Chapter 1

1

Bianca

This is how a slasher film starts.

A girl driving her old, junky car down a back country road under a pitch-black sky…with no cell phone reception. I guess this is how I die. Any second now, my engine is going to make a puttering sound and I’m going to be stranded on the side of this dirt road. There is a scarecrow out in the middle of the cornfield to my right, arms pointing at odd angles. If I squint, I can make out his silhouette. Can’t wait for him to come to life and gut me.

This is not good.

I should have waited until morning to drive from my mother’s house back to the city, where I belong, but I couldn’t take another moment of the constant lecturing. Honestly, if that scarecrow kills me tonight, I think it might be preferable to listening to my mom complain about my lack of job and my unrealistic acting aspirations.

Reluctantly, I pull my car over, because I can no longer see the road in front of me. This shortcut was supposed to save me an hour of driving, which meant saving gas money. Did I take a wrong turn somewhere? There are no streetlights out this way. No gas stations or golden arches. It’s just endless fields of corn and the occasional farm, though I haven’t seen one in over twenty minutes. Did I drive straight off the map? Have I discovered a new land?

With an embarrassing whine, I roll down my window and stick my phone out through the opening. “Come on, reception gods, please give me a bar. One bar.” The corner of my screen remains stubbornly blank, the fuel gauge on my dashboard taunting me with a red arrow pointing way too far to the left. “I am really not dressed for a trek to the gas station,” I mutter, looking down at my black bustier and neon yellow leather skirt. Oh, and ankle boots with stiletto heels.

I don’t dress like this all the time.

Mostly, I wore this to piss off my mother.

But I do love a daring fashion choice. In a city full of aspiring actresses, a girl needs to find a way to stand out to the casting directors. I’ve always loved fashion and I have a penchant for putting together last-minute outfits among the thrift shop’s bargain bins. When it comes to those secondhand stores, there are two choices. Dress like a grandma or dress like you’re going to the club. I’m only twenty and I have a lot of life to live, so I choose club kid.

Although, tonight, a pair of jeans and some Adidas would have been greatly appreciated.

I drop my head back against the seat, closing my eyes against the hot pressure swelling behind my lids. No. I will not cry. I will not cry. I’m tougher than this. I’ve survived on my own, broke as a joke in the city for two years. I can sleep in my car for a night and start driving again in the morning. And hopefully, avoid being murdered by that scarecrow.

Is it moving?

“No.” I shake my head. “Stop. You’re being ridiculous.”

With hasty motions, I roll my window back up and turn off the car. As soon as the heat cuts out, I realize how cold it is. Within seconds, the air in the car becomes icy and I start to shiver. My overnight bag is in the trunk, but all I have in there is a thin cardigan.

“Better than nothing,” I murmur. “But this means you must leave the safety of the car. This is the dilemma that will ultimately get you killed.”

Not going to lie, I love the drama of this. Just a little. I’m an actress, after all. My ultimate dream is to be the hot, screaming damsel in distress in a movie. This is not a movie, however. This is real life and I need to be quick here. Grab the cardigan and race straight back to the driver’s side of—

A tingle pops up on the left side of my neck.

Like I’m being watched.

What the…heck?

I cup my hands around my eyes and press them to the cold glass of the window, peering out into the darkness. But the moon has passed behind some clouds and of course, I can’t see a single thing. Just black.

“Forget the cardigan,” I whisper. “I’ll gladly freeze.”

I’m not the screaming damsel of this slasher film.

I’m the smart best friend who lives to the credits.

Trying desperately to ignore the goosebumps that continue to prickle the left side of my neck, I recline my chair and curl into myself, calling on all my meditation skills to block out the chill in the air. Only a few hours until daylight and then I can find my way back to civilization.

My chattering teeth and shivering body question my conviction.

I can actually see my breath—

There’s a knock on the driver’s side window.

Two quick raps.

I scream so loud, it’s a wonder the windows don’t shatter. Immediately, I scramble to the passenger seat, opening the glove compartment to find a weapon, but there’s nothing but a manual and an unpaid parking ticket. Terror wracks my entire body. I’m too terrified to look out the window to find out who knocked. What if it’s the freaking scarecrow? Who could live a normal life after seeing something like that?

“Ma’am,” booms a deep voice outside of the car. “I’m sorry for scaring you, ma’am. I just…I saw your headlights from my house. Is everything all right?”

“Please don’t kill me!” I shriek.

“Kill you?” His country accent is heavy with surprise. “I mean you no harm. And if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, you’re a lot more likely to freeze to death.”

My eyes are squeezed shut.

Don’t look.

You do not want to see a talking scarecrow.

“Are you the scarecrow?” I call in a shaky voice.

A pause ensues. “Are you on drugs, darlin’?”

“What? No!”

“It’s a real problem out here in the country.”

“I’m not from the country. I live in the city.” I’m almost ready to open my eyes and chance a look at my potential killer. “I just got lost and there’s no reception. The road is too dark to see where I’m going.”

“That sounds like the start of a horror film,” he remarks, jolting me on the seat. “I really hate to break this to you, ma’am, but when you finally get enough courage to look at me, my appearance isn’t going to be very comforting.”

“Why?”

“I’m pretty big, is all.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t bother throwing on clothes, except for these overalls and I’m still muddy from the day’s work. I’m also holding a pitchfork, because every once in a while, we get wolves down from the mountains and I needed something to fend them off. I’m guessing I’ll be quite a sight.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound promising.”

He makes a sound of agreement.

“My name is Dusty. What’s yours?”

“Bianca.”

“Bianca, I’d really hate you to freeze to death on my property.”

“No, I wouldn’t like that very much, either.”

“What can I do to convince you to come inside and sleep somewhere warm?”

Fact: if I stay in this car, I’m going to die from hypothermia. I don’t have enough gas to keep the heat pumping all night and I have nothing to warm my body. I could attempt to keep driving, but I will probably wreck my car and I’ll never be able to afford repairs. A warm bed in a farmhouse sounds incredible right about now but accepting his invitation could mean years of suffering in a basement full of bloody torture implements.

“I mean…” Here I go, justifying my bad decision. “This doesn’t feel like the kind of conversation a victim has with her murderer in a slasher film. It’s usually more…lecherous and creepy. Like, ‘what’s a pretty girl like you doing in these backroads?’ You don’t sound creepy.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.”

Wow. I just had the weird urge to laugh. Is this farmer kind of funny? “Do you live with anyone? A wife, maybe? That would help.”

“No wife.” Did he sound a little embarrassed revealing that? “It’s just me. And my chicken, Mildred. She doesn’t like sleeping in the coop. Spoiled as can be, that one.”

Am I being naïve or is accompanying this man to his farmhouse beginning to feel way less scary? “Could you go stand in front of the car? I’m going to turn on my headlights, so I can have a look at you first.”

“Brace yourself.”

“I’m braced.”

When I hear heavy footsteps scuffing on the dirt road away from the driver’s side, I reach over and twist the key in the ignition, my lights coming on automatically and—

“Oh my God.”

Pretty big? Is that what he called himself?

This man is easily six-foot-six and built like an honest to God ancient gladiator.

One strap of his overalls is unhooked, the other one sagging down, leaving his rippling, hairy chest on display. I have belts at home that wouldn’t fit around his arms. His thighs are on the verge of ripping open those denim pant legs. But his face…

His face is kind. His eyes are patient.

He’s not handsome in a classic sense. His features are hard and weathered, yet he doesn’t appear to be that old. Maybe thirty?

Those eyes, though. Some deep-down intuition tells me he’s a pure soul.

“Well?” he shouts. “What do you think, Bianca?”

I turn off the engine and sit in the dark silence for a few seconds, my limbs shivering from the cold, my molars sealed together, skin like ice. Hoping like heck that I’m making the right decision, I pick up my phone and collect my car keys, then I open the passenger door and climb out, my spiky heels immediately sinking into the grassy earth.

“Okay, Dusty. Please don’t turn me into a missing poster.”

“I won’t. You have my word,” he chuckles, his steps coming closer in the darkness.

Dusty has almost reached me when the clouds part, allowing the moon to emerge once more. Light spills down from above and I watch as he sees me, really sees me clearly for the first time, his heavy gait faltering, a hoarse sound falling from his mouth.

“Bianca,” he breathes, that mighty chest beginning to heave. “I had no idea.”

“No idea about what?”

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts. “Dear Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like you.”

“I should get back in the car.”

“No.” He plows ten fingers through his dark, close-cropped hair. “No, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I apologize. I just wasn’t expecting to witness a miracle tonight.” A lump moves up and down in his throat. “That’s what you are, Bianca. One of God’s miracles.”

Why am I having a hard time drawing breath? Men hit on me all the time and I don’t get this weird…flutter in my belly. Why is this farmer making me feel all gooey? “Okay, if I’m going to come stay the night in your house, you can’t say things like that.” I cross my arms. “And let’s get one thing straight? I’m not sleeping in your bed. This isn’t a slasher film or a porno.”

“Ah Jesus, of course not. I’m not stupid. I know I don’t have a chance with you.”

My chest feels funny. “Well…good. I’m glad that’s cleared up.”

“I’ve got eyes, Bianca. It was never unclear.”

My arms uncross and drop to my sides. “You’re being a little hard on yourself now, don’t you think? There are plenty of women who would love a big, strong farmer. I’m just not in the market for one right now, that’s all. I’ve got plans to execute before I start worrying about men…and all that stuff. You know?”

He grunts. Roughly.

I study my fingernails, pretending I don’t feel his gaze on my thighs. Maybe I should admonish him for checking me out so blatantly, but this skirt is skintight and short as all get out. Who can blame really the man? He lives with a chicken in the middle of nowhere, for goodness sakes. He probably doesn’t encounter too many women in these remote parts.

When I shiver, he makes a sound of denial and comes closer. One step, two. “You won’t be able to walk through the field in those shoes.”

I nod, because he’s right. I can barely stand on the road in them. “Should I go barefoot?”

“No, if you stepped on something sharp and hurt yourself on my land, I’d be…very upset.” He raises the pitchfork and buries the metal teeth in the ground. “I’ll carry you home.”