Page 4 of Devil on the Lake

Shaking my head, I veer for the hearse, only to be yanked back against his firm chest. Despite the chill, he’s warm. I swallow.

“What are you doing?”

“That one’s full. Besides, I have a special ride for my VIP.”

I fight another shudder. Does he have to whisper against my earlobe like that? I debate cutting my losses and leaving. Mom can’t be too far away yet. We live on the opposite side of town.

But Dante has my ID and the administrative office will be pissed if I tell them I lost it again. Whatever dick move Dante is probably planning, I can handle it.

“Fine.”

“This way.”

He leads us into the shadows, away from the orange glow of the parking lot lights to his dirt bike parked behind the community center.

“No,” I hiss. “No fucking way.”

He looks up from his ride and grins. It’s not a nice smile at all. “What’s wrong? Scared? I thought you were a fearless badass.”

“That thing is a death trap. I’ve seen you race it.” His chest puffs with pride and I scoff. “Let me rephrase: I’ve seen you wipe out. I’m not getting road rash and trashing this outfit for you.”

“Can’t have that.” The drag of his eyes down my body is a searing burn. He gets in my face. “Get the fuck on, or I’m making you walk. It’s over four miles.”

My breath leaves me on a ragged exhale. “Fine.”

He swings a leg over and waits for me. The rumble of the motorbike tugs at something deep in my stomach.

Shit. Okay, I can do this. Steeling myself, I bunch my skirt up so it doesn’t snag and climb on behind him. I hesitate long enough that Dante huffs impatiently and grabs my hands, jerking them around his waist.

“Hold on or you’ll fall off, idiot.”

THREE

WILLOW

A shocked squeal escapes me as he takes off, the engine of his bike growling. On instinct, my hold around his waist tightens. His bark of laughter is stolen away in a moment by the wind whipping us while we pass the hearse the cheerleaders took. It takes a second to register that I’m basically fondling his abs.

I hunch down and close my eyes. Blood rushes in my ears, my pulse speeding up. How can he get on this thing every weekend and speed through the tight turns of the bumpy trails with Phoenix? I don’t even think we’re going as fast as he does for a race.

We take a bend that he leans into for balance and my eyes fly open in panic. A scream catches in my throat. I glimpse the moonlight reflecting off Silver Lake through the pine trees. We’ve left the main road for a path that follows the edge of it. There isn’t a trace of the luxurious estates, McMansions, and huge cabin homes, so I think we’ve left the residential side of the gated community.

Dante angles his head back slightly, then guns it. My stomach drops and I shriek, clutching him tighter. His shoulders shake with his amusement at freaking me out. I pinch him and he grunts, retaliating by taking the bike through a narrow space between two sapling trees. I dig my nails into his skin when the bike goes airborne for a few terrifying seconds.

“Dante!” My yell is barely out before we land. The jolt makes my teeth clack. “You’re an asshole!”

“So uptight,” he barks over his shoulder.

The sound of music and the tall shadows moving in the firelight are a relief. We’re at the party. Dante’s thrill-seeking torture can stop.

He parks the bike by a cabin with glow in the dark paint streaked with messages tokeep outandbeware of the devil. It must be the one he and his buddies selected for the weekend. Other cabins are visible from here, but they’re far enough away to create a sense of privacy, each with their own themed decorations. An arch made out of thin white aspen branches with hay bales and carved pumpkins beckons for us to go through it for the main party.

I narrow my eyes at the eerie dolls Dante mentioned hanging from nooses in the trees. Several of them bear a likeness to me—one even has black short hair with a white streak.

“You’re sick.”

“Like them?” His cruel grin is nauseating. “I did that one special just for you.”

He points at the one with identical hair to mine. I sneer and stomp in the direction of the aspen arch. The crunch of twigs and leaves behind me tells me he’s stomping after me. The path winds between trees until the music gets louder. The warmth of the roaring bonfire greets me around another copse of trees.

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