Ember Chance thought she'd seen the last of her arch nemesis when he was shipped away after a homecoming prank gone wrong. But after a year of good behavior, Hayden Cross is back and out for revenge.
Beyond the pranks, rumors, taunting, and drama h...
He always wondered why they chose the most uncomfortably creepy and inconvenient places for their meetings. Were ghostly abandoned cabins really that necessary? Did he really need to be escorted by two giant men holding rifles bigger than him?
"You need to move faster," one of the men barks at him for what has to be the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. The man's voice is an explosion through the quiet trees around them, echoing so loud, he expects park rangers to burst through the trees at any second.
He doesn't respond, quickening his stomp across the wet, tangled pathway cut through the forest, and stares straight ahead. Rain had transformed the dirt path into one giant river of mud up to his ankles and the sharp pain in his ribs makes it impossible to think of anything else.
The last time they were all together, the meeting was in a closed off portion of a sewer system. He should be happy they're walking through three inches of mud and not other stuff.
"We're almost there. Do you have what we need?" the second one asks from over his shoulder. The man is decorated in so much camouflage gear, it would have been impossible to see the man if it weren't for the orange stripe of the gun holster on his hip.
His body goes rigid and the pain in his ribs dulls from the fear in his stomach. "That's none of your business," he answers stiffly.
Of course it is, a voice in his head scolds him. Why else would they be asking about it?
The two men burst into laughter. "This is going to be fun."
They reach the cabin a few minutes later. It's more of a shack than a cabin. Without any light, boards and broken caution tape billowing in the cool September wind, they were walking right to the front door of a murder house.
It was in fact a murder house. Everyone inside had gallons of blood on their hands.
"Good luck, kid." One of the men says, clapping him on his shoulder as the two guards took their places at the door.
The door opens with a haunting creek and he slowly steps inside, half expecting there to be ghosts or mangled corpses scattered in front of him. Instead, there's a tattered welcome mat with little red flowers on them and the only light in the houses comes from a small lamp settled on a plastic table next to a closet. As he walks further into the house, light from lighters, phone and computer screens illuminates the room. He would have never guessed there would be an artillery of highly trained killers and crooks crunched into one tiny place. But there were. Ten pairs of deadly eyes land on him and the speech he'd been preparing vanishes instantly.
Here he was in the lion's den without the one thing they asked him to retrieve.
No one would know where to go looking for his body. No one would ever find him.
"I'm glad to see you," a deep voice greets from the table. The white fluorescent light casts long blue and black shadows on the man's tan skin, elongating his subtle smile into a evil and devilish grin that would have the Joker from Batman cringing. "Come, sit down."
And when he sits down, his eyes land on the long knife and gun laid out on the table in front of him. The scary man is quiet and the air around him is harsh and dangerous and disastrously cold. This man was, after all, their leader. He clasps his hands together.
"I know you don't have what I want," the man states bluntly. "And I'd like to know why that is."
His throat goes dry. "I ran into some complications."
Despite the other man's calm demeanor, the psychotic fury in his eyes rages. This is going to set them back a week. They're already three weeks behind schedule. The plan isn't going well and someone is going to have to pay for it.
"Complications?" he asks tensely.
"Yes."
Someone sets a laptop on the table beside them and the calm demeanor of the leader is gone in an instant. Standing up, the man whips the screen around to face him. "This!" he shouts. "This is your complication!"
The screen filters with the picture of a girl with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. She's staring right into the camera with her lips curled in a sly smile that sends a tremor of both anger and apprehension through him. She might as well be staring right at him through the screen, mocking his failure.
"A teenage girl!" the man bellows. "How can I expect you to do anything for me when you lose your first assignment to this!"
"I'm working on it," he answers tersely.
The man slams his palms onto the table and leans forward. "How exactly are you working on it?"
"There's a party this weekend," he explains. "I'm going to get it from her then. I promise that you will have the memory stick in your hand on Monday."
The man stares at him suspiciously, fingers inching across the table toward the silver-bladed knife. "Monday. Or else a teenage girl will be the least of your problems." His gaze turns murderous. "I'll be watching you this time."
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