Page 45 of Property of Chaos

I use the bathroom quickly, gaze distant as I stare at the wall opposite and practice what I want to say for the thousandth time, then visually sweep the house to ensure I don’t risk burning the place to the ground. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve left my straighteners on or a candle alight.

To the untrained eye, it’d appear as though I have a death wish.

To the better informed, it’s clear my fucking mind is elsewhere the majority of the day.

Clouds mask the sun, rays breaking through in slim slashes of light across the ground. The cooler weather is a small gift considering it means I could wear a comfy hoodie to this goddamn secret squirrel business. Something to shield me from the toxicity the discussion will bring. A safe place to nestle that’ll provide some sensory relief when the inevitable anxiety attacks.

I fix the zipper on my left boot as I stumble toward the roadside, making a mental note to do some online shopping later for a replacement for my old faithful.

A flash from the field across the road catches my eye.

I snap upright, back straight, and eyes squinted as I attempt to find the source of the reflection. It was the kind of flash that comes from metal when it catches the light—the shimmer of something smooth and shiny.

I carefully tread the final steps to the end of my driveway to wait out Marianna, gaze scouring the landscape. Arms folded high across my chest, I tug my hands inside the long sleeves. The flash occurs again—a split-second, but enough to pinpoint its location to my right.

Dread drains the blood from my head, a wash of numbness that pools in my feet.Who the fuck is that?Perched on a wooden gate, mid-calf boots propped up on the frame is a fucking man wearing a goddamn gas mask. Not the full-face kind, just the lower half, the same as I’ve seen athletes wear when altitudetraining. Yet the odd steam-punk style accessory isn’t the most disturbing part about him. It’s the pitch-black eyes, shadowed beneath the brow and lashes so they look like two black pits. Fuck—maybe it’s the ink across his goddamn forehead that’s clear even from all the fuck the way over here.

The only thing that comforts me is his leather vest, with little slashes of color across it where the badges are stitched.

The glint draws my eye down to the source of the light.Fucking hell.That is one massive fucking knife.

His arm draws back, the blade held high in his grasp, before he slams the weapon down to embed the sharp tip into the top of the wooden gate. His focus never leaves me as the biker reaches into the breast pocket of his vest and tugs out a phone.

I’m too stunned to fucking move when he lifts the device and seemingly snaps a goddamn picture.

The hell?

The rumble of a car from my left breaks the spell between us, and I turn to spot Marianna’s white Jaguar speeding down the road.

The freak across the road rips the knife from the gate, sheathing it against his ribs before he hops off the fence. I wish like hell for Marianna to get her ass here pronto as I watch him stride toward the roadside.Dude.This guy is insane. He’d fit right in if he was chasing me through a house of horrors on fright night at the amusement park, but out here?

He’s a goddamn serial killer, without a doubt.

The Jag skids to a stop in front of me, the passenger window down an inch. “Get the fuck inside.”

I wrench the door open and drop my ass to the seat, barely tugging it closed behind me before my best friend performs a maneuver I had no fucking idea she was capable of. The tail end of the car whips around with her tight turn on the dirt road,spraying shit everywhere and narrowly missing the madman as he steps off the grass.

“The fuck?” I stab the seatbelt into the buckle as soon as my balance returns.

“I see you’ve met the new neighbors.”

My blood turns to ice. “The fucking what?”He never said.

Marianna grimaces a smile. “Surprise. You now live across the road from a motorcycle club.”

Nope. This is so not happening. I like it quiet out here. I like being alone. Free from… whatever the hell he is.

“Who the hellwasthat guy?” I twist to look out the back window and glimpse the monster’s back as he returns to the gate.

“Vanessa,” Marianna announces. “Meet Circus.”

“You mean freakshow,” I mutter.

“Same, same.” She shrugs.

“He looks like Jason and the chick from The Ring had a baby.” I sink into the seat, staring wide-eyed out the windshield.

“Nobody knows where he came from, so I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.” She glances across and frowns. “You good there?”

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