Page 93 of Horror and Chill
Her bubble pops fast.
Little Horror: We already have it off. It’s fall break. Don’t you know this because of your nephew?
Evander: No. We don’t follow his schedule like that. Our sister lets us know when she needs us. Otherwise, we volunteer when we need to see you.
I set the phone down, pulse steady for the first time all night. Garron’s still grinning, Evander still cold. But me? I’m already planning.
“She’s actually in,” I say. My voice feels different in my throat.
Garron’s grin spreads wide. “Knew she would be. Little Horror likes to pretend she’s got rules, but the second you press? She folds.”
Evander sighs. “She didn’t fold. She compromised. Which is worse. Means she’s ready to burn with us.”
The thought makes my blood race.
“We need a place to stay, somewhere close, private. A week minimum. That gives us time to plan, to scout. To kill.”
Garron's thumbs move quickly over his phone screen. “Airbnb. Found one ten minutes out. Big house, no neighbors.” He looks up at me, grinning. “It’s perfect.”
Evander leans forward. “Michael Templeton dies. She can watch or participate, but one of us is with her at all times. We made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
I cut in, a smile curling. “Not just him. You think I’m going to stop at one?”
Garron chuckles, eyes flashing. “Knew you wouldn’t.”
“She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re not stopping at Michael. Her mother deserves to pay too. And everyone else in thatchurch who touched her, broke her, or sat there silent while she bled.”
Evander doesn’t flinch. “Then we’ll take our time. One name at a time. We’ll make her see what vengeance looks like when it’s not just a fantasy.”
The room feels electric, charged. Garron laughs under his breath, scrolling through pictures of the rental. “Fucked-up little family vacation,” he says. “Week in the country. A body count to match.”
I close my eyes and see her. She thinks she’s safe because we swore.
But promises don’t mean mercy.
Not for Michael.
Not for her mother.
Not for anyone who ever stood by while they carved her into something broken.
We’ll show her what monsters really look like.
And we’ll make her love us for it.
39
Agatha
I hatethe way the “go live” button makes my stomach flip. Like it’s stage fright even though I’ve been doing this long enough to know better. My subscribers aren’t strangers. They’re mine. They’ve watched me through enough orgasms, meltdowns, and everything in between. I should feel at home by now.
But I’ve been MIA since taunting them with the ring, but I had the crypt shoot and the Ghostface shoot. They haven’t seen those yet—but they will, once the calendar drops—and I can’t wait for their reactions. Now the chat is already rolling in with notifications before I even sit down.
I fix the last braid over my shoulder, tugging it forward so the silver-gray shines against the black corset I’ve stuffed myself into. My lipstick is matte black, sharp against my pale skin. I shoved everything against the wall, dragged out candles, draped blood-red fabric behind me so the camera sees nothing but drama. Boudoir horror Barbie.
“Alright, alright,” I mutter under my breath, clicking the button. The red light comes on. I paste on the smile.
“Hi, creeps.” My voice comes out lighter than I feel. “Yeah, I know. I disappeared. I’m sorry. Calendar shoot for Behind the Lens ate my whole life. But—” I lean closer to the camera. “I promise it was worth it. You’re going to cream your screens when you see it.”
