he hired—and constantly complained about requiring.

Community service in exchange for keeping me out of prison.

Wasn’t easy, considering my small rap sheet the judge laid out in front of us, and honestly, the fact Dad even bothered surprised me.

Not like he didn’t hide the fact he couldn’t fucking wait for me to disappear and leave his new family in peace.

I was the “fuck-up.” The black sheep. The disowned one after he found someone to take my place as his heir.

Someone he could drag to all his fancy social functions and be proud to call his kid, rather than me, who would have preferred to take a bullet between my eyes than talk about how Dad was such a “wonderful” man to people who were only around to kiss his ass.

Community service meant Dad wouldn’t have to admit to his son being in prison.

Having a convict for a kid was an embarrassment he wouldn’t handle, so he sent me elsewhere to complete my sentence.

Since the court didn’t demand it be in this town, only the province, he wasted no time in kicking me out.

In truth, Dad was searching for the simplest excuse to get me out of her life, while maintaining as much of his “perfect mayor” image as possible. Ironic she was the one who set it all in motion.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her. At least now, she can start her life away from you.”

That was his parting message when he shoved me out of his fancy overpriced car, destination halfway across the province.

I hated him then and I hate him now. More so, I hate how she had no clue she’d become his newest project. That he’d corrupt her with his money and design her into the heir he aspired for.

The bruises I’ve sustained from him over the years, both emotional and physical, used to take weeks to heal, but none were more painful than knowing I could no longer be there for her—for my little obsession.

I left, gutted he’d ruin the girl I was falling for. The girl who was perfect because of how she was. Warm and caring, a beam of sunlight in my life of cool shadows.

Not that I ever revealed my hand to her, because it’d mean ending the game we both had entirely too much fun playing.

I couldn’t allow that to happen for anything.

So, cruelty was it for us and she gave as good as she got.

A real challenge and that, like no one else in existence, makes her everything to me.

After two very shitty years, I’m home to pay my respects to the girl—the woman now—who chose another over me, hence my place in this park. Old connections told me precisely what she’s been up to and where she goes every Tuesday night, and the route she walks back home.

In the cool five-degree Celsius weather, she’s bundled in a thick cardigan over skinny jeans and low-heeled boots. Her hair is loose, strands flying in the wind, the scent of her expensive perfume tainting nature with its chemical enhancements.

Her head’s down, attention directed at the cell phone in her hand like it’s her lifeline. Like it’ll save her from the monsters in the night.

It won’t. Especially not the one she’s about to walk into.

My legs stretch on purpose, testing her spatial awareness. She doesn’t look up when she’s three paces away.

Two…

And one.

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

Obviously.

Seeing her up close should be met with loathing.

After all, she’s the reason behind my arrest. She took me from my home and friends to save her douche of a fuckhead before then moving into my life.

She got everything, while I was left with a meager allowance and instructed to get a job on top of completing community service because the amount in my account would be all the financial support from my father.

What I can’t and will not forgive is being away from her .

Oakley Rivers, my stepsister.

After only six months of dating, my father proposed to her mother, leading into the marriage they’ve had going for a bit over three years now. When he did, Oakley moved in as his stepdaughter.

And my newest obsession.

It’s not hate I feel towards her. Never has been either. It’s fucking awe.

She’s always been beautiful, and there wasn’t a day that passed where she hasn’t been in my thoughts. But the occasional picture that friends, mainly Blaze and Cody, managed to send my way hasn’t done her justice.

Back in high school, she practically starved herself to stay skinny because everyone in her life judged her natural curves.

Curves that made my mouth water. Watching her lose them—and later realizing why—angered me like nothing else.

Her mother imprinted this stupid notion that beauty meant being thin as a rail, and Dad expected nothing else than perfection at the social events he dragged his family—sans me—to.

So she starved herself to fit in the tiny ass dresses her mother would buy, even though they clearly wouldn’t fit anything but a sheet of paper.

Then there was the time I bought her an order of fries from the school cafeteria, because the fact I hadn’t seen her eat in two days worried me and who doesn’t like fries?

Dropped them off at her table and wandered away, only to overhear her dick of a boyfriend comment on the choice of food when he later joined her.

Wonder if he ever admitted the black eye he got that night came from my fist.

Now, much to my pleasure, she’s regained the weight and got comfortable in her skin. She’s healthy , and there isn’t anything sexier than that. Her figure’s filled out into all curves I can’t wait to run my hands over.

And I will. It’s only a matter of time.

Dark hair frames her face with caramel strands woven in—those are new. There’s a small splatter of freckles over her nose, for once in their lives not caked with makeup, which I’m pleased by.

As quickly as I take Oakley in, she continues passing me, not even bothering to glance at the stranger she’s walked into. Her head remains bent over her phone, eyes—a captivating hazel—averted as she mumbles another apology and skitters away, walking faster than earlier.

Well. That was disappointing.

I stand and stomp out the smoke, tossing the butt into the nearby garbage. When she’s about a dozen feet away, she lifts her head, only to toss a quick glance over her shoulder before walking faster.

Right. Because standing has her assuming I, a stranger in the shadowy park, will follow her. Which I will be. Either way, the start of a smirk tugs at my mouth because little Oakley is running scared.

Good ol’ times.

She always acted frightened around me. Other than the rare family-mandated events our parents forced us to both participate in, we barely saw one another.

Dad basically kicked me out of the family at that point, and more often than not, it seemed like Oakley wanted nothing to do with them either.

She did everything in her power to hang at friends’ places or her boyfriend’s, while I hid at a buddy’s to avoid crossing paths with my new stepsister after Dad threatened me to stay away from her.

Even if I didn’t really listen to him.

I fall back, letting the shadows swallow me up when she reaches the edge of the park and crosses the street.

She’s heading into the nearby neighbourhood, to the house she lives in, courtesy of my father’s generosity.

A house, that for all intents and purposes, was meant to be mine—or at least both of ours when Dad married her mother—which means the spare bedroom I’m well aware it has is waiting for me to move in.

Soon. It’ll be nice to get off Blaze’s couch.

Knowing the town well enough—a benefit of growing up here—I slip down a bike path that connects the two roads together: a shortcut. She’s sticking to the main roads with streetlights, keeping it safe.

Halloween shit decorates the front lawns of the houses I pass. Lit-up pumpkins on the front steps, fake webbing covering the grass, rickety signs, and plastic gravestones stabbed into the ground. This little suburbia is screaming its readiness for my favourite holiday.

I love Halloween because it’s the time where it’s expected to stay out in the dark. Where trying to trick and scare another is the norm.

This Halloween, it’s Oakley’s fear I crave. All those instances in the past where she’d stare at me like a spooked bunny, all tense and shit, ready to bolt and hide thrilled me. Her nerves were cute in an amusing way.

By tomorrow morning, I anticipate she’ll wake nervous with the official announcement of my arrival back into town. She’ll understand I’m here for her. To continue our game, to punish her for her actions…and to finally take what I’ve been craving for so long.

Trick or treat, Trickster. Choose wisely.