Chapter 25

October 30th

Using the overgrown grass as a shield, I lay still with my torso flattened against the uneven grounds of the mill. This way I'll have a front row seat to my AIM friend being carried away by the police.

Luckily, the officer that picked up when I called in my anonymous tip seemed to buy the whole damsel in distress spiel, so they didn't ask too many questions about what the man looked like. I just said he's tall and masked. If he's actually either of those things, I'll be lucky. But that's just the vibe I got from our chats. The more I think about it, I'm really going to miss him once he's behind bars, but it's the price that needs to be paid for my freedom. Such is life.

Reaching for my phone, I quickly illuminate the screen to check the time. It's almost midnight, he should be here any minute now. I grit my teeth, growing impatient with the lack of cop cars swarming the area. Though truthfully, I'm even more annoyed with the fact that he isn't here yet. For all he knows, he was meeting me here to fuck like we've been hinting at wanting to do pretty much since we started talking on Instant Messenger.

Was he really planning on standing me up?

If I wasn't so keen on framing him for murder, I would be more offended.

I shake my head, trying to push away my conflicting thoughts when I hear a twig snap behind me.

It's him. It has to be.

The noise continues, growing louder until my vision is met with a flash of bright artificial light, searing through my irises. My forehead wrinkles in confusion when a tight yank pulls at the crown of my head.

"Smile for the camera," a sultry, muffled voice says. The light flashes once more, making my vision spotty as my neck begins to cramp. "Hmmmm," the voice groans. "It's so nice to finally meet in person, final girl. Sorry about the flash. I've just been dying for another picture of you for my spank bank, hope you don't mind."

Another? What the fuck?

"Fuck you," I grit. My words cause him to pull my hair tighter before he releases me from his hold, tossing my upper body back onto the ground. Flattening my palms, I try to hoist myself up, but I don't make it very far. Once again, a flashing beam of light bursts in my vision just before a large gloved palm wraps itself over my eyes.

Fuck, this is giving me déjà vu back to when Ethan attempted this earlier –which didn't get him too far. But this? This is different. It's aggressive, primal, and it's taking everything in me not to give this man a standing ovation for knowing how to get this whole ordeal correct. Except I can tell by the way his large body hangs over mine, this isn't a role he's playing or taking lightly. This is real and he is really fucking angry.

"Not so fast there, final girl," he taunts. The fucking rasp of his voice when he says my screen name causes a sick ache to form at my center.

His other hand slithers its way to my face, this one covering my mouth. I try bucking my hips back to gain momentum on him, but his hold is like cement. Harsh and strong and stuck on me.

"Easy there, little hellcat. I just want to talk."

I murmur against his gloved hand, trying to alter the hold he has on me, but my attempt only angers him, making him pin me harder against the ground. The breath in my lungs suddenly feels as though it's going dry. My heart begins to race again as my palms grow clammy and it feels like there is wool caught in my windpipe. I usually love feeling scared when it's in a controlled setting, but this is different because my mind knows I'm afraid, but my body doesn't. With every second that his body is on me, I feel my center dampen.

His voice emerges again, breaking the thoughts that are racing through my head at warp speed. "You know, I have dreamed about what this moment would feel like for so long. Ever since I saw you in the parking lot of the Horseman's Diner."

The Horseman's Diner? How the fuck did he know I worked there?

"I'm going to remove my hand now. If you make a single yelp I will drive this knife," he stops, bringing the knife, my knife, against the side of my neck. The tip flirts with my throat as he applies enough pressure to exemplify the sharp edge but not enough to cut me. "Into your throat, just like you did to Ethan," he threatens, removing his hand from my mouth but keeping his body weight on me.

Fuck, how does he know? Shit, has he been following me?

"I mean it, no bullshit. Just stand up, quietly, once I let you go," he instructs, his voice angry yet smooth like whiskey.

I nod my head and true to his word he lets me go and true to mine–for once–I don't make a sound. Not because I'm afraid of what he might do, but because my curiosity is too ripe. I want to see who I've been talking to all this time, even if I intended for him to be jailed.

My chest rises and falls, as I take a step forward. I should run, I should be fucking terrified at how he just attacked me, at the scene of the crime that still needs to be concealed no less. But that twisted part of me that came to life years ago when I saw my first slasher, is beaming right now at the sight before me. Dressed in all black from head to toe and from what I can see even with his hoodie he has draped over his head, he's built like a chiseled god. He's easily over six foot five and as my gaze trails up his tall stature, I feel a ping of excitement when I see how fucking hot he looks with a knife in hand and a mask on his face.

"How–" I begin, wanting to ask him so many questions, but he charges towards me, eliminating the space between us. Lifting his gloved finger to his mouth, he presses it against my lips.

"Ssh. We will get to that in a second." He brings his other hand to my lower back, pulling me in closer to his barreled chest, while the hand that was just on my lips points to the symphony of sirens in the distance.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He groans.

My body tenses as swarms of red and blue flashing lights gain on us. I'm going to jail. I'm going to fucking jail, in the arms of this lunatic on my favorite holiday. This is a fucking travesty.

I begin to wrack my brain on how I am going to get out of this but suddenly the lights that filled the street are gone, as is the deafening sound of the sirens blaring. They are zooming past where he and I stand.

"Oh, the irony. The motherfucking beautiful irony of this moment. All this time you never saw me coming. You spent so much time wishing monsters like me existed, not realizing that I've been here all along, waiting for the moment you can see me, like I have seen you."

Knife still near my neck, he lowers his mask to my cheek. "Look at me, final girl," he instructs. Stubborn as I am, I remain still, my gaze still ahead on the now dark, cop free road.

"Look at me," he repeats.

I scoff, turning my head carefully, so the knife he insists on keeping there doesn"t cut through my skin. "All I see is a deranged monster," I deadpan. Although he's a hot deranged monster, I'll give him that. Lord knows Ethan could never have had the same effect on me with a mask like this guy does.

"Very well, but I'm your deranged monster. Who's very upset with how you tried to frame him." His words are so matter of fact, it's almost scary.

"Speaking of which, I called the police, yet here you are. Why?"

"You mean how, Blair. Simple, A little app I designed. You see, once I have a person's phone number, I'm able to gain access to their incoming and outgoing calls and, when I turn the feature on, any and all calls that you make, no matter what your Caller ID reads, go to me. Emergency services included."

"I'm impressed," I say, even though I shouldn't be. It's sick, not to mention illegal, the lengths he has gone just to be near me. "Why are you doing this?"

He shrugs, "Well, how else do you expect to get away with murder? Which by the way, I should thank you for because Ethan was next on my list."

List?

"And…" his voice drags just as he begins to curl his fingers around his mask. My mouth falls open when I see his chiseled cheekbones come into view, followed by the most hauntingly beautiful eyes with shades of teal and green that somehow can be seen even in the dark woods we are standing in. "I want you to be mine."

"What makes you think I want to be yours?"

"You are many things, Blair Van Tassel. Erratic. Sexy. Devious. Horror obsessed but your killing skills are amateur at best and your post-kill skills need improvement. I mean you killed your ex, who you were known to hate, with a knife that has your initials on the handle and you left it at the scene of the crime. And don't get me started on how you think pushing him over that little cliff, half wrapped in a tarp with your DNA all over it will eliminate you from being tied to his murder. Oh, and let's not forget the connections Mr. Campbell has?"

"Ok, point proven asshole."

"Just consider today your lucky day, Blair."

"And why is that weirdo?"

"Ha, weirdo? Good one, what's next, a classic nan-nan-ah-boo-boo?"

I grit my teeth, how can someone so fucking sexy be so fucking maddening?!

"I'll do you this favor, of eliminating your name to the crime if you accept your fate."

"And what might that be?"

"I'll play whatever games your heart desires. Build you a nightmare you can't escape from and follow you like the incubus you crave. I'll be your cover if you will be my curse. Now pick your favorite number?"

My mouth falls open in confusion. "Number?"

"Yes," he motions his hand for me to hurry up. "Choose a number, Blair, we don't have all night. There's a body to hide."

"Fine. How about fifteen?"

"Eh, of course it's fifteen," he mumbles something else under his breath, clearly, he's not a fan of the number. I'm about to change the number when he begins to speak again at a more audible volume. "It"s a little higher than I wanted, but fifteen it is" he shrugs.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my mind racing with what a fucking number has to do in a time like this.

He clears his throat, looking both haunting and comforting all in the same breath. "In fifteen years, if neither of us has killed the other, I will take what is mine."

"And what is that?"

"You," he deadpans.

"And what if I refuse?"

"You won't. Face it, I'm every twisted thing you've ever wanted and you," he pauses, trailing his large finger at my jaw, before taking my chin, hollowing my cheeks in his grasp. "You are everything worth killing for. Mark my words, in fifteen years you will kiss the Van Tassel name goodbye and become mine. Mrs. Crane."

My eyes bulge. I know that last name. "Crane, as in…"

"Yep, Maddox Crane," he winks.

Holy Shit. He's Glinda Campbell's son, which makes him Ethan's stepbrother.