Chapter 1

One

Abigail

“Abigail, you’re being ridiculous,” Miles grouses, as he whirls around to face me. He jostles his beer can, spilling warm, yeasty piss-water on the costume I spent hours making for this stupid Halloween Pub Crawl I didn’t want to go to in the first place.

Typical Miles.

He does whatever he wants and never thinks about other people’s feelings. Especially mine. Not once in the past five months has he ever made me feel cared for or like I matter to him.

And I’m sick of it.

I follow him out of the bar, into an alleyway. He didn’t want to have this conversation in public, so we came out here, despite how cold it is.

“If she’s some random girl, why does she even have your number? And why the fuck would she send you pictures like that?!”

Full on nude photos. In lingerie. With a sexy little text saying, “Come over tonight.” I’m not stupid—some random girl isn’t going to invite him over so casually, like she’s done it dozens of times before.

“I can’t help that women want me, Abi. They’re going to throw themselves at me. You need to trust me, and going through my phone while I’m taking a piss isn’t trusting me. The scene you made in front of the rest of the cast and crew makes you look crazy. It was embarrassing,” he berates me, raising his voice.

I’ve had it. I’m not going to stay with someone who treats me like shit. Who blames everything on me and refuses to take accountability. Who can’t even compliment me on the angel costume I meticulously sewed hundreds of feathers and rhinestones on.

I only picked something so cliche because he wanted to be a devil. And by a devil, I mean he showed up wearing jeans, a tee, and a plastic pair of horns on his head.

Miles and I have nothing in common. He’s a dude-bro-wanna-be actor who spends more time beefing up at the gym than he does memorizing his lines. There are actors who spend years learning the craft and work their ass off to get on a Broadway stage, but he only got a major role in this production because the director is his father.

I’m a costume design assistant who’s either buried in her sewing room or in bed reading a book at ungodly hours of the night. We are not the same, and I should have realized what this was a long time ago.

I’m his booty call.

“Are we even dating?” I ask him. “You don’t introduce me as your girlfriend. There are random women messaging you with nudes, and you probably don’t even know my birthday.”

He stares at me in silence, rolling his eyes, like this conversation is beneath him. Running his hand through his golden blond hair in frustration, he pins me with a tired look.

“You agreed to not put a label on it. That we’d keep it casual and see where it takes us.”

“Yes, with the agreement we wouldn’t see other people. I’m so fucking stupid, wasting my time with you and not seeing this for what it was sooner. I’m done.”

“Wait, what?” he snaps in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’m done with you. Whatever was going on between us is over.”

“You don’t get to dump me,” he growls, backing me into the brick wall.

Miles is a huge guy, and while he can be moody, I didn’t think he’d ever get physical with me. But he’s been drinking a lot and seems…off.

“Please move. I’m going home.”

“No, you’re going to take back what you said and stay here with me,” he orders. As if I’m some dog who’ll jump at his every command.

When I try to sidestep him, he grabs my wrist in a firm grip that hurts, pulling me toward him. I try to pull away, but he’s too strong.

“Abi, babe, don’t make me do something I’m going to regret,” he says in a low, threatening tone. He runs his hands up my corset, caressing the exposed tops of my breasts.

His unwanted touch makes my skin crawl. My heart beats so hard I feel like I might pass out. Sweat drips down my temple as unease coils in my gut. Fuck . How the fuck am I going to get out of this mess?

It’s unusually quiet for a Halloween night in New York City’s theater district. Some people walk by the alleyway, but they don’t see us. None of them stop to help. If they did, they’d probably be intimidated by how big Miles is. The bar is packed, and I don’t think anyone will hear me if I scream for help.

Please, universe, send help , I silently beg.

“You’re making me uncomfortable. Let me go and stop touching me,” I enunciate clearly, hoping that’ll snap him out of it.

“Oh yeah, make me. You’ve made me wait for months to fuck you. I took you out on dates. Bought you presents. I played the long game and waited. You owe me,” he shouts.

“I believe she said to stop touching her,” a deep raspy voice says.

I peer around to see three men standing behind Miles, blocking us from the street. They’re all at least a few inches taller than him and wear such realistic costumes, they even put mine to shame.

The first one wears a black suit, but his face is painted to look like a skull. His light blond hair complements his high cheekbones and straight nose. His eyes are black, like the hollows around his eye sockets and nose, giving him the appearance of a real skull. The contacts he’s wearing completely eclipse his irises. He smiles at me, and his teeth are a blinding white.

The second one wears black suit pants, but instead of a suit jacket, he wears a black vest over his white dress shirt. The matte black horns corkscrewing around his head look so realistic…like they’ve actually sprouted from his black hair. He also has black eyes, but they have a mischievous glitter to them. Like he’s here to fuck shit up and have fun doing it.

The third has the same eyes as the first two, but he sports a pair of inky black wings that look incredible, like a costume specialist made them. He has red hair like me, but his is richer and darker, falling down to his shoulders, whereas mine is a strawberry blonde that hits my lower back. When he sees my wings, he ruffles his own, and I can’t help but wonder how he makes them move. Maybe a hydraulic mechanism?

If I make it out of this shitshow in one piece, I can ask. Because even though they’re interrupting Miles assaulting me…they still radiate an air of pure danger. There’s something…different about them.

These are not the kind of guys you fuck around and find out with. But Miles is a moron who can’t read a room.

“Why don’t you three butt out of this and go inside for a drink? I’m having a conversation with her.”

“She has a name, you know,” the one with the wings says in a beautifully posh British accent. “Don’t be a rude twat about it.”

“And it’s not so much a conversation as it is you being a prick,” the man with the skull makeup and blond hair chimes in. His voice is mild and calm. It carries an air of confidence.

Miles huffs, obviously not used to being challenged. He has wanna-be alpha male syndrome and always thinks he’s the strongest man in the room. Looks like he’s in for a rude awakening.

“Butt the fuck out, assholes.” He squares up instead of backing down.

The one with the horns sighs before grabbing Miles and throwing him to the ground so quickly it’s almost a blur. He stands over him and I can’t see his face. But whatever he whispers to Miles does the trick, because he gets up and bolts down the block.

I breathe a sigh of relief, taking a minute to come back to earth. I was so nervous, I didn’t even realize before now that I was trembling.

All three men turn to me, and the sudden relief I felt at Miles’s retreat fizzles out. Their black eyes are unnerving as they all stare at me, like they’re taking stock of me.

“Are you okay?” Horns asks. He’s the one with the raspy voice.

“Um…yes. Thank you for that…” I awkwardly blurt out. “I’m just gonna head home now.”

Wings steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Not quite yet. Come into the bar with us and have a drink. It’s the least you can do to thank us.”

If any other man said that, I’d call bullshit. But he says it in such a playfully charming way, I can’t help but want to accept. Maybe it’s the accent…but his voice makes me feel at ease.

Skull smiles at me. “We want to get to know the woman we saved on Halloween night. Please?”

For a moment, I imagine how much fun it would be to get to know the men who saved me…in multiple senses of the words, if ya catch my drift. Even in Halloween costumes, they’re all so handsome. But a deep urge inside gives me pause. If tonight has taught me anything, it’s that men aren’t always who they seem, and I can’t pick a decent one. These strangers could be monsters for all I know. They certainly seem menacing enough.

“I’m tired, so I’m going to head home. But thank you.”

“Your phone number for a rain check?” Horns asks. Although it’s not so much a question as a strong suggestion.

“Um, sure,” I say, taking his offered phone and entering a random number into it.

I scurry out of the alleyway and sigh when I see a cab. Horns is right behind me, opening the door. As I get into the car, I swear I hear his deep, raspy voice say, Goodbye for now, Abigail . But that’s silly.

I never introduced myself, so how would he even know my name…