Page 85 of Ghosts of Halloween

Now, Michael will be there, too. And Harlow can do to him whatever she wants. To them all.

“I… I got a bit crazy,” she says with an uneasy laugh, stepping from foot to foot.

“Princess,” I say, bringing her closer until she relaxes into my hug. “You were magnificent. Gave him exactly what he deserved. How did it feel?”

She laughs, this time with more confidence, though she still shakes slightly. “Amazing,” she admits in a quiet voice. “I wish… I wish I didn’t go so mad. There is so much stuff I could still do to him, but… I only hit him. Over and over.”

“Well, do you want to do more?” I ask, a sick thrill running up my spine. Honestly, Harlow punishing the guy who hurt her was the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen. I want to see her do it again. It’s pretty fucking hot.

“Can I?” she asks in a small voice.

“Hell yeah, baby,” I say, already grinning. “But we don’t have much time. One hour tops, okay?”

She steps back, flashing me a shaky smile, and bends to pick up the heavy frying pan. I grin, seeing her wield this heavy, bone-crushing weapon. It will do perfectly. Harlow sets her shoulders back, a determined look pinching her features. “One hour is enough.”

“Then come. Let’s get your revenge.”

50

Caden

“Shut up,” I say mildly, backhanding Greg across the face. They are both gagged, him and Ryan, but Greg’s squealing through his gag and the sound is annoying.

Or maybe I just need an excuse to hit him. I’m not as hot-headed as Jack, and I usually try to resolve conflicts peacefully or in more underhanded ways, but hell, my hands itch to lay into these two. I shouldn’t, though. This is Harlow’s revenge, and we caught them for her. She’s the one who will do the honors, but maybe she’ll let me help out.

When the basement door creaks open, the sound followed by shuffling noises and muffled screaming, I grin at the two boys, both securely tied to the sturdiest chairs in this house. A third chair awaits.

“I see Jack couldn’t hold back,” I comment, seeing the bloody mess that’s Michael’s face. His nose is broken, snot and blood running down his mouth and chin.

Silas snorts, pushing the guy down the stairs so he falls on the floor with a thud, groaning. “Not Jack. That’s Harlow’s handiwork.”

“Really?” I ask, giving the mauled rapist an impressed look as I help Silas haul him up. We drag him to the chair, and he’s so dazed, he barely puts up a fight. Silas gets to work securing him, and I grab Michael by the hair so I can look at his trashed face moreclosely.

His nose is a bloody pulp, and he breathes through his mouth, blood staining his teeth. His left eye is swollen shut, and I suspect his cheekbone is fractured, too.

“Fucked up by a little bird,” I murmur, dark satisfaction curling in my belly. I thought I was tapped out, but hell, if I see Harlow giving these three shits what they deserve, I think I’ll fuck her again.

“Broke his nose with the prosthetic,” Silas says, grinning at me. Fuck, he’s beaming with pride. I’m jealous he got to see it. “She was so wild. It was beautiful.”

I laugh under my breath, shoving Michael’s head back when steps come from the staircase. Jack and Harlow turn up, and I assess her instantly. She looks pale and shaken, glancing around curiously until her eyes settle on our three prisoners. She stops, giving them a long, wide-eyed look, the black frying pan clutched in her hand jerking.

“Come in, angel,” Silas says, a feverish glint in his eyes. “They are waiting for you.”

She glances at him, but her eyes return to Michael, who struggles against the restraints. His eyes grow panicked, consciousness clearly returning, and he whimpers. Harlow’s eyes narrow, and she takes a single step closer.

“Help!” he screams, his voice nasal. “Somebody help!”

I slap his face, and he yelps, but at least he stops screaming. He moans in fear and pain, shaking violently as Harlow takes another step closer. She stops there, tense, her balance on her toes like she’s poised to leap, but she doesn’t make a move.

“Fuck,” she mutters after a tense moment, licking her lips. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jack snorts, patting her back. “You had a pretty good idea upstairs, princess.”

She shakes her head, brows drawn into a frown. “I don’t want to mindlessly beat him up. I want to… stay in control.” She stares a moment longerat her oppressors, now tied up and ready to take her punishment, and turns to Silas. Her face is set, even though her lips tremble slightly. “Silas. If they were… yours… what would you do?”

And I get it. She’s never tortured anyone, and she doesn’t even know where to start. Our little bird is broken and filthy, but ultimately pure. I bet Silas will be happy to corrupt her. Mark her soul with his filth and drag her to hell with us, if Jack’s plan doesn’t work.

I know he has plenty of ideas.

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