1. Jeffrey

The day I was taken, it was sunny out. It'd been raining all week and I'd been so incredibly excited by the warmth. Richard, my older brother by less than a year, was scrambling eggs in the kitchen while my oldest brother, Christopher, yelled at someone from work on the phone. I was nine. I thought I had the world figured out.

Mom and Dad were gone, but they were always gone so that wasn't new or surprising. Maybe a small part of me had hoped that they'd be there on my last day—that I'd get to say goodbye, even though they wouldn't have known that's what I was doing—but their absence didn't change my plans.

I wore white sneakers, because they felt like new beginnings.

I wore white sneakers, because Lydia's favorite color was white. Because she'd told me she was going to be my new mom now, and I needed to start acting like I belonged with her.

Lydia was sugary promises and visions of the future.

Her clothes were never dirty.

She laughed at all my jokes.

Brought me gifts.

Told me I was special. I was perfect. That I should've been hers all along.

At the time, I hadn't seen her for what she was. She had seemed so pure. Kind. No one had ever treated me the way that she did. I thought she saw something in me, something my parents never had. I thought she'd take me away to somewhere brighter and better . Somewhere where the monsters couldn't find me.

Somewhere I'd be needed and loved.

I was a dumb kid—most kids are.

But I was exceptionally stupid. Because it took losing everything I'd ever known to realize that snow can cover spilled blood. That monsters sometimes wore Gucci slides, smelled like cinnamon-flavored gum, and promised happy endings.

If Lydia was a spider, I was the fly that flew willingly into her web.

I'd paid the price for my stupidity the second I climbed into her car that sunny day and realized the truth. I wasn't the only person who had been affected by my choices. I was innocent, naive. I hadn't realized what I'd done, or who had been hurt.

It'd been sixteen years since that sunny day from hell. Sixteen years and nearly every night, I'd lain awake, replaying that memory over and over. Replaying the year that led up to it. The gifts, the cookies, the lies. The doubts she whispered in my ear till my thoughts were hers.

It'd been sixteen years, and despite the fact she was in prison now—I was still trapped in Lydia Evan's web.

Jesus fucking Christ, could this room get any more crowded ? At twenty-five, with eyebags dark enough a customer at work that morning had asked me, "Who won?" I wasn't sure why I was torturing myself.

Because you're a glutton for punishment .

I should've gone home after open-mic night ended, before the horny crowds rolled in and the bass dropped low. But, like the sad sack I was…I'd stayed.

Stop acting miserable and fucking do something.

That had been my mantra when I'd texted Blair and found out he was heading off on a date with Richard. Don't get me wrong, I didn't resent him for that. In fact, I was proud of him, honestly. Happy that Blair and my brother had found each other.

Part of me was even relieved.

An ugly, bitter part of me that I tried not to acknowledge.

Because the truth was, now that I'd moved across the country to Elmwood, Maine to be with Blair like we'd planned, there was no buffer to protect me. And without Lydia around to distract him, he kept giving me those sad green eyes and asking me, "How's therapy going, dude?"

And I'd lie and pretend, like always.

"Soooo great. I'm not a basket case at all. Thanks for asking."

"I don't think about the fact I had to use bleach to clean your blood from the kitchen tile only a few months ago or anything."

"Or the fact that I thought you were dead for a while there. That Lydia had finally snapped and killed you."

"I'm just fucking dandy, really."

Our relationship over the last month had been, frankly… awkward. He felt it. I felt it. We all fucking felt it. But I couldn't seem to make it stop, no matter how many well-meaning, "Can I help you with anything?" texts I sent. Or how many, "I'm good! Can I help you with anything?" messages I got back.

An endless fucking loop of us being weirdly nice to each other.

It was uncanny as hell.

But neither of us seemed to be able to figure out how to make it fucking stop.

The last thing I need right now is to accidentally activate Blair's sad Pikachu face.

Especially when I keep doing that exact fucking thing.

Haven't I put him through enough?

Which is why I—wisely—kept the true extent of my fucked-up-ness to myself, like a good big brother. Also, why I was here —brotherless—sitting on a sticky barstool while flashing neon lights at a club an hour away from my new apartment blinded me.

Because I was maybe a bit delusional, I'd convinced myself that sitting alone in a room full of people would be less pitiful than sitting alone at home. That it was better than lying in bed and making shapes out of the popcorn ceiling while I over-thought what I'd say at my next therapy appointment.

I'd gotten it into my head that an excellent way to not spend the night by myself would be to get laid.

Part of me wanted to prove to myself that I still could, even though it'd been ages.

My seat squeaked as I pushed a twenty across the bar and ordered my sixth mocktail for the night. I'd be driving home, so alcohol wasn't in the picture for me, even though I kinda wanted it to be. Liquid courage and all that.

Don't get me wrong, I was no stranger to sex. To seduction.

I'd fucked my way through the graduating class at my high school in Oregon because it was something I was expected to do. Virile young male, family with money, golden-boy, star-of-the-baseball-team.

Getting my dick wet was pretty much a requirement to maintain the persona I'd created.

In public, I was untouchable.

Behind closed doors? Not so much.

But this was also my first time chasing tail since arriving in Elmwood, and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. I mean, sure, I was horny. I'd been horny for weeks. Been horny when I drove across the country, ditching my old life for a town I wished I didn't remember.

But mostly, I was tired .

Hence the eyebags.

And if there was one thing that helped me sleep, it was having sex.

Which was why I'd come back in instead of heading home after all the performers had finished. And why I was doing my damndest to ignore the weird prickle at the back of my neck that meant someone was watching me.

People were always watching me.

Peeking through my lashes, I scanned the crowd, but no chick jumped out at me. There was a shadowy man in the back corner of the room, though. His eyes flashed as the strobes hit him. His dark hair pushed back.

I could feel the weight of the stranger's gaze like a brand on my skin—but just as quickly as I'd spotted him, he disappeared.

When I'd first sat down at the bar I'd been hit on a few times, but I'd been too tired to mask my apathy as efficiently as I usually did, and the women hadn't stuck around. I didn't blame them. I was poor company when I wasn't trying to be someone else.

I should go home.

But wouldn't that be a waste?

I'm already here.

I should at least get my dick sucked, right?

It will help me sleep.

As I twisted the maraschino cherry stem from my drink into a knot in my mouth, I scanned the room for potential fuck-buddies. Unfortunately for me, all of the women who'd talked to me before (there were three of them, not millions) had managed to disappear, and the weird, massive stranger I'd seen was gone too.

Not that that would've gone anywhere, seeing as he was a dude and I'd never been interested in one before, but still.

It was weird.

The guy looked…familiar.

Not in the way most people in Elmwood did—because they were from my past life. But because I swear to God I'd seen him pretty much everywhere lately. Always at the back of a room, always watching.

The throbbing bass shook my stool as the sweaty bodies on the dance floor moved to the beat. Back and forth, twisting and writhing. Couples that wore matching, flickering grins. Some handsier than others. The two exits were both partially blocked. One near the front, and one back by the coatroom. And there was a rowdy bachelorette party that had set up shop in the back corner of the room beside one of them.

I should go home.

I pulled the twisted cherry stem out of my mouth and dropped it into my cup.

"Neat trick," a cheerful voice beside me spoke. I perked up, though my stomach simultaneously filled with dread as I twisted in my seat to take in the flushed face of a petite woman wearing a shiny white silk sash that declared her as "bride to be."

Oh thank God .

Is it bad I'm relieved she isn't hitting on me?

"Thanks, dude," I ducked my head to indicate the sash, tacking on a dude so she'd know I knew she wasn't flirting. "Congrats."

"Thank you!" She beamed at me, practically vibrating with energy. Before I could blink, Bride-to-be climbed onto the empty seat beside mine and waited for the bartender to acknowledge her.

My shoulders relaxed.

Tracing a cool drop of perspiration on the outside of my glass, I tried to muster up the energy to socialize.

I didn't really want to, but I didn't want my new "friend" to think I was an asshole, either.

It wasn't her fault that sometimes I felt like I was on one of those merry-go-round things they have at the fair. Just spinning, and spinning, and spinning. The world this big confusing blur around me. Watching . On the outside, looking in—because I'm not real.

Not really.

At least, not in the ways that count.

I'm not sure when exactly I stopped being a real person. Maybe it was when I was a snot-nosed kid and I stepped foot in that car with Lydia. Or when I found out the secret .

Or maybe it was after my first kill.

Or my second.

Or my third.

They started to blend together after a while.

Scars on scars on scars.

Kill after kill after kill.

The world spun, and spun, and spun.

Maybe this is karma for what I've done.

"Hey," the girl waved her hand at the bartender with a big grin when he glanced our way. She wore the kind of smile that looks like it hurts, all wide and innocent and vulnerable. The kind of smile that belongs in a sitcom because it's pure.

Her nails were done. Her makeup too. Probably professionally, because judging by the brand of her bag, she had money. Sheltered. It was obvious in the way she carried her body—and also because geographically speaking, that made sense. This was a bigger city than Elmwood but still small. Tight-knit.

Young girl meets the love of her life at college in Ridgewood, experiences a whirlwind romance—the kind of thing you hear stories about but never seen in real life.

The perfect couple.

Until you look behind the masks ten years later and realize he's fucking his secretary—like a fucking cliche—and she copes by spending his money on more designer bags and vacations with the friends that feed her constant platitudes that "at least it could be worse."

I'd seen worse.

And I could attest that even a life like that was better than half the shit out there.

Less blood too.

Her smile didn't falter, and because of that, I knew it was genuine.

Put that thing away before you blind somebody .

"What you lookin' to drink?" the bartender asked, finally approaching.

Jolted out of my thoughts, I found myself suddenly back in the club, surrounded by people and not memories. There was no blood on my hands—at least not visibly. I was okay —or as close to it as I ever got nowadays.

"Another sex on the beach for me, and a refill for my friend," Bride-to-be beamed. Her tiny hand lay on my shoulder, and I ached .

Because it was warm .

And it felt so good to be touched without a price tag attached.

It was something I'd never known how to ask for. I hadn't thought I'd receive that simple kindness tonight. Historically, Blair had been the only person that touched me like that. Richard too, more recently, but he was awkward and weird about it.

I could understand why.

We were supposed to be brothers, after all, and neither of us knew how to fix what had happened between us.

"You didn't have to do that," I said to the bride, though I accepted the new drink with grace when the bartender sat it down in front of me with a clink .

"You looked sad," she shrugged, and I laughed, even though it hurt.

"It's the lights," I waved to the flickering blue lights above, then pulled an exaggerated dopey sad face. "See?" She giggled and shook her head. They turned pink right after, and I grinned just to watch her roll her eyes. "They're unflattering."

She blinked at me like I was stupid, but her smile grew softer. Then she withdrew her hand from my shoulder.

Stop shaking.

Stop it.

She'll notice.

"I don't think anything could be unflattering on you, but okay." She wasn't hitting on me, so I didn't get why she was being nice. It wasn't my first time being complimented because of my looks, but usually the compliments weren't free. "No one's allowed to be sad during my bachelorette party," Bride-to-be took a massive swig of her drink, burped, and thumped her hand against her chest. "Sorry."

"I'm not here for your party," I replied, though she already knew that.

"Still."

I didn't know what to do with her kindness.

Or the fact that I was apparently so shit at masking nowadays that even a stranger could see I was cracked down the middle.

I felt bad immediately for over-analyzing her the way I had.

I really hope her husband isn't a dick.

In an effort to prove to myself—and her—that things were fine, I spent the next twenty minutes trying to teach her how to tie a cherry stem with her tongue. Maybe I also kinda hoped she'd pat my back again? But I refused to admit that, even to myself. Shit . I just did.

She didn't.

Pat my back, I mean.

And when she left me alone at the bar, I felt lighter without the weight of having to pretend. The smile I had pasted on dropped as soon as her back was to me as I threaded my fingers around my half-empty glass and let the world spin again.

I should go home, I told myself again as I watched the crowd. I don't belong here. The minutes on my phone ticked by as I waited for something, anything to happen—I wasn't sure what. A spark. I don't know. Something cosmic.

Like magic, a few minutes later, my wish came true.

Though not in the way I had hoped.

I could feel the prickle of eyes on the back of my neck again. The hair on my arms stood on end and goosebumps shivered up my body. Four guys sat on the other stools at the bar beside mine. A crowd of people danced to my left, dressed in skimpy but tasteful clothing. No one was looking at me. No one.

And yet…someone was.

Someone I couldn't see.

I could feel it as easily as I felt the throb of bass from the DJ.

Maybe it was the guy from earlier?

Or maybe it was one of Lydia's hunter buddies?

Hello, paranoia, my old friend. Nice to see you haven't abandoned me.

You're fine, Jeffrey.

You're fine.

Somehow, the reassurances didn't help.

They never did.

Around two a.m. I decided it was time to stop pretending I was trying to get laid and get my ass in bed. I had work in the morning, and it seemed pretty self-explanatory that I should not be nodding off on the job. I was lucky enough that Avery had hired me in the first place, considering my background.

He insisted it was a plus, but I knew better. There was a reason no one in my life but him knew what I'd done. They'd run. I wouldn't blame them, either. The blood on my hands was as red as my hair. But Avery was a bleeding heart. That was the reason he'd hired me at his magic shop. Not because he found my skill set useful, or that he didn't care about what had happened to me.

I was a charity case.

I climbed from the stool, limbs creaking, ass numb. As I wobbled my way through the crowd I shook the pins and needles out of my legs, and swiveled my torso from side to side to pop my back. Simultaneously, I patted my pockets to make sure my wallet was still there.

You can never be too careful.

Some dude jabbed me with his pointy ass elbow, but he apologized, so it was fine.

The sugar in my stomach swam around in circles as I flicked the guitar pick I kept in my pocket between my fingers. Flick, flick, flick. It was warm to the touch from sitting against my body. I traced the smooth surface with my thumb the way I always did, letting it dig in for just a moment, the pain centering me.

"Someone forgot to shower tonight," I muttered under my breath as I dodged between sweaty bodies, avoiding as many lethal elbows as I could. One elbow to the gut was enough for me, thank you very much.

I was almost to the exit when I heard it.

A familiar voice.

Syrupy and slow, obviously intoxicated.

It only took a second to recognize it as the bride-to-be from earlier, and the moment I did, my blood ran cold. I scanned the room for her, immediately spotting the dark hallway I'd nearly passed on my way out the door.

My hands clenched into fists as I slowly approached. Lights continued to strobe behind me, painting the walls in splashes of color as I stood at the open end of the hallway, horrified.

This hadn't been what I meant when I'd said I wanted something to happen.

Bride-to-be was pinned to the wall by a big nasty dude wearing a muscle tank and probably no deodorant, if the smell was anything to go by. I could smell him from ten feet away, and man, the guy was rank.

He looked like the kinda dude who snorted cocaine and Kraft mac and cheese on the weekends, thought onions were spicy, and spent every second he could futilely trying to convince everyone at work that he wasn't a wife-beater—even though the string of exes he left behind said otherwise.

In other words: dude was a grade-A asshole.

I didn't have to smell him to know that.

Though that didn't help.

He smelled more like an asshole than he looked like one—and that was saying something.

The closer I crept to the two figures, the easier it was to parse out what had happened. The women's bathroom was just behind the bride-to-be, like she'd been exiting when he grabbed her. He'd probably been waiting in the hallway like the creepy opportunist he was, ready to pounce on his next unwilling victim.

I was exhausted, but not dead. There was no way in hell I was going to leave her alone with him. For the first time in months I wished I had a weapon on me—though realistically that wouldn't do anyone any good.

Wasn't like I could slice the dude's throat or shoot him.

Not in public.

And even if I could, I wasn't sure I had that in me.

My heart raced as I watched her struggle for the moment it took me to cross the remaining distance between us. Her eyes were droopy and her protests were feeble.

She's wasted.

The thought made me sick. Even if she hadn't weighed a pound and a half, soaking wet, she'd still be no match for this dude—not at that level of intoxication.

Asshole hadn't noticed me, even though I was right behind him, but Bride-to-be had.

Her eyes widened, her mascara smudged, and I shoved aside the last dregs of my exhaustion to answer the call for help in her gaze.

I could still feel the weight of eyes on the back of my neck, but I ignored the sensation, certain it was still paranoia. Thump, thump, thump, I focused on the beat of my own heart as I took a steadying breath, centered myself, and leapt into action.

Asshole was big, bigger than I was, but all that meant was that I had to push at the right spots to get him moving. His bulk could be used against him as easily as it could be used in his favor.

"Hey, fuck face." I grabbed the nape of the dude's shirt, kicked the back of one of his knees, and used his falling momentum to pivot him away from my wasted buddy. Surprise was a useful tool. And it came in handy now more than ever.

"Wha—" He slammed into the wall the second I released his shirt, stumbling a little as I put myself between Bride-to-be and his bulk, ready to fend him off the second he retaliated.

Which he did.

Because he was big, and dumb, and predictable.

"I'll kill you." Asshole's nostrils flared like a bull.

"Uh-huh, sure, dude-wipe," I beckoned him forward, just glad he had his sights set on me and not my new friend. I'd fought things far larger and deadlier than a drunk dude with bad hygiene, so I wasn't scared.

Because I knew I could take him.

It would be easy.

He didn't have fangs, or claws, or supernatural strength. He wasn't faster than I was. He didn't heal more quickly than I did. He may be big, but he was a human. A stupid human. I could fight him. I could fight him and I'd win.

But that didn't mean that I wasn't… tired .

Tired of the fight.

Tired of being strong.

Tired of holding the world together when it didn't feel like I belonged in it in the first place.

It would be nice if someone else stepped in for a change.

It would be nice if I could rest.

Distracted, I could blame no one but myself when Asshole's fist connected with my shoulder. It stung, and I gasped—which was a mistake. Big fucking mistake. Jesus-god. Fucking, fuck. The smell!

Acrid and thick. Greasy hair. Potato chips.

"God, you are rank ," I managed, trying to breathe through my mouth, though that wasn't any better.

"Fuck you, princess," his nostrils kept on flaring.

"It's Prince, actually." I shrugged. "Jeffrey Prince."

"Fuck you, princess ," he repeated, like he thought he was being clever.

"You're really not my type." I twisted to avoid a second punch, fingers bunching in his shirt for the second time that night as I shoved him deeper into the hallway. It was a bit of a struggle, I'll admit that. Harder than I'd thought it would be. I wasn't really in peak form at the moment, but I managed to hold him off long enough that the girl I'd saved could hurry back to the safety of her bridal party.

My shoulder throbbed.

It was going to bruise.

Up close and personal with my chest against his, I couldn't help but gag a little when his breath filled my nose. "Ever heard of a toothbrush?" I couldn't help but ask as he struggled, then roared, his steel-toed boot stomping down right where my foot had been. "It's this really cool invention—revolutionary, really."

Hopefully someone would call security so I could go home.

I really didn't want to deal with his stench for longer than I had to.

"Shut the fuck up, fire crotch," he hissed, stomping at my feet again, his fists swinging. However, before one could connect with my body for a second time that night, he was suddenly gone.

Gone.

What the fuck?

"What—"