Page 16 of Dirty Tricks

“I want to go back to the pumpkin carving one,” I say once we finish the tour. “Those bright colours make me feel so happy.”

“Are you sure it’s not the large knives that attract you?” Vonnie flashes a wicked grin. “But I prefer the stables.”

“No, thanks,” Jenna declares. “I’m allergic to hay bales and I can hardly play an angel if my face is covered in hives.”

“Which one did you like, then?”

“The serial killer display.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively. “I’ve always wanted to try a machete massacre.” She mimes at being a psycho killer, slashing the air.

“You’re more likely to be a victim,” Vonnie says.

Jenna tosses her head at the information. “That’s even better. These heels are such murder to wear, I could use a lie down.”

The frown she sends towards her gorgeous shoes makes me laugh and feel grateful I’m in my flat boots. “Well, that’s still two options. Want to play rock, paper, scissors for the honour of picking?” I wriggle my shoulders with joy. “I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

“So am I,” Jenna says, holding out her fist.

Vonnie squeals with laughter and I wonder how much vodka was diverted before ever reaching the inside of her flask. “From his reputation, I’m guessing when you’re with Todd, you get lucky every night.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Or three times a night.”

“Shut up.” Jenna aims a light swat at her friend. “In case the costume didn’t clue you in, I’m an angel. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

At the mention of Todd, I force a smile into place but my shoulders hunch, the muscles uncomfortably tight. The others don’t notice as I hold out my fist, bumping it against Jenna’s. “Best of three?”

It only takes two. My rock loses, then my paper.

“Murder chamber, here we come,” Jenna says, showing off her dance moves despite the supposed pain in her feet.

We’re close to the room, just passing by a victim with a gigantic axe buried in her head, when strong arms latch around my waist, lifting and spinning me in a circle. My friends continue onwards, not realising I’ve been snatched.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice modulator rumbles in my ear. I shake him off and turn, disconcerted at how easily it disguises Finn’s voice, the same way the red mask disguises his face.

I can’t even see his eyes, the holes set at such an angle, there’s nothing but shadows with an occasional flash of movement.

A thrill of fear shivers across my midriff.

He could beanybody.

But I know it’s him. I can tell by the white shirt that carries his family crest embroidered on the breast pocket. It strains a little at the seams as his muscles bulge larger than usual, but that’s probably due to swinging my entire weight around.

“You want a drink?” He jerks his head towards the bar while I stare in shock. Previous attempts to grab a drink in Finn’s presence have led to lectures on being one of ‘those girls,’ whatever in 1950s hell he means by that.

When I don’t answer quick enough, his arm curls around my waist again, drawing me close against his side as he heads for the bar, regardless.

There’s a long list of specialty cocktails alongside the normal wine and beer. I stand, reading through the descriptions, feeling the pressure to pick until all the words blur in front of my eyes.

“TheBloody Murdersounds good,” he says, arm still looped around my waist. “Although so does theSoulless Iced Tea.Which ones do you like the look of?”

I stare at him in surprise, then turn back to the list with a tingle of delight. “TheUnlucky Thirtiniand theBlack Magic Margaritas.”

“Hm.” He pulls me in front of him, linking his arms around my midriff though Finn doesn’t usually like to touch me much in public. When he does, it’s more likely to be grabbing my upper arm than wrapping himself around me.

I wonder if he got into the cocktails before leaving. Perhaps that’s why he missed the bus.

“How about taking one of each?”

My eyes open wide in amazement. “Yes, please,” I blurt before the offer gets snatched away. I tense for a moment, wondering if this is the prelude to a cruel jibe. My head replays the word ‘greedy’ from his criticism yesterday, making my collarbones feel hollow.

But he orders the four cocktails with no further comments, asking for two straws and handing one to me the moment they’re passed across. The glasses are so wide, brims alternately crusted with salt and ice, that I don’t think he’ll be able to handle all of them, but his long, thick fingers easily lift the stems.

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