Chapter 10

With my mask on my face and my tools stowed in the leather compartment I've attached to my harness, I'd say I'm ready for tonight's festivities to begin. I trust by now my little hellcat received my final gift of the evening.

I made sure to have Cam's business associate, William, drop it off at Satan's shortly after she arrived. I hope it helps set the tone for what she's in store for this evening. If she knows what's good for her, she will see my gift as a warning flare and the absolute last opportunity she will have to run far away from me. Because what will transpire tonight isn't a playful game of cat and mouse…it's revenge.

As I round the corner by Oogie's Ink, about to cross the street to the entrance of Satan's Stiletto, a flash of red fills my vision. A hungry grin works its way to my concealed lips that bump against my mask when the Excelsior New York license plate, FNL GRL6, comes into view.

It's adorable, how she really believes that she is a final girl. As if every lie that composes her volatile personality isn't owned by me. The life that I have allowed her to live, free from repercussions, hasn't been to spare her, it's been to trick her, like she has done to me…for the last time.

Peering over my shoulder, I make sure no one is around to see where I am now kneeling at the rear of her car. Not that anyone would recognize me with the mask and hood concealing my face, but still. The only way tonight will work as planned is by having no interference, either by the law or any nosy onlookers stepping in. So, being extra cautious, even if it feels monotonous, is a must.

Grabbing my house keys from where they are strung on the chain I always keep draped at my side, I begin to glide the jagged edge against the metal plate. The scraping sound grates my ears as I etch a wide "X" along the letters, but I don't care. Keying her license plate is just a warmup for what else I plan on marking this evening. I decide to deepen the keyed gash on her license plate, retracing where I carved the "X" as my back pocket begins to vibrate.

Raising from my kneeled position behind her car, I reach for my phone as I begin to cross the street to where my little hellcat thinks she is safe from me.

Ha, never.

Cam: You have to be fucking kidding me…another one?!

Me: I don't know what you're talking about =)

Cam: Cut the shit. Bill just told me. We discussed this. Stop going rogue.

Me: It needed to be done.

Cam: No it didn't. You need to stop cleaning up after her!

Me: I know, but I can't let history repeat itself. Not tonight.

Cam: Whatever. That girl is going to get you killed.

Cam: Just do me a favor…stay away from Satan's tonight. Too risky.

Me: Ha, funny you say that… I'm actually crossing the streetto head there now.

Cam: Maddox, I'm serious!

Me: So am I =)

Three dots flash on the screen, but I close out of our message without waiting to read Cam's last-ditch effort to talk any sense into me. I already know Cam is going to urge me to stay away from her or tell me that I should have killed her when I had the chance so messes like the one I was forced to clean up earlier wouldn't happen again. All of which I know already and all of which mean nothing to me.

Of course, I should stay away from Blair. But where is the fun in that?

Part of what makes the chase so damn exhilarating is that I'm not chasing a meek mouse. I'm competing against a predator as capable of death as I am.

Though, as I pull the elongated handle of Satan's Stiletto towards me, I wonder if what I have planned to punish her for what she started fifteen years ago is taking it too far.

Oh well, it's too late now.

I'm coming for you little hellcat. Masked and ready to make your night a living hell.

* * *

Chad Kroeger's rasp blazes through the speakers closest to the center stage as Nickelback's "Next Contestant" fills the main room of Satan's. Humming to the beat, I move past the rich velvet entry curtains, making my way to the bar when a commotion erupts a few feet ahead of me.

From the looks of it the annual Horseman's Hollow Duel appears to be wrapping up, which means that this year's chosen Katrina Van Tassel will be gracing the stage, twirling around in her All Hollow's Eve's best.

I can't fucking wait.

But, before that, a winner must be chosen.

The past few years, whoever has dressed as the Headless Horseman has won, which isn't a surprise because nothing is appealing or scary about someone dressed in their colonial best with their head still attached.

But this year is different, it doesn't matter how good the Ichabod, or the Horseman costumes are, or who is declared the winner because tonight, Katrina is mine…just like every other night.

The music fades as I find an empty seat at the center of the bar that faces the DJ standing in the middle of the contestants, separating the Ichabod Cranes from the Headless Horsemen.

The DJ, who is dressed like Frankenstein, is holding a clipboard in his painted green hands.

Grabbing the microphone, an ear-piercing shriek erupts before he speaks into it."Ladies and Gentlemen," he begins with as much enthusiasm as someone who is filing taxes. "Before our Katrina comes out on stage, we must decide if she will be whisked away by Ichabod or the Horseman."

"Neither," I mumble to myself as the crowd rumbles in applause.

"All those in favor of Ichabod, say ‘I'," the DJ mumbles into the microphone.

I stare at a woman who can't be more than five feet tall, dressed in a long navy-blue coat with a ruffled white top beneath it. Her auburn hair is combed back, giving the illusion of a short haircut. She is pretty and definitely Blair's type—Blair has been known to entertain the likes of men and women but judging from the way the woman comes off as meek, she doesn't stand a chance in the storm that is Blair Van Tassel.

In unison, the crowd yells "I" just as the DJ instructed. It's loud, but not loud enough to win.

A few moments later, after the chants have subsided, the DJ repeats the same spiel, this time pointing to an absolute abomination to the Horseman's legacy. There stands a drunken buffoon who can barely stand up straight. He raises his hands in the air and his equally intoxicated friends roar louder than those who cheered for the other costume.

Confusion takes over the DJ's face as he scans the audience, trying to get a gauge on who the winner should be.

I reach for my phone, checking the time, growing anxious with this dragged-out contest. I just want him to declare the winner so I can mess with Blair a little. Letting her think she's free from me for the evening, even though she knows deep down I'd never allow that to happen.

I watch as the DJs lips part to speak but my focus is stolen by an aggressive tapping at my shoulder.Shifting in my seat, I see the scowling face of an older woman dressed like Herman Munster's wife.

I raise myself up on my forearms, leaning in close to make sure she hears me through the thick plaster of my mask. "Yes, Lily?" I annunciate through the barrier of my mask.

I watch her expression teeter between annoyance and horror as her eyes bounce from side to side of my mask. She inches closer to where my elbows are on the bar top and I clear my throat, trying to break her judgmental gaze, but my attention is stolen when I hear the guy dressed as the Horseman cheer like a jock at a frat party, his equally lame friends cheering him on, for winning a private dance with Katrina…my Katrina.

I glide my hand across the jawline of my mask, feeling for the button that rests just behind my ear. Tapping the concealed button twice, the bottom half of my mask retracts, exposing my scruff covered mouth, while leaving the top half of my face covered. I added this feature with Blair in mind because it allows me to remain masked while having my tongue exposed and ready at her beck and call, if need be. Though now I figure it will help the bartender hear me better. "Lily Munster, right?" I ask, observing her the intricate bat wing sleeves of her costume.

She stands, with lips pursed and a hesitancy deep on her wrinkled brow. "Yes," she responds, shifting her gaze sporadically across my mask. "What are you dressed as, a paper mache project gone bad?"

My tongue swipes at my bottom lip just as her face shrivels in disgust at the sight of my forked tongue. An audible gasp leaks from her lips before she brings her wrinkled hand to her mouth.

"Calm down, I don't bite, and I think you meant what do I want? Usually when a patron has this," I pause, lifting from my seat to retrieve the wad of cash from my pocket before slamming it down on the counter. "You should ask what they want. Whatthey are shouldn't matter," I add with a shit-eating grin.

I push the wad of cash closer to her. "Take it," I command.

Her gaze moves to the stage with a not so subtle side eye, before looking back at me and taking the cash.

"Good girl," I tease.

"What-fucking-ever," she rolls her eyes, her previously coy demeanor now frigid. "What do you want?"

"To drink?" I ask, scanning the options on the shelves. "A beer. Miller Lite."

I move my palms against the bar top, causing the old woman's eyes to dart in the direction of the custom-made ring on my index finger. Her eyes widen, as she glares down at the full vial that is centered on the elongated ring. Ha, if only she knew what is on the other side of the band.

"And to eat?" she asks as the beginning of Enter Sandman sounds from the speakers.

Her song.

"Her." I nod my head in the direction of where the spotlights cross in front of the stage.

And fuck do I ever want to have my split tongue all over that treacherous Van Tassel cunt. I want to kill her, but a man can eat before he kills, right?

"Excuse me?" she moves her gaze from the ring andback to my masked face.

"You heard me, Lily," I sneer. "You asked me what I wanted to eat. I said her."

She straightens, taking two steps back from the bar top, crossing her hands in front of her body. "Listen here you crass piece of shit, my name is Glinda, first off. Kudos for recognizing my costume, lord knows no one else did. I got so many Elvira's. Which is absurd, Elvira's sleeves flare at the wrist, they don't drape like this." She stops, moving her hand to emphasize the very distinct Lily Munster sleeves. "I was so close to punching someone earlier because of it and I'll punch you if need be. Got it?"

I nod.

"Draft or bottle?"

I move closer to the edge of the bar, leaning my tall frame over, watching all that feistiness begin to wither.

She flinches when I extend my hand.

"I come in peace." For now. "Bottle, please. Now hurry, I don't want to miss a second of watching my prize dance."

Confusion stirs within her. "Your prize? You didn't participate in the contest," she reminds me, placing the amber bottle of Miller in my hand. I push my chin in the direction of the cash I gave her just moments before. As she goes to reach for it, I lean forward, angling the neck of the beer bottle down, and pour its contents into the small drain beneath the tap. The drink foams as I empty the amber bottle of the beer.

With the wad of cash still in hand, she slams her fist down on the counter.

"What the…" she begins.

But I click my tongue, stopping her. "Calm down, the amount of cash in your hand includes the beer also." I place the empty bottle of Miller near where her hand rests.

"Also?" she asks, confused.

"Yes, that," I tip the beer bottle so the bottom grazes her hand, "is my bid, and this," I pause, lifting the bottle upward. "Is in case anyone has a problem with it."

Her eyes widen. "I won't have none of that here. I don't know who you think you are…"

A ghost from Ms. Van Tassel's past, ready to resurrect all those demons she tries to keep hidden. That's fucking who.

She continues to go on about something, but I tune her out. I'm too preoccupied with the fact that Blair will be gracing the stage as this year's Katrina any second now.

"Alright, your call, but I figured a beer bottle upside the head would be preferable to a knife in the gut," I beam with sarcasm.

She shakes her head in disgust. "Watch it," she warns. "I'll have to call Mr. Moretti to confirm–"

My hand lifts to stop her. "Already done. Like I said that cash more than covers the fee for Ms. Van Tassel this evening. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a debt to collect."

The barbells that line my cock feel like magnets, all being pulled in the direction of where she's about to take the stage.

Ready or not, daddy's coming for you little hellcat.