Page 7 of Tricked By Jack
“Well,” she sing-songs, waggling her eyebrows. “I’m not one to talk—”
“Right,” I snort.
“But from what I know, it’s going to be unforgettable. Like, some seriously epic shit.” She tilts her head to the side, expression suddenly serious. “Maybe you shouldn’t go, Eve. The Knights aren’t exactly your friends. They’re not anyone’s friends.”
I wave her off. “It’s only one Knight who hates me.” At least as far as I know.
“Sure, sure,” she rushes out. “Forget I said anything.”
Two hours and several drinks later, we stumble out of the club, my arm looped through Shelby’s for stability. The cool September air hits my flushed skin, and I inhale deeply, trying to clear the alcohol haze from my head.
“Wanna share a ride?” she asks, fumbling with her phone.
I nod, but as I turn to look down the street, something catches my eye. Afigure stands in the shadows between buildings—tall, hulking, and utterly still.
They wear what looks like a gas mask, and even from this distance, I can feel their gaze locked on me.
I blink, and they’re gone.
“Eve? You okay?” Shelby’s voice pulls me back.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “Just thought I saw something weird.”
A car pulls up next to us, and Shelby announces it’s our ride. As I slide into the backseat, I glance once more at the spot where the figure stood. Nothing but empty shadows now.
Closing the door, I tell myself it was just the alcohol playing tricks on my eyes. After all, this is the Bronx and not Manhattan. Which means a guy casually wearing a gas mask would definitely stand out and gain attention from more people than just me.
Since I live the closest, I get out first, and after hugging Shel goodnight, I stumble into the apartment complex I live in.
I almost fall asleep while riding the elevator to my floor, and when I do get out, I almost get into a fight with my keys that act like they get a prize if they avoid the keyhole long enough.
“You. Will. Get. In. There,” I hiss. The jangle of my keys sounds like a mocking laugh.
The hallway tilts slightly, and I brace one hand against the doorframe, steadying myself with a quiet laugh. This is what freedom looks like, I think as I finally manage to unlock my door—messy, imperfect, and deliciously uncontrolled.
My apartment is dark except for the single lamp I left on, casting long shadows across my furniture. I kick off my heels with a satisfied groan, letting them land where they may instead of placing them neatly in the closet as the old Eve would have done.
I pad barefoot to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water that I down in greedy gulps. The cool liquid helps clear my head, though the room still wobbles pleasantly at the edges.
A sharp knock cuts through my thoughts.
Chapter 3
The Bride
Ifreeze, glancing at the digital clock on my microwave. It’s way too late, or early, for a casual visitor. Not that I ever get any of those. Shelby and Caleb are the only ones occasionally stopping by.
Another knock, firm and precise.
A chill ripples beneath my skin as I slowly turn toward the door. I hold my breath, listening for… something. A voice, footsteps, or shuffling. But nothing comes.
I set my glass down and move silently to the door. While moving, I silently scoff at myself. If Shelby told me this happened to her, I’d roll my eyes and ask why she didn’t just ignore it. But curiosity wins over any common sense I should possess.
Just as I reach for the door, the knock sounds again, as if whoever’s on the other side knows I’m here.
“Who is it?” I call out.
The hallway beyond my door remains silent. No shuffling feet, no impatient sighs. Whoever stands outside is patient. I look through the peephole, holding my breath as if the person on the other side might hear it.
