“Yes,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Better than good.”
They both pull out of me, and their cum drips down my inner thighs. As I roll over and lay on my back between them, my breathing hitches.
Ghost stands, completely naked, and absolutely covered in tattoos. He grabs a folded towel from the corner of the room and wipes me dry, cleaning up the mess they made between my legs. Tossing it onto the hardwood floor, he pulls on his pants, until he becomes still.
Completely motionless.
And within seconds, I finally realize what he’s staring down at.
The healed scars on my wrists.
Chapter 7
Quickly sitting upright, I rush to my feet. Fastening the buttons of my bodysuit, an eerie silence takes over the room. When I turn to face them, they’re gaping at me.
“It’s not polite to stare,” I tell them.
Ghost approaches me, taking my shoulders in his hands. “In the bathroom, earlier,” he hesitates, and my stomach sinks. “At the party. You were upset. Who was that girl?”
“She was nobody,” I reply, brushing it off. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“I can see right through you, little Quinn.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Because you’re hurting. And I don’t ever want to see you hurt.”
Holding up my wrists, I gaze down at the scars, memories flooding back to me. I’ve never had anyone to talk to about this. Not ever. As strange as it may be, it’s consoling that they want me to share my darkest secrets.
Staring into his eyes, I release a small breath. “My childhood sucked, and school was even worse. I was bullied.” I force a laugh. “Really, really bad.”
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, bringing me into his warm, bare chest. “I’ll kill them.”
“It’s been a few years,” I say dryly. “But the trauma it caused. The second-guessing. Wondering if maybe, the whole time, they were right.”
He pulls back, taking my face between his hands. “Right about what?”
“They told me it was my fault that my dad killed himself,” I softly say, tears springing to my eyes.
His body tenses. Face hardens. And those eyes.
They’re terrifying.
Anger consumes every ounce of his being.
Turning to Jason, he glares at him. It’s evident that they’re silently exchanging words before Ghost releases me and storms out of the room.
“These bullies,” Jason says, now dressed, as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do they live around here?”
“I’m not sure,” I reply quietly. “But they all work at the haunted house every year.”
“The one here in Salem?”
I nod.
“You know it’s not true,” he urges, brushing my face with his fingertips. “Right?”
My body stiffens, as I draw in a shaky breath.
“Quinn,” Jason presses, frowning. “You know that was bullshit, right?”
“Mhm,” I whisper.
“It was a bullshit fucking lie. There is no truth in that,” he tells me. “Have you ever talked to anyone about this?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to cause my mom any more stress,” I admit, my lips quivering. “She’s been through enough. I didn’t want to be another burden in her life—”
“Stop,” Jason stops me, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “You’re not a burden.”
“Don’t you fret, little Quinn,” Ghost says as he enters the room. “They’re going to pay for what they did to you.” He steps between Jason and me, pressing a lingering kiss on my forehead. “They’re going to pay with their life.”
The motorcycle engines roar as we speed down the street. The brisk, night air sends goosebumps all over my body. Wrapping my arms tighter around Ghost’s waist, he grips just above my knee with his hand, comforting me.
And I melt against him.
It must look so crazy seeing men on bikes in costume, wearing Halloween masks as we drive past. We pull onto a dark, quiet road, the only light coming from the headlights of their motorcycles. It’s an eerie scene as we turn into an empty lot, surrounded by woods.
The engines go silent, and suddenly I’m able to hear the faint sounds of Halloween-themed music in the distance. The tune of Michael Myers theme song.
“Just for you, Mike,” Ghost says to Michael, before helping me off his bike and removing my helmet for me, draping it over a handlebar.