Chapter 3

October 30th, 2008

"Miss Murder" by AFI fills my earbuds, accompanying me on this impromptu evening stroll. Humming along to the beat, I become lost in the song, allowing my legs to decide where I will end up this evening. Fingers crossed that I cross paths with the psycho killer that's decapitating their unsuspecting victims one by one.

Double fingers crossed he's hot and masked.

It feels so good to be out and about when most people are heading in for the evening. This part of town is my favorite to walk through at night since it's filled with retirees and empty nesters who like to settle in early, serial killer on the loose or not, which gives me free rein to roam the streets uninterrupted.

I swear, I must have been a vampire in another life, or at least some sort of nocturnal animal, because nighttime is always when I feel the most energized. Especially this time of year,when the sunlight is minimal, and the rising moon allows the houses with lit jack o' lanterns to shine as the autumn gods intended for them to. It's orgasmic.

I continue my aimless walk, my hands buried in the thinly lined pockets of my jacket, when a gust of wind sweeps across my face. My blunt bangs shift from their usual spot just above my brows and begin to rise, tempting the hoodie that rests on the crown of my head, to go up with it. Raising my hand to my now disheveled hair, I try to reposition my bangs back to normal when the song ends.

The momentary silence before the next song beginsis overshadowed by a heavy thud that echoes behind me. Past the music that scratches at the speakers of my headphones, all I can hear is my mom's nagging voice, ripe within mysubconscious.

"Blair, you always need to be aware of your surroundings. When you're driving, when you're walking, when you're going anywhere. Especially at night. Nighttime is when bad things happen. Remember that."

She's right, I should be aware of my surroundings. Just like I should be concerned that I am standing in front of the secluded park that backs up to the abandoned mill. There are a lot of things that I should be. But right now, the only thing I feel is a grin beginning to creep along my lips because I have a strong sense that the knife, I brought with me "just in case" is about to make an appearance.

My hands break free from the confines of my pockets and instead sweep the inner lining of my jacket. Pulse swishing at my ears, my palms become clammy as I reach for where I stashed my knife when the thud sounds once more. This time it's followed by the scraping of gravel against the uneven pavement.

Gravel scuffs against the bottom of my boots as I pivot my stance. The soles of my UGG boots mimic the sound that has been grating at my ears. Time feels like it's moving faster than my body can synchronize with my mind. The few seconds I need to secure my knife slips away from me as a pair of black gloved hands appear in my periphery causing a surge of warmth to form where a large, curled hand has attached itself to me. It radiates against the crisp autumn air, traveling through the fabric of my jacket and centering itself within my core. My heart begins to race, fear and excitement flirting with each other when the rich, smoky scent leather nips at my nose before it engulfs my mouth.

The smell of worn leather mixed and woodsy cologne attacks my nostrils as the pressure of the hand that is engulfing my face increases. I attempt to inhale, but the palm covers my nose, making my breathing shallow. However, the odd combination of scents, mixed with the very real, very trapped, positioning of my body begins to cloud my already dim conscience, causing delirium to burrow itself in my mind when I should be experiencing fear. Or at the very least a major warning flare or a red flag but it's all systems go for me.

I've been waiting for a moment like this and here it is, being handed to me on a silver platter on Halloween Eve of all nights. I couldn't have planned this better if I tried.

Not sure what to expect next, since scenarios like this have only presented themselves in my life through a television screen, I wait. For what exactly, I'm not sure. Maybe more restraint or more assertion, but neither come. If anything, this entire interaction feels anti-climatic and surprisingly dull.

Feeling that initial burst of twisted excitement begin to dwindle, I opt to take things in my own hands and hopefully move this thing along. Taking a quick step back, I center my foot in between the staggered stance of whomever is currently standing behind me and I turn my body, moving into the hold my attacker has on me instead of against it. A frustrated grunt vibrates against my ear, as their grip loosens quicker than I expected.

No longer restrained, my free range of motion allows me to grab my knife. My pulse quickens the moment my thumb grazes the button lock of my pocketknife. Moving my digit along the edge of the lock, I apply pressure to the small button that releases the sharpened steel forward.

Blade ready and adrenaline burning through me, I turn to face my attacker, but a familiar voice creeps its way to my ear. Disappointment enters the party real fast when my gaze falls to a pair monogrammed white converse that I know belong to my ex, Ethan Campbell.

Great.

I don't know what's worse. The fact that he's wearing a fucking green mask reminiscent of the gilled monster from Creature from the Black Lagoon or that he completely desecrated a perfectly good pair of chucks.

"What the fuck, Blair!" he whines, out of breath. "You almost killed me!"

"Oh please. A fucking elbow to the gut isn't harsh enough to kill you," I retort. Although, I can definitely think of something that will. I inch towards him, knife still in hand.

"Hold on," he murmurs, straightening his posture as he curls his gloved hands to where his hideous mask brushes against his skin. "Fuck, I could hardly breathe in that thing." He huffs, tossing the rubber mask to the pavement before he begins taking his gloves off, pulling the leather up one by one before tossing them onto the ground.

"What do you want?" I ask.

Cocking his head to the side, an obnoxious grin works its way to his chiseled face. It's as if he's oblivious as to why I'm not excited to see him. "This is what you wanted, right?" he shrugs, seemingly dumbfounded by my question.

Knife, still in my grip, because I don't trust him as far as I can throw him, I cross my arms in front of my torso, concealing the extended blade. "Excuse me?"

Dragging his foot forward, Ethan closes the space between us. Not in the mood for Ethan and his antics, I hinge my foot backward before slamming it against the loose gravel. I watch in amusement as the earthy debris begins to rise and scatter itself all over his all-white Converse.

Immediately he scoots back, a scoff of disgust sounds before he's wetting the pad of his thumb with his tongue. Crouching down he begins to rub his wet finger frantically on his shoe. "Low blow, Blair Bear," he taunts, continuing to give his barely dirty sneaker a spit shine, knowing damn well I hate when he calls me that. "You don't disrespect a man's shoes like that. You should know better."

My eyes roll so hard, it feels like they're going to get stuck like that. "They're sneakers asshat. They're going to get dirty," I retort pointing out the obvious.

Rising from where he was just kneeling, an oblivious innocence washes over his face. "I was just doing what you wanted."

"What?" I chuckle, genuinely amused at how he could think this is what I wanted. He tries to advance on me, bringing his hand that was just attempting to clean his fucking shoe to my crossed arms, but I step back. "What part of this lackluster performance of yours could you possibly think I want?" I scoff.

He shakes his head. The look on his face now teetering between bruised pride and embarrassment. "Come on, baby. You know you miss me." His words are meant to be a statement, but the infliction in his voice errs on the pleading side of things.

I lost track of how many times I asked him to wear a mask or indulge me in a little primal role-play, but he was a missionary position guy through and through. Which is fine every once in a while, but every fucking time, especially when he only lasted a few minutes? Fuck that. Life's too damn short to settle for an arrogant rich prick who can't fuck to my liking. Next, please.

"No Ethan, I don't miss you. I'm not your project anymore. Accept it and move the fuck on." I lower my head in a nod, my onyx hair falling from my shoulder. "Do yourself a favor and keep it moving before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have."

"Blair," his voice quivers, "please, give me one more chance. My dad just got his yacht detailed and we can do a day cruise on the Hudson. We–"

I raise my hand, cutting off his attempt to win me back before I puke all over his shoes.

Holy fuck, what was I on to ever give this douche bag the time of day? He truly doesn't get it. His money means nothing to me. Money can buy a lot of things but judging by tonight's piss poor attempt to get back in my good graces, it clearly can't buy him anything that can truly satiate my sexual appetite.

"We," I begin, gesturing between us for emphasis, "are nothing. I have that taken care of," I lie. I didn't mean to lie, but it kind of slipped out and I figure why not run with it and really drive the point home.

But I should have known how that would get him riled up. Not because he's jealous of who I spread my legs for, but the idea of me moving on so quickly after I was the one to end things with him is an all-out attack on his already fragile ego. One that will bring out his true colors.

"Who are you fucking?" he demands.

I lift the hand that's curled against the handle of my knife, bringing it back into view. Just as a friendly reminder that it's here and I will use it.

"That's none of your fucking business."

He groans through a tense jaw, somehow missing the way the steel of the knife reflects the moonlight. "It's someone from that pathetic Horror Whores site you're always on, isn't it?"

Ha, I wish. I bet anyone I chat with on there would know how to wear a mask for longer than five minutes before tapping out.

His hands attach themselves to his hips as he begins to rock back and forth on his heels. "I bet the guys you talk to on there wouldn't do what I just did, Blair."

"You're right. None of the guys—or girls, for that matter— would do what you just did." I leave it there for a second to let him think that I'm building him up.

He nods, looking surprised yet satisfied with my response, as I knew he would. I take a few steps closer to him so that my free hand is grazing his bent arm before I lower my lips to his ear. It doesn't matter that there's no one here but the two of us, I want him to marinate on every last syllable I'm about to mutter into his ear, nice and close. "However, anyone from that site would not only wear the mask, but they would also own it. See what you did here tonight, it was weak at best. You are a boring, entitled, rich asshole, who possesses absolutely nothing I desire. Neither your cock, or your money, or your pretty boy smile can do anything to truly please me." I watch as the vein in his neck begins to pulse.

"Take it back," he finally mutters, his voice shaking from the truth I just spilled into his ear.

"No," I breathe, my lips softly grazing his earlobe.

He stomps his foot, like a child having a tantrum which moots whatever point he might have had. "I will ruin you," he says through gritted teeth, and in an unexpected move, he wraps his hand around my wrist.

"I wish you would," I challenge him. "Now, let go of me," I warn and he surprisingly lets go without a fuss.

"Goodnight, Ethan." I say, turning back the other way. A tinge of disappointment creeps in as I look down at my knife. I really thought tonight would be the night I use it but sadly, it will go back into my jacket, unused and clean. Boo.

Barely two paces into my walk in the opposite direction, Ethan clears his throat to get my attention. Back facing him, I pause. "Yes?" I ask, genuinely curious as to what he will say now.

"You'll be back," he sneers.

I pivot to face him. "And why is that?"

"Because when my father finds out that your father is the one who has been leaking info to the press, you'll realize you need me."

Huh, I didn't think the little shit had it in him. It's a big accusation, one that, given my dad's involvement in the real estate division of Campbell Enterprise, could be plausible, but I know it isn't.

"First of all, no, I don't need you and second you're lying, my dad would never."

"Yes, I will, and I'll tell him that you confirmed to me that it's true. Let's be real, Blair, my dad will believe me over your whore ass any day."

Oh hell no. It's one thing to call me a whore when you're fucking me, but in this context? Those are fighting words. Looks like my knife is about to make an appearance after all.

"Is that so?" I challenge him, dying to see what he is going to say next.

"Yep, and he will fire your dad and you will lose that house, the cars, everything. You're nothing without the Campbell name funding the life you take for granted." He spews, catching his breath before his demeanor changes, yet once again. "We could have had it all, Blair Bear."

Oh my god, I'm going to be sick. No, he did not threaten me then call me that gods forsaken nickname that my dad calls me…again. Only difference is my father helped bring me in this world, Ethan didn't, and he sounds like a Grade A douche saying it.

"Don't call me that," I warn.

"Why not? What are you going to do about it?" His arrogance is one of the many things I despise about him. While I don't mind someone who has arrogant qualities, it has to be matched with a level of charisma that Ethan does not possess in the least. Which makes me laugh. Hard.

"What the fuck is so funny Blair Bear?" he asks, taunting me again.

Here we go. He has given me no choice.

Clearly, he has no idea that I'm capable of a lot more than hurting his delicate ego. See I can live without him, but him, on the other hand, he can't live because of me and what I'm going to do to finally shut him up.

Making sure to sway my hips with each step so he can't help but look, I step to him. "You aren't going to say a word to your dad, Ethan," I say in a seductive tone. It's mind boggling how he has somehow forgotten about the knife that I now have somewhat discreetly behind my back.

He hesitates for a second, sliding his gaze from my hips up to my eyes. "Why is that?"

I pause, standing right in front of him. My free hand lifts to his face, caressing his chiseled cheek before I bring my lips to his. Extending my tongue, I tease him. Licking the outline of his lips. A throaty whimper breaks from his parted mouth, which makes my center pulse. I've never felt this way near him, and I think it's because of what I'm about to do next that makes the otherwise torturous proximity bearable.

"Because, as the old saying goes," I begin, leaning my chest forward so it grazes his, "dead men tell no tales." I seal my words with a kiss just as I drive my knife into his stomach. His warm breath pools into my mouth and it's like I'm tasting the literal life being drained from him. It's fucking intoxicating.

Breaking the seal of our kiss, I watch him peer down to his abdomen in horror as I slowly pull the knife out, admiring the way the blood shines beneath the moonlight. A rush like I've never experienced before floods my body. I can feel the lace of my thong dampen the more I stare at the crimson that drips from the blade.

"Blair!" he whimpers, clearly in shock. "Did you just st-st-ab me?"

"Oops, did I?" I tease.

"Please. I'm sorry, I can make it up to you," he pleads.

I bring my index finger to his lips, pressing it against where they are quivering. "Shh," I whisper. "Make it up to me by holding real still." I revel in the confusion that is rich on his brow. "Now let's hope you don't squeal the way you do when you blow your load while I kill you," I grin. "That'll really put a damper on the mood. Bye, Bye Ethan."

May you rot in peace.