Page 22 of Ghosts of Halloween

She’s damaged goods.

I turn away and kick the wall with a low growl, because that last thought makes me hate myself even more than I hate her.

I’m better than this. I don’t slut shame, even her, though if anyone deserves the shame, it’s Harlow. She earned that because of what she did to us. But I still shouldn’t say that about her. Not after everything I’ve been through.

I know what I’m doing, why I have these ugly thoughts. I’m trying to loathe her again. I’m trying to make myself hate her, but for some fucking reason, it’s not working.

It used to be easy. Just ten minutes ago, I was fully on board with the plan, itching for the games to end.

Until I found out. And it shouldn’t change anything, but, of course, it does.

To learn that someone hurt her like that, that she’s broken because of it… It makes my blood boil. It makes me want to go out there and slash some throats, and then come back here and show her the blood. Show her she’s avenged.

Even though what I really should have done was protect her, but that wasn’t fucking possible.

And I know this. We’re trapped. There’s nothing we could have done. But it still rankles. Protecting Harlow from harm is an awful compulsion that sits in my brain like a parasite. I can’t control it.

Fuck, we should have saved her.

The fact something like this happened to her and that we could have done nothing to prevent it makes me burn with rage. My bones itch, and I can’t fucking scratch them. I can only stand here and watch, hoping the plan will free us of this obligation. Maybe then, the compulsion will stop. The rage.

Except, I don’t fucking even want to follow the plan.

Harlow moans, shaking with pleasure, and Jack encourages her, pouring sweet words down her ear while caressing her stump. He’s got a thing for it, the sick fuck. And Caden… I tilt my head to get a better look. He’s hard, and there is a wet spot on his jeans.

He’s mine. And, fuck, but I can’t just watch him with someone else. I can’t watch and not be a part of it.

I clench my hands into fists, wavering. I can’t deny it any longer: I’m hard, too. The scene is highly erotic, and even though Harlow’s body does nothing for me, the way she responds, submitting to pleasure so utterly, makes my bloodgo faster.

And I can’t help but see how much Caden enjoys this. Eating pussy. Maybe I can even roll with it. I wonder if we can untie her later, lay her down on the floor, and have him get her off with his mouth while I fuck his ass. He can get both, then. Dick and cunt in one go. And I’ll be there with him. Inside him.

Fuck.

My resolve breaks and before I fully realize what I’m doing, I go over to them and pull Harlow’s knee up roughly, putting it on Caden’s shoulder. She wobbles, whimpering in surprise, and Jack tightens his arm around her, looking up at me. He raises his eyebrows, and I see the way his mouth twitches, suppressing a smirk.

“Told you so,” he says, smug as shit.

Yeah, he did. I clench my jaw and drop my hand to Caden’s head, relishing the way he shivers at my touch. He wants this, too. For me to be here. And I might play tough, but when push comes to shove, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

“Suck that clit, C,” I say, grabbing Caden’s hair and tugging it roughly up. “Suck it real good, and after she comes, drop your pants. I wanna play, too.”

13

Harlow

I can’t see anything, but I know I’m surrounded. Strangler kneels between my legs, one of my knees hooked over his shoulder, his rough cheek brushing against my inner thigh. Butcher stands at my side, close enough for his body heat to sizzle over my skin, but not touching.

And Groomer is at my back, holding me, his touch making my blood fizz with sparks.

So many sparks.

No one has ever given me this. It seems highly ironic that it would happen now, after I finally gave up.

But ironic or not, I’ll take it and ask for seconds. This is what I’ve looked for all along. The kind of touch that makes me soar.

I always coped by running and having sex. Noah tried to get me to behave when he was alive, but he worked all day long and did jobs a few nights a month to support us, so he was rarely home and awake. I could do what I wanted.

And the sex never felt amazing, but it made me feelsomethingand at the time, it was enough. It got me touch and attention. Made me feel wanted and beautiful, so I did it. Didn’t even need lube back then. I got wet all on my own.

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