Page 53 of The Trick

“You’re sick, Maddox.”

“Yep,” I deadpan, reaching for my phone. “You know what else is sick?”

“What?” she asks, eyes rolling.

Unlocking my phone, I swipe to one of my new favorite apps. “It’s sick just how far technology has come since we met. The apps we used to have are nothing compared to what we have now. Now you can take just one pre-recorded word someone speaks and suddenly their voice is yours.”

“You wouldn’t,” she seethes.

“Ha, all these years spent at each other’s throats and it’s like you don’t know me at all,” I retort, pressing the red play button on the screen.

Focusing on her expression, I bask in the way the color drains from her skin as she hears her voice inviting her closest friends and family to this exact location deep in the woods by the pitchfork tree for an impromptu Halloween gathering…at midnight.

A boisterous chuckle starts deep within my throat before flooding the air with my laughter. “I would and I did,” I say through the uncontrollable amusement I find in this situation. “Ah,” I sigh, my cheeks still sore from my laughing fit. “It’s incredible. Now everyone you know and love can meet up where you screwed me over. At the exact location, at the same fucking time, so they can witness firsthand the ripple effect your crimes have had.”

Now she laughs. “That’s cute and all, Dr. Evil, but you have no proof. Everyone in this town knows the reputation you have; they’d never believe you.”

“You’re right, but the bones, pictures, and videos I have collected over the years, all the way up until this evening, when you just had to kill again, will say otherwise,” I pause watching the pigment drain from her face. “Go ahead, you know where to go. I’ll even give you a head start,” I sneer.

CHAPTER 23

The adrenaline that spreads through my veins feels like the prick of a thousand knives. It’s sharp and unending, just like the blade Maddox used to add his malevolent touch to my skin. The only difference is now I feel like I’m the one about to be stabbed in the back. Like the circle karma travels in is about to round the corner and slap me in the face and I can’t allow that to happen. Especially from him.

I’ve worked too damn hard these past fifteen years, carefully curating a persona that allows me the freedom to indulge my demons while fooling others. I’ll be damned if he ruins this for me with something as egregious as the truth.

As I make my way closer to the woods, I’m not only reminded of how much I despise Maddox right now, but how much I loathe running. Seriously, now I know why Michael Myers always did his cryptic walk in the movies. This running shit gets old real fast. I’m exhausted and sweaty and the only time that is acceptable is when I’m being fucked or killing. Currently, I’m doing neither, so this is a no go for me, but since Maddox is so intent on exacting his delayed revenge on me tonight, the asshole has given me no other choice.

With Dutch Melrose’s “Runrunrun” playing in the background of my mind, I hum the beat in an effort to make this hellish race a bit more tolerable.

My humming shifts into me full out singing the song. It’s a good thing no one is out right now because I currently look like the most accurate depiction of what I truly am…a bloody, slutty, mess.

Continuing my sprint, I make sure to look back every few feet, to see if he’s there and even though his towering devilish self is nowhere to be found I take no comfort in that. I know better because he and I are one and the same. Part of the thrill of the trick is not only to deceive but to outwit the other with enough premeditation and expertise to win no matter the cost.

Taking limited relief in his absence, I resume running when I feel my thighs beginning to buzz. Ignoring it, assuming it must be the adrenaline doing what it does best, I work through it but it persists.

Confused, I stop running and see my phone somehow hasn’t fallen from my thigh harness, even when he was railing me before in the cemetery.

My hand glides down my thigh, past the blood that has now stained my skin, and the chaotic mess of shredded fishnet stockings.

It’s Delilah.

Thank fuck, elation travels from my chest to my fingers that are now curled around the snap of my holster, retrieving my phone.

Swiping right to answer the call, I raise my phone to the side of my face.

“Hey, babe. Fuck, do I have a lot to fill you in on,” I say.

A throaty groan emerges through the speaker, making my cheeks immediately flush with a surge of heat that contrasts the cold, clammy feeling spreading through my palms like a virus.

The momentary tinge of optimism I had answering her call evaporates as a familiar voice slithers into my ear. The husky and sultry tone feels like a knife driving into my brain.

“I love when you call me babe,” Maddox snickers. The arrogance in his voice is the equivalent to what I imagine being serenaded by the devil would feel like.

Cold.

Hostile.

Unrelenting.

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