Page 3 of Fright Night (Twisted Holidays #3)
THREE
KNOX
Asshole DNA Doner
Heard you’re back in town.
Me
As of days ago. Don’t worry, not here to ruin your precious life. Just get mine back.
Asshole DNA Doner
I know why you’re here. You’re as obsessed with her now as you were then. Stay away from Oakley.
He’s not wrong, but I despise him stating it.
Like the asshole has any right to intrude on the relationship he created.
By marrying Jill, her mother, he put Oakley and me on the same fucked-up path.
By being his cruel asshole self, it made her sympathize with me, and to this day, the feel of her hand holding a cool cloth to my bruising cheek lives rent-free in my head; the sight of her crying for me was soothing in ways the cloth never could be.
Me
You only care because you need to be a family man to the public. You don’t care about her or Jill.
Dad needed to complete the family picture for his colleagues, since apparently it looks bad if the mayor doesn’t have the whole white picket fence thing going on, and her mother was seeking a place to end up after a string of failed relationships after her first divorce from Oakley’s birth father.
Asshole DNA Doner
You have no idea what you’re talking about.
That statement is practically his slogan at this point.
He scarcely cares about Jill, who spends every March to August travelling the world, surviving the loveless marriage-of-convenience they created for themselves.
Me
I’m here to get my life back after paying my dues. Deal with it.
Asshole DNA Doner
Your sister’s on a good path. Don’t mess this up for her. Again.
Annoyed, I switch off my cell entirely, in case he thinks to message more, and glance up from my spot across the street where, ironically, he works.
Facing City Hall, I glare at the window of his office.
A window I’ve spent many hours staring out of as the phrase ‘Fuck, get me out of here’ , would circulate throughout my mind.
That was before he decided I wasn’t good enough to be his son anymore.
That change happened in the month following his new marriage, when I was pissed at him and avoiding my new stepsister’s expressive hazel eyes. I came home drunk one night, literally stumbling through the door, much to his distaste.
“Ever think I didn’t want a new mother? That you forced two families together for your own gains.”
“You have no idea what you’re fucking talking about.
” Dad shoves me into the wall, and normally, I’d be strong enough to deal with him, but alcohol makes my movements sluggish.
“Go to bed, Knox. If you’re going to be like this, never show your face in my building.
Can’t have whatever this is around the good people who help this town function. ”
I sneer, shoving him off me and gathering my hoodie from where I apparently dropped it when he pushed me into the wall.
If getting drunk is all it took to get out of my mandated trips to his office once a week, so all City Hall employees can see what a “great” relationship father and son has, I’d have done it ages ago.
Without a word, I stalk upstairs and into my bedroom. My hand swings for the door to slam it shut, but I think I miss, instead stumbling into my bathroom. When I’m stripped to my boxers, I return to my bedroom, only to find it’s no longer empty.
Little Oakley, who actually isn’t little because she’s my age, but it’s a nickname I enjoy mentally taunting her with, is seated on the edge of my bed—a place she definitely has no right to be.
Her mouth’s folded into a pout my dick finds distracting, but it’s her eyes that really undo me.
So much expression, so much empathy, for a person she barely speaks to.
“I overheard,” she whispers, fisting the comforter on either side of her. “Are you okay?”
She’s here for me , and while something inside my chest unlocks with her question, she’s not allowed to see it. Us becoming proper siblings means Dad gets his way, and that can’t happen. Oakley will get no kindness from me, paying the price for our parents’ marriage.
“I’m fine. Get out. Never come in here uninvited.” I twist for the closet, pretending to go for clothing so I’m not forced to watch her leave.
A moment later, steps head for the door but pause. “For the record, I’m sorry you didn’t want us here, but I’d like us to be friends.”
I laugh harshly. Friends. That’ll never happen.
“Just leave.”
“I’m here if you need to talk.” The door shuts behind her.
Once I’m safe again, the walls drop and I let myself feel and crave something else. Some one else.
Movement by the front doors of City Hall ends the memory, as my reason for hanging around here—because it certainly isn’t Dad—exits the expansive, white building.
Oakley glances up and down the street as she pauses on the top step, much like in the way she paused in my doorway all those years ago. She does up the few top buttons of her jacket, covering a knee-length black skirt and orange blouse.
Way to dress for the holiday, Trickster
She looks so fucking prim and proper, and it sickens me the kind of woman our parents are trying to twist her into. On her feet, little black booted heels that look almost impossible to walk in somehow take her down the couple steps.
The day Cody called and told me she got hired at City Hall, I laughed for about an hour straight. The other guys on the crew where my mandated service had us cleaning up the side of a highway watched me warily that day, because every time I thought about it some more, another bout of laughter came.
Oakley wanted to go to college for a business diploma before opening up an event planning company, but daddy dearest couldn’t have that.
Between her mother turning her into some shallow socialite and my father twisting her into his heir, heaven fucking forbid the girl choose her own path.
So he forced her to work at City Hall, to keep her nice and close.
She’s the head of the event committee…which is something, at least. It’s related to her dreams but still keeps her tied to his control.
It pisses me off. No one should be forced into something they don’t want to do or be.
So much, as Oakley starts down the road and I remain a safe distance behind her, I pull out a smoke and lighter, letting tobacco quell the frustration that is my life.
One day, I’ll burn every blouse and skirt she owns. I’ll get her out from under Dad’s thumb and give her the gall to stand up to him and choose her own future.
And then I’ll fuck her in the heels. Maybe I’ll burn the clothes in front of her, freak her out, then fuck her in her sexy little shoes. Yeah, that’ll be the plan.
Doubt she’d react anyway. From the very first instance, Oakley did what so few dared to.
She looked me in the eye.
Other girls would avoid eye contact, but she never made an effort to look away. For that reason alone, she held my attention. Made me curious about my new stepsister, so I spent the following few weeks watching her more than what others would deem appropriate.
Everything I discovered made me addicted.
Then she started the game that ultimately led to her nickname. No one else had the damn balls to lift a finger against me. But she did. My brave, little stepsister did…and her bravery cost her my obsession.
Two years is too long to go without her. It’s cruel really, how she gave me a taste only to force me from her life.
Oakley walks down the road, glancing around every so often. She walks quickly, and even from half a block behind her, it’s clear she’s gripping onto her purse tightly, rightfully scared after the recorded video she would have woken up to.
It was only hours ago, but fuck if I can’t wait to do it all again. This time while she’s awake, able to watch me dirty her up, rub my claim into her skin like it’s some kind of lotion.
The video was never meant to hide my identity or the fact I’m home. Hell, the entire reason for the mask was to ensure she’d have no evidence against me if she takes it to the police.
As much as I want to believe she wouldn’t, that she’d play my game, nothing’s certain. Dad’s gotten to her throughout the years and I can’t be sure she wouldn’t run for his help.
She’s not walking home, but heads in a different direction. One I haven’t stalked her to this week in the days I’ve been back, so I ensure to keep her in view. Eventually, she reaches a dead-end road attached to a large fenced-in park.
It’s there she crosses the leaf-covered ground to the two pumpkin stacks serving as the makeshift entrance to the Halloween festival.
So little Oakley’s running it this year. While I hate she’s not opening that event business she dreamed of, this outcome brings a smile to my face. It’s a big task and one she’ll undoubtedly succeed at.
Every year, City Hall puts on a Halloween festival on the thirtieth.
It’s mainly for the kids and teens, to keep them occupied in the hours leading up to the actual holiday.
It’s an all-evening thing that stretches right to dusk, involving themed activities, food galore, games, and other Halloween-related shit to entertain the young minds.
Oakley waves a greeting to the two staff setting up a sign that’ll soon rest atop the pumpkin columns. One stares a beat too long for my liking as she passes, and my grip crushes the cigarette until it’s useless.
On the opposite side of the road, I stop and wait, propping myself against a pole while keeping my face shrouded by my hoodie. Presumably, she’ll be in there for a little while. I watch her go deeper into the festival’s set-up, mind whirling with a plan. A way to have a little fun with her.
She stops every so often to type something on her phone or talk to a worker. Each time she’s about to set off to her next task, her head lifts, scans the area, and then returns to work. More than once, she’s looked right at me, but never stops to realize the figment of her imagination is real.
That around Halloween, monsters come out to play.