Page 16

CHAPTER

TEN

ERIN

After lying about food poisoning to leave the ball early, I toss and turn in the darkness, staring up at my bedroom ceiling. My physical body is clean, but my mind…

Their words. Their touch. Their cruelty. Their dogged obsession has no limits. They’re consuming me, creeping into every aspect of my life. They’ve invaded my thoughts, leaving no space for anything else.

I kick my blankets off. No position is comfortable. Every time I close my eyes, I see their masks… and his cock. How is it possible to be terrified and turned on at the same time?

I turn on the light and stroll to my underwear drawer. It’s not like I’ll be able to sleep, anyway. I rifle through the lace until I find my gift from Mia. The bullet vibrator.

A spark of adrenaline races through me as I settle back into position and slide it into my panties, knowing there’s something so wrong about this, but I’m too intrigued to stop.

I bite my lip as the velvety silicone slides over my clit. Tingles spread between my thighs and down to my toes. I apply more pressure, and a tiny moan escapes from my mouth. A moan I wished they’d taken from me. Shit, did I really just think that?

The sensation builds, making my knees tremble as I hold it in place, surrendering.

I grind against it, coaxing the pleasure from deep in my core, and I visualize them.

Their masks. His fingers pinching my nipples and kneading my breasts.

Their power and animalistic desire to take whatever they want when they want it.

I recall how his spit sounded, slathering his cock, and how his eyes stayed locked on me while he touched himself.

It brings me a sick sense of enjoyment, knowing my body has that effect on a monster.

I writhe around as my orgasm arrives hard and fast at the memory of his cum spraying my skin. Claiming me as his. Fuck. This is exactly what they wanted . Finished, I lie, panting, disgusted at doing what he predicted, while simultaneously more satisfied than I’ve ever felt before.

Wailing sirens bring me out of my blissful haze. I throw the vibrator back into the drawer and race to the window. Blue lights fill my room, casting flashing shadows across the pink walls.

I gasp in horror at the scene. “Shit…”

The Holt mansion is ablaze. Wild, uncontrollable jumping flames fill the skyline. The fire devours the building, feasting on their possessions. Two fire trucks have pulled out front. The crew shout and work together, but it’s already too late.

Thuds down the hallway grow closer.

“Erin!” Dad yells, throwing open my door. He’s dressed in a full suit, while Mom stands behind him in her flimsy silk slip. “We need to go.”

Shaking, I grab a hoodie to put over my pajama short set and fumble into sliders before racing out after my parents.

A firefighter is already waiting to greet us.

“You need to wait on the sidewalk until we get the fire under control,” he says. “The wind is blowing eastward. There’s a risk that the trees on your property border might be ignited by falling debris. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

We follow him onto the street. We’re not the only people up. The entire neighborhood has woken and left their beds to stare in morbid fascination as the Holts’ home burns.

“How did it happen?” Mom asks.

“It’s too early to say, ma’am,” he replies. “Hopefully, we’ll have answers soon.”

“Did everyone make it out?” I ask.

“Just about,” he replies. “The son had to climb out of a window. He almost got trapped inside. He’s a lucky guy.”

Smoke catches in the back of my throat. Even though we’re a fair distance away, the heat from the blaze warms my bare legs.

In front of the Holts’ house, Nate’s mother sobs hysterically into his father’s shoulder.

I spot Nate a few feet away from them, sitting on the curb, his head buried in his hands.

“No!” Mrs. Holt wails despairingly. “God, no!”

An almighty power isn’t listening. The upper floor caves in, succumbing to the flames with a gigantic crack. The fire crew hopelessly attempts to put it out, but it’s no use. Even if they did, there’ll be nothing salvageable.

“Why don’t you see if Nate’s okay?” Mom asks, gently nudging my ribs. “You were his date for the Harvest Ball.”

Both Dad and I look at her aghast, but for different reasons.

“I told you, we’re just friends, Mom,” I say. “He won’t want to?—”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Dad declares, putting an end to the matter.

We’re spared an argument by a neighbor crossing the street to speak to Mom.

Nate’s shoulders shake. When he looks up, I see his eyes are puffy and his face is streaked with soot.

He’s bleeding from scrapes on his arms, likely from scampering down the side of the building.

I should feel sympathy for him. That’d be a normal emotion, right?

Yet, seeing him sob makes a twisted part of me happy.

After how he treated me this evening, it’s what he deserves.

A limo speeds past us, out of place among the emergency vehicles, and stops beside Nate.

Oliver jumps out. He pulls his friend to his feet and bundles him into the back like a hero.

Everything always works out okay for people like the Holts.

Their houses can burn, but they have enough power and money to rebuild.

Pasturesville’s social elite have each other’s backs, no matter what.

Nate departs with Oliver, leaving his parents to clean up the mess.

“Over here,” a firefighter calls the assembled neighbors into a huddle.

“Following our initial assessment of the scene, there appears to have been an electrical fault,” he explains to the group. “It was a freak accident, and the Holt family had a narrow escape.”

“How awful,” Mom gushes, reveling in the drama.

I zone out as he continues talking, watching the Holt mansion crumble in the background.

Three hours later, we’re finally given the seal of approval to return home.

The fire still smolders, but they’re confident it has subdued enough to be of no risk to our property.

Others still mill around, clearly disappointed that the ordeal is over, and a reporter from the local newspaper arrives to take photographs for tomorrow’s front page.

Dad kisses Mom on the cheek woodenly, for the benefit of anyone watching from the sidewalk. “I’m heading to work.”

“But it’s a Saturday,” Mom says.

“I have a lot to do,” he insists. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

She nods, then turns her attention to me as we make our way back inside. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” She rubs my shoulder. “Between the fire and food poisoning, your final Harvest Ball didn’t turn out how you expected.”

Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I insist. “Just cold.”

“At least you don’t have school in the morning,” she says, kissing my cheek. “Sweet dreams.” She smiles sadly, like there’s more she wants to say, but decides against it. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

I drag my body upstairs. I reek of smoke and head straight for the shower. It takes a while to wash away the stench. Ash has soaked into my pores and burned my nostrils, making it hard to shed the smell entirely. When I collapse back into bed, sleep envelops me.

I’m not sure how long I’m asleep for—maybe a few hours, maybe only a few minutes—but creaking floorboards and the overwhelming stench of gas rouses me.

Someone is in my room.

I keep my eyes closed. I already know it’s them. I listen intently, only hearing one set of footsteps. Whoever it is, they’re alone.

I stay paralyzed, curled on my side with my back to the wall, facing away from the intruder. They move around my space, opening my closet and my drawers, rooting around inside. They’re not even attempting to be quiet.

“I know you’re awake,” a chilling British voice whispers. “I can sense it.”

I say nothing.

His hand glides over the top of my blankets, across my shoulder, and down the side of my body. It takes all my effort not to flinch, and I keep feigning sleep.

“I won’t hurt you. Not here. Not yet,” he purrs.

“I need more time to coax that pretty scream from the back of your throat.” He leans closer, sniffing my hair like an animal scenting me.

I hold my breath, not daring to exhale. “You smell sweet now, but you can’t wash us away.

We’re under your skin, in the walls, creeping into your mind.

We’re here to haunt you. Your phantoms. Your darkest, filthiest fantasies.

” He strokes a strand of my hair to the side and rests two callused fingers upon the jumping pulse in my neck. “So quick. And ours. All fucking ours.”

He stands again and continues his exploration. He picks objects up and sets them back down, marking his territory to make sure I know that nothing is private anymore. There are no boundaries to their twisted obsession.

The door handle turns.

“No one touches our little ghost but us,” he says, before disappearing into the night.

His parting words confirm what I feared.

They started the Holt fire.

I don’t move, even long after he’s gone, for fear he’ll return. When I’m finally certain it’s clear, I jump up, racing to my door to prop a chair against it. It won’t stop them from coming in, but at least I’ll get a warning.

Dawn is breaking. When I turn to face my mirror, I see a smudge of black soot across my neck and another note taped up.

Strike a match and watch it burn.

If they burned down a house, what else are they capable of?

A tiny smile crosses my face. I raise my hands to my mouth in horror. What’s wrong with me? Knowing they did that for me shouldn’t feel good! Maybe Dad was right to take me to the asylum. Perhaps that’s where I belong. With them.