Page 5 of No Shot (The Toronto Tundra #2)

Bri

“ Hey, Scott. Thanks again for inviting me out.” As I hug my brother-in-law, my sister squeezes her way in too, making some strange sort of hug circle.

“ This is nice,” she exhales on a happy sigh. Affection, lovey-dovey-ness, family bonding—it ’ s… a lot.

Yeah, that ’ s enough of that.

I break out of the hug, taking a moment to brush my hands down the front of my cardigan, straightening out the fabric.

“ Ready to head in?” Scott asks, handing Cami and I tickets to head into the castle.

“ Oh, I could have bought my own. Let me pay you back,” I start, reaching my hand into my purse. Scott ’ s massive arm gently stops me. He looks disappointed as he shakes his head.

“ Bri, you ’ re family. As long as you ’ re here, we ’ re going to take care of you.”

“ No, I—” He raises a hand to stop by objection.

“ If it makes you feel better, consider it repayment for the babysitting I ’ m sure you ’ ve already been doing for our angel.”

“ Oh, okay, well, um, thank you.” It ’ s kind. Scott ’ s always been a sweet guy, he ’ s great to Cami too, but I don ’ t know… I take care of myself. I ’ m used to it. I like it that way.

“ Come on.” Scott starts to usher us toward the entrance. “ I ’ m excited! The employees I ’ ve spoken to have all pretty much confirmed this place is brimming with ghost—” He stops abruptly, looking down at Cami, who is gripping his arm like a vice. “ Ow, what?”

“ I ’ m sure, they were just kidding, Scottie, right?” Her eyes widen, the unspoken message clear— play along.

“ Oh, um, yeah. Of course, they were just joking around.”

Convincing.

Why? Why on earth did they bring me to this haunted house? We ’ re meeting all of Scott ’ s friends and I ’ m going to going to pee my pants.

Perfect.

Once inside, we make our way down a rather ominous stone staircase into what I can only describe as a tunnel from hell.

Dim lights hang down from the ceiling, the walls are covered in dated pictures of the city, and there ’ s no end in sight.

I immediately squeeze next to Cami, looping my arm through hers. I hate this so much.

“ We ’ re good, Bri. Just a little hallway. Oh look, a cat!” She points to a cute black fluffball in one of the vintage pictures. I don ’ t even have a chance to admire the adorable feline. I just have to get through here as quickly as possible.

Ten breaths in, and we ’ ve made progress. There ’ s a sharp curve ahead, though, so I can ’ t see the last bit of this torture tunnel just yet. Suddenly, a ring echoes through the corridor, and I jump about two feet in the air before narrowing my eyes at Cami. Is she trying to kill me?!

She looks down at her phone, tilting the screen to show Scott before scrambling to answer it.

“ Hello?”

Why does she sound nervous? I ’ m the one living out her fears here.

“ Y-yes, Camille Sheppard, that ’ s right.”

I stop, refusing to move a step more without my emotional support five-foot bodyguard.

“ Can you hear me? Pardon? No, sorry, I ’ m underground. I—uh.” She waves her hand at me while mouthing sorry, and before I can process, she darts off back the way we came with Scott in tow.

I can ’ t process.

I can ’ t move.

My brain isn ’ t working.

A gust of wind brushes past me, and a rapid thud pounds against my ribs, my body turning blazing hot. They ’ re gone, and I am alone in this nightmare.

Enough, Bri.

You ’ re a big girl.

One foot in front of the other.

You ’ ve got to get out of here.

I step forward, ready to round the corner, shutting my eyes to shield myself from the horror I ’ ve convinced myself is waiting for me. I stretch my arm out, grazing the wall to make sure I clear it safely and—what is that?

My hand bumps into a fabric-covered… wall? That ’ s… breathing?! I open my eyes and let out a blood-curdling scream.

“ Holy-mother-fucking-shit-balls,” I yell out, clutching my heart, which currently feels like it ’ s trying to beat its way out of my chest.

“ Geeezz, you got a pair of lungs on you, eh, Grumps?” the Lurch looking mofo replies with a chuckle.

Actually, I don ’ t know if this punk looks like Lurch from the Addams Family.

I didn ’ t have the nerve to process anything past there ’ s full-bodied apparition in front of me.

Though now I ’ m ninety-nine percent sure this is a living, breathing human and—

“ What did you just say?” I look up and spot his large frame. He ’ s tall with broad shoulders. Hmm, maybe Lurch was appropriate. While my eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness—and the shock—he interrupts my analysis.

“ We ’ ve got to stop meeting like this…” It ’ s impossible to miss his bright, white smile as it pulls into an amused grin.

Penn.

“ You. Motherfucker.”

“ God, I ’ ve missed this. Couldn ’ t have picked a more romantic spot for our third meet-cute. You did good.” He pats my head, and I ’ m pretty sure my eyes couldn ’ t possibly roll any farther back. This freaking guy.

“ UGH, stop talking.” Why is this happening to me right now? I ’ m doomed to be scared and irritated? What a wonderful combination.

“ You ’ re free to go. No one ’ s stopping you.

The exit ’ s that way.” He points down the corridor.

Somehow, it ’ s even more terrifying than the one I just came from.

When I don ’ t budge, he grins even wider.

“ Alright, so, since we ’ re both here and seemingly headed the same way, might as well have a civil conversation, no? ”

“ No,” I snip back, crossing my arms across my chest. A breeze blows past us, causing an eerie whistle to creep from one end of the tunnel to the other.

The sound makes my body flinch, and I bump into Penn.

He doesn ’ t notice, or maybe he does, but he doesn ’ t seem to mind my body brushing against his.

“ You scared?” The sincerity of his tone takes me by surprise.

“ Of course not.” It ’ s a bold-faced lie, I ’ m quite literally shaking in my boots, but I ’ m not about to admit weakness.

“ No? Alright, my bad then,” he replies.

We take a few steps forward, and he lazily drapes one arm over my shoulder.

“ What do you think you ’ re doing?” I ask, staring at him.

“ Protecting you, duh .” He looks at me like I ’ m the crazy one before turning his head over his shoulder and yelling, “ Fuck you, ghosts!”

This time, I cling to him for dear life. “ Oh my god, don ’ t say that. You ’ re going to piss them off,” I whisper in a frantic reprimand, squeezing my eyes shut again, and speeding up my pace.

“ Nah, gotta teach them who ’ s boss. They want to get to Cami ’ s sister, they gotta go through me.” It ’ s kind of endearing… Wait, what? No, it ’ s not.

What the actual eff is wrong with me. My brain is broken, that ’ s what. I need to get out of this horror house.

“ You actually going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to ask Scott?”

“ Are you sure you really want to know these kinds of details about a girl who ’ s stalking you?” I quip back. At least my sass is still living and breathing, even if I might not be when these spirits decide to retaliate. It ’ s been hours, and I ’ m still pissed about how things went this morning.

He stops, turning to face me, and I immediately feel the absence of the heavy weight of his arm on my shoulder.

Not because I miss the lack of proximity to his warmth, or the delicious waft of his cologne, or how safe it actually felt…

purely in the ‘ he was my human-shield and I was going to sacrifice him if need be ’ kind of way.

“ I ’ m seriously sorry about that. I ’ ve had girls find where I live and stake out the building before. I was just shocked in the moment and I didn ’ t think it through.”

“ Yeah, hate to break it to you, bucko, but five minutes of mediocre tongue does not a stalker make.”

He laughs and it fully irks me. “ Mediocre, eh? Those sexy moans you were making would beg to differ.” I should be embarrassed by the way one kiss had me weak in his arms, desperate for more.

My cheeks should flush at the fact that he heard how into it I was, and I should be downright ashamed at the excited flutter that just broke out low in my stomach at the memory of us at the bar.

But, I ’ m young, single, and free to do whatever the fuck me and my body decide to do.

That night, my body just so happened to want to grind itself into him and see if he could get me off before my Uber arrived—sue me.

“ You ’ re thinking about it, aren ’ t you?” he says with a smile that tells me I ’ ve totally just been caught.

“ You wish.” I narrow my eyes at him and force myself not to imagine how intoxicating it was to have his body against mine.

“ Damn right I do. Anyway, I ’ m really not usually such an—”

“ Ego maniac?”

“ I was going to say—”

“ Colossal dick?”

“ I mean, yes, obviously, but you felt it pressed into you already, so you can attest to that.” He smiles and even has the audacity to wink. “ But seriously, I ’ m usually not an ass and I wanted to tell you I ’ m sorry. Truce?”

I eye him skeptically before taking the hand he ’ s offering.

“ Only because you ’ re Scott ’ s friend and I ’ ll probably be forced to see you again.”

I ’ m taken aback by the warmth of his laugh.

“ Alright, fair enough. What about the name? Can ’ t very well make a deal with someone I ’ m not on a full-name basis with.”

I roll my eyes as we continue forward. “ Bri Campbell,” I supply with a frustrated sigh.

“ Bri Campbell, eh? Alright! Let me think… let me think…”

“ Take your time, feels like a big day for you.”

“ Ha-ha-ha, very funny. I ’ ll have you know, I ’ m quite the intellectual and—oh, I ’ ve got it! I think I ’ ll call you soup. No wait, maybe cheese?”

What the hell is he going on about right now?

“ Get it? Brie, like the cheese? And Campbell, like the—”

“ Soup. Yeah, I got that. Thanks, tips.”

“ No problem, happy to help out those less intellectually astute than me. Yep, both are perfectly acceptable options, but because I ’ m a gentleman, I ’ ll let you pick.”

“ How about you use my actual name the whole two times we ’ re ever going to see each other again…”

“ Soup, definitely soup. Comforting, delicious, a true classic, but it ’ s always going to fucking burn you. Appropriate, don ’ tcha think?”

“ Quite the comedian. On second thought, you can call me Bridgette. Bri is reserved for people I actually like.”

“ Damn. Thirty-two seconds, huh?”

“ Thirty-two seconds?” I repeat back to him, confused.

“ That ’ s gotta be a world record shortest time a truce has ever lasted.”

“ Are you always this irritating?”

“ Usually, but don ’ t worry, you ’ ll get used to it.”

“ Uh, I think I ’ ll pass.”

“ Too late, Soup. I already decided I like you. You ’ re stuck with me.”

We approach the opening ahead, which, to my absolute delight, looks like a well-lit room. Happy voices are starting to reach us, even from our spot in the doom corridor. The end is near.

No metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel bullshit, just real, twenty-first century electricity, open windows, and other people.