Page 36 of Pack of Crooks

Find any good rugs?

Haha. I think they stopped making those at least fifty years ago. This place is straight out of a horror movie.

Like Texas Chainsaw horror or Scream?

What’s the difference?

One is terrifying, the other is too, but the murderers are sexy as hell.

Billy was cute.

See? You said this pack is cute too. Maybe you guys can have little murderous babies together.

Did you read the words you wrote?

What can I say? I’m a romantic.

A grin tugs at my lips.

For the record, if I die, you can have that Gucci dress.

What about the red bottoms?

I might die, Mil.

Oh, don’t be dramatic. The worst that’s going to happen is you being impaled on a knot. Stop stalling.

She sends a chicken gif. Laughing to myself, I slip my phone in the pocket of my shorts. Milly has so much confidence. She’s a dreamer, that one. I gaze up at the building. Some of the brick and mortar is crumbling. It’s definitely seen better days.

I tug the mask out of my bag. The mandatory mask rule is a little obnoxious, but I get the sentiment. Identity protection goes a long way in situations like this. It’s kind of weird though, because I already know what they look like. I consider not putting it on. They’re offering a million dollars. Ugh. Fuck it. As silly as it is, I secure the gray bunny mask to my face, peering through the cut out eye holes.

Here goes nothing.

Crossing the worn pavement, I head toward the side entrance as the letter instructed, breathing through the too small mouthhole. My breath warms my face. Good thing I brushed my teeth before coming. I can already tell this mask is going to be annoying, but there are bigger things to worry about.

The light above the steel door bathes the area with a soft yellow glow, illuminating rusting bolts and hinges. The old emblem for the textile factory has faded away to a faint outline. A mere suggestion of the logo. After another fortifying breath, I raise my hand and rap my knuckles on the door three times.

Maybe there will be a special knock. Nerves swim in my gut and my chest flutters with anxiety, heart racing as I wait. A warm breeze whips down the darkened street. An empty can rattles in the distance, but no one comes to the door. I knock again and wait.

Nothing. The hairs on the back of my neck rise the longer I stand out here alone.

This was a bad idea. Maybe I should go. And another thought lingers in the back of my mind. This was all too good to be true.

Disappointment hanging heavy around me, I take a step away from the door and pivot, ready to head back to the subway, but stop short. A guy wearing a red light up purge mask stands a few feet away. He’s big. At least six-feet tall. Muscled. He’s wearing dark pants and a black zip up hoodie despite the summer heat. The only thing I can make out is his lightly bronzed skin covering his thick neck. He’s even wearing black leather gloves.

He might be wearing Kill’s mask, but he’s too tan. He’s not as big as Maddox. So that means, this is Ezra. AKA, beta daddy.

“Hi,” I say when he shows no intent of breaking the silence. “I’m here for the party.” Don’t ask me why they felt the need to have a code. Maybe for the cops or something.

Ezra doesn’t respond. He tips his head slowly and even though I can’t see his gaze, I sense it drifting over me. Compared to what he’s wearing, I’m practically naked. My shorts reveal mythighs, and my black V-neck exposes cleavage. My blonde hair is set in a ballerina bun, again, because it’s hot as shit. I’m sweating just standing here. I don’t know how he can stand the heat in his outfit.

Maybe he’s a masochist.

Mask lifting, I feel the sweep of his gaze over my bunny mask, and as if deciding something, he takes a measured step. I force myself to stay put even though every instinct is screaming at me to run. Dammit! All that horror movie talk has me on edge. There’s a reason why slasher movies have villains wearing masks. It’s scary not seeing a person’s face when they’re prowling toward you.

Maybe I didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, because instead of continuing a slow approach, Ezra quickly closes the distance between us. I stumble back. The thud of my body reverberates through the metal door.

The red Xs of the purge mask’s eyes glow so bright I have to squint as Ezra leans over my five-foot-five frame, hovering his face inches from mine. I have no idea how he can see. I wait for that chocolate, fudgy goodness to surround me. When it does, I sigh in relief. Ezra is so close my pulse thrums. I’m keenly aware of how there’s no one around. I could scream and no one would hear it. The thought doesn’t freak me out as much as it should.