Page 16 of My Masked Stalker
I grunt with dark amusement. “It was Russians shooting at me this time.”
“I don’t want to know,” he replies with a shake of his head. “You two are gonna get yourselves killed.”
“We’d never do that to you, baby,” Ethan says, walking through the door with a greasy bag of fast food. Just what the doctor ordered.
“Hey, doc?” I hail Damien with a grin that feels droopy. “Think I’ll be good enough to chase a girl through a corn maze next week?”
“Fucking idiot.” Damien ties off the last suture and presses a bandage into place, his jaw tight. “You’re lucky the round didn’t chew deeper. You’d have bled out before I got to you.”
Ethan drops the greasy bag on the counter and fishes out a burger, unwrapping it like it’s a damn holiday. “Told him he was losing his edge. Maybe he’s just distracted.” His smirk cuts my way, but it doesn’t hide the worry in his eyes.
I grunt, closing my eyes. My tongue feels heavy, but the word slips out anyway. “Emily.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Ethan snorts. “Called it.”
Damien curses under his breath. “Jesus, Cross. You’re bleeding in my kitchen, and you’re thinking about that girl?”
“Mine,” I rasp, forcing my eyes open.
Damien shakes his head like I’ve officially lost it, muttering something about “obsessive assholes with a death wish.” Ethan just grins wider, stealing my fries.
I let them bicker, my eyelids drooping again. My leg throbs, my body feels like lead, but all I can picture is pale gray eyes in the moonlight… and a red cloak waiting for me.
10
EMILY
Well, Barbara did it. She dragged me to the Halloween party on Long Island. Corn husks crunch under my thigh-high boots as I walk near the entrance to the corn maze, sipping on my spiced cider. I’m not about to get drunk with my coworkers and boss nearby, but I don’t think I can survive this without at least a little liquid courage.
Because I wore the costume Killian sent me. A costume Barb was absolutely thrilled about, and I had to scramble for excuses when she wanted a link to the store so she could check it out herself. I ended up telling her one of my neighbors gave it to me after buying it too small. But here I am, my thick red hooded cloak and tall boots hiding the scandalous pieces of fabric underneath.
I take a deep breath of the misty end-of-October air, the chill biting my lungs with its briskness. I feel both ridiculous and… sexy. My coworkers talk to me, laugh with me, and none of them know I’m all but naked underneath the Red Riding Hood disguise. Though I get a little bit nervous when one of my male colleagues squeezes my shoulder when talking to me. Is Killian watching? Is he plotting poor Tom’s demise? Will he use that same knife he fucked me with?
Shit. I’m losing the last threads of my sanity over that man. He’s been terrorizing me for two months and yet… Why does he make me feel kind of safe? The tiny, scabbed-over mark under my belly tingles, as if reminding me he’s far from harmless. Or reminding me I’m an idiot.
He hinted he’d be here tonight, the wolf claiming his Little Red. What if this is the end of our cat-and-mouse game?
“Hey, Ems.” Barbara nudges me with her elbow, and I nearly spill what’s left of my apple cider.
“What?” I ask, irritated to be caught off guard when I’ve never needed to look over my shoulder more than I do tonight.
Barb pulls the brim of her moderately sexy pirate costume’s hat low conspiratorially.
“There’s a guy with like a skull wolf’s head costume or something over at the cotton candy stand, and he keeps staring at you. Wonder if it’s because of your outfit?”
This time, I do drop my cider, the plastic cup spilling its contents over the fallen leaves.
“W—where?” I stutter, my head whipping around to look at the stands.
“Jesus, Emily,” Barbara groans. “Why are you so jumpy? No wonder you haven’t dated since Chris. And, let me tell you, I knew something was fishy about that guy as soon as he…”
Barb’s voice fades into a dull drone as every part of me searches for Killian in the crowd. There’s a queue at the cotton candy stand, but none of the men there are wearing a wolf skull mask, nor are any even remotely big enough to be my stalker. I scan the crowd again, slower this time, taking in every mask, every man with broad shoulders, every shadow moving between tents.
My cloak sways with the breeze, brushing my thighs, and suddenly I’m too aware of how little I’m wearing beneath it. I shiver, wondering if Killian is here, if he’s watching.
“Em?” Barbara’s voice pulls me back. “You okay?”
I nod too fast. “Yeah. Just cold.”
