Page 8 of Fright Night (Twisted Holidays #3)

SEVEN

KNOX

My next words are a stone rolling down a mountain, unable to be restrained, crushing and all-consuming, and depending how attuned she is, will answer her every question.

“What if I said you are my life, Oakley?”

She doesn’t react well, instead scowling as she crosses the room, snatches up my mask and coffee and shoves both at me, nearly making a mess. A slim hand wraps around my wrist and starts tugging on it, likely to get me to my feet, but her meager strength isn’t doing a thing to reach her goal.

“I think you’re still on the drugs that once got you into trouble. Leave, Knox, please .”

Would now be the time to mention that she got me in trouble, not the drugs? And weed doesn’t have that kind of effect.

She huffs, tugging on my hoodie’s sleeve one more time before giving up, instead standing between my legs. It’d be so easy to haul her onto my lap. I’m tempted to, to see how long it’d take for her to pull away, scared by her desires.

“Why would I do that? If we’re going by your count, the next trick is mine. Trick the Trickster and all that.”

Her lovely throat moves with her swallow—an enticing display of anxiety. I wonder what it’d look like with my hand wrapped around it. With my fingers gripping that pulse and compelling it to new speeds.

Time will tell because Oakley has plenty of absence to make up for.

“Pretty sure you evened it the other night.” Her gaze flicks to the mask in my arms, cheeks reddening. “Jacking off on me is a new low, creep.”

It’s actually a new high. Possibly the best high I’ve ever had so far. Infinitely better than the drugs that once landed me in this situation. Her hands, mouth, and pussy will be an ethereal level high.

I stand, abandoning the coffee and mask, enjoying how she backs up again and stutters, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Getting you to realize why we’re not even.

I didn’t come here seeking an apology, only an explanation.

The last couple of years have sucked , all because this pretty little mouth”—my thumb presses into her bottom lip—“forgot to speak up. So, it’s only fair I have another turn.

Be ready, my Trickster. You have a lot to make up for. You stole my life, I’ll take yours.”

And keep it for myself.

“I said sorry.” Her whispered words are hindered by my thumb.

“Except I don’t care.”

Releasing her, I grab my things and turn for the door, only for my attention to snag on a picture frame resting on a side table.

Her mother is big into professional photography. If there’s an event, she’s hiring cameras. Probably where Oakley’s love for event planning came from. This photo is one I recall being taken like it was yesterday.

Jill and my father wed outdoors in a local provincial park; a setting that doesn’t suit either of them, but apparently they were trying to make a statement.

The backdrop is the wide-open blue sky with a waterfall crashing into the lake below, while the four of us were positioned on the cliff overlooking it.

Our parents were seated on a bench the poor photography crew had to haul up there at Jill’s shrilly insistence, while Oakley and I stood behind them.

I’m in a black suit nearly identical to the one Dad wore, while Oakley wore a light purple dress that matched the flowers of Jill’s bouquet, and never failed to take my breath away.

It was the only thing that day that made missing the game I was otherwise supposed to play with friends worth it. The rest of the day sucked ass. It was wedding number two for them both, so did it really matter if I attended? They thought so; I didn’t.

When the wedding photos came back, Jill insisted Oakley and I each pick one to keep. I saw which one Oakley chose—this one—but hid my choice until she left the room.

It was one of the few things I took with me when being kicked out of town. A picture of only Oakley and me, same background, with my arm resting on her waist, after the photographer insisted on a few with us without the bride and groom.

The wedding happened weeks before our stupid teenage hate-rivalry really kicked off.

At some point, I played a stupid trick on her by hiding her toothpaste to see how much she’d overreact.

Instead of running her mouth to our parents, she retaliated by crushing my very expensive deodorant into mush, forcing me to buy more.

I couldn’t stop laughing, even when ordering the replacement. My new stepsister was feisty, though also couldn’t decide to be scared or not around me. She addicted me early on.

Which almost makes her final trick even funnier. It was ballsy.

Without another word, I finally look away from the old wedding photo and head for the door, aware I’ll be seeing Oakley again very soon.

An hour later, after a stop to change and shower, I head to the fancy five-star restaurant Oakley is sitting at with our parents.

The fact she’s there while exhausted by shit I did last night brings a smile to my face as I straighten my hoodie—the opposite of this place’s dress code—and jerk a finger in greeting to the ma?tre d’ before gesturing to the table by the window my party is already seated at, three plates of food just being served.

Right on time.

Even this fancy place is decked out for the holiday, and I pass a waitress delivering a themed coffee drink that reminds me of something Oakley would drink.

At the last second, I pause by the woman, murmuring, “One of those delivered there,” while pointing at Oakley.

Our parents are seated facing away so it’s Oakley who spots me first, her fork clanging onto the delicate glass plate as I swing into the empty chair beside her, like they saved it all for me.

I throw an arm around her back while my foot hooks into a chair leg and drags her close enough her bare thigh in her pretty black dress touches my jean-clad leg.

“Knox,” Jill breathes, hand hovering halfway to her mouth. Her shock is too apparent, eyes jerking between me and Dad, who only watches on coolly because heaven forbid the man make a scene, especially in a place like this. Clearly, he never told his wife I’m home.

I jerk my chin in greeting but focus all my attention on my father before making a show of my arm around Oakley’s back, fingering the ends of her curled hair. Curled, with her makeup done, and an outfit fancier than what her job later will require because breakfast with Dad could be nothing less.

Fucking sick.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Dad’s mouth fuses into a flat line, which is basically his equivalent of blowing up. No doubt, he wishes it was four years ago when was younger, and hitting me was his preferred method of conflict resolution. He eyes where my fingers play with Oakley’s hair—much to the reddening of her cheeks.

I meet his stare with my own quirked brow, basically begging for him to say shit.

You won’t get me away from her this time.

“Knox,” he grates between teeth so clenched, I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke them. “You’re here.”

Why is his silent question.

“Mhm, observant. Figured I’d stop by for this li’l family breakfast.” I reach over to pop a grape from Oakley’s plate into my mouth. “That’s what this is, right? Assume you forgot to invite me.”

Right on time, the waitress from earlier silently approaches the table to rest the colourful holiday sickening special in front of me. Without taking my eyes off Dad, I slide the large mug in front of Oakley.

“For you,” I murmur.

Jill’s lips pinch, because the sugar-filled caffeine drink is clearly more shocking than my presence. “Don’t drink that, honey. It’s not good for you. You’ve already been…eating.” She scans Oakley’s body judgmentally.

“Drink it.” I twist my head towards Oakley, meeting her challenge with my own. “You look fantastic. Sexy as hell, and the orange whipped cream concoction in that mug is calling your name. Don’t lie.”

A faint smile graces her face, making me feel like a winner in a game I was never going to lose. “I was eyeing these earlier,” she utters toward her mom, her shoulders caving inwards as she lifts the mug to her lipstick-coated mouth.

Much to our parents’ horror, she sips the drink.

“Atta girl,” I whisper beneath my breath, unable to stop myself from reaching over to grip her knee beneath the table. A movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by our parents, not that I give two fucks. It’s obvious Jill wants to say something but doesn’t know what.

This why I’m so angry about Oakley’s lie. Not only for making me lose years with her, but this . She found some sense of a backbone since she’s clearly not starving herself anymore, but they still have too much hold over her and I won’t be dealing with it for much longer.

“She’s your sister, Knox.” Dad glares.

“ Step sister and barely that.” We didn’t grow up together. She moved in at seventeen, the same age as me. Then for a while, we ignored one another.

“Why are you here?” Dad slams his fist down onto the table hard enough, the metal cutlery bounces.

Ah, finally, getting to the goods.

“Answered that already.”

“I meant in town.”

“Also answered that already.”

Jill coughs, wiping her mouth with her cloth napkin, though she hasn’t touched her food in a while. “How was…uh…”

“Community service?” I finish loudly, calling attention from a couple tables around us. “Dandy. Fun. Hard work gave me purpose and all that bullshit. How do you think it was?”

“It was punishment for a crime,” Dad mutters, like I need the reminder of what I’ve been hearing parroted at me for years. Though the officer in charge of me was a decent guy who never made life worse. “You deserved nothing less.”

“Including getting kicked out of the family? Although, getting kicked out wasn’t as bad as learning that Oakley isn’t opening her business like she wanted to.”

“Jesus fuck,” Oakley whispers, clutching that fancy drink a bit harder. I tap the edge, silently demanding she sip her stress out.

Dad’s face flushes red. “She’s working alongside me, in the event department.”

“Ah, yes, because when I proved to be a colossal fuck-up, you just have to have someone eventually fill your shoes. You gave her that job in a place you run to keep her close. To train her to go into politics like you did, all to have at least one kid follow in your footsteps. Am I wrong?”

My hand tightens on her knee, telling her I’m the only one at this table who gives a shit about her.

“She’s doing fantastic with the Halloween event,” Jill chimes, like it makes any difference.

I barely spare her a glance. “Never said she isn’t. Said she deserves to do so much more of it on her own terms.”

“Knox.” Her tone tinged with embarrassment, so I turn towards her, fencing her in with my legs.

“Tell us all the truth. Do you still want to go to school and eventually open your business, or you happy to be City Hall’s future mayor?”