Kill Switch (Devil's Night #3)

by Penelope Douglas

  What were they seeing?

  And the next thing I knew, the doors opened, and they scurried out of the car, leaving me in the front seat alone.

  What the hell?

  I didn’t know why they ran, but they saw something that scared them, so was the car not safe then? I didn’t know what to do, if I should run, who I should be scared of, but they were gone, and I debated for about half a second before I lunged over to the driver’s side door and pulled it close, hitting the lock, and doing the same thing to Astrid’s door. I might not be out of the woods, but at least I was safe from them.

  The key was still in the ignition, and it was probably a bad idea, but I’d get out of here if I had to. I’d just follow the gravel road.

  If I could get the car moving, which Miles hadn’t been able to do for some reason.

  I sat there for a moment, not hearing any sounds outside anymore, just the rumble of the engine and some White Stripes remix on the radio.

  My phone. I’d call my mom and have her track my phone to find me. I had no idea where I was.

  But just then, I heard his breathing.

  Right behind me, in the back seat.

  I stilled, not moving a muscle as dread wracked through my body, and my imagination went wild, trying to figure out who or what was behind me.

  It was faint but constant, and pain sliced its way through my jaw and neck as a scream filled my throat.

  Tears welled, and I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid.

  I’d forgotten to lock the back doors.

  I opened my mouth, getting ready to cry out and lunge for the door, but then his voice was in my ear.

  “Hey, Little Devil,” he whispered.

  I gasped, the nickname and his hushed tone registering in one powerful, overwhelming blow, and I almost sobbed with happiness.

  Are you kidding me?

  All of a sudden, he reached forward and took me in his arms, hauling me into the back seat. I shot my hands behind me, touching his face—the sharp nose and angular jaw—grazing the scars on his scalp, and burying my nose in his neck. Freshly showered. As always.

  “Oh, my God.” I pressed my forehead into his cheek, holding him close. “Where have you been?”

  He didn’t answer, just held me in his lap, in his arms.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled, feeling like I was letting out two years of breath. He was here. He was alive and hadn’t forgotten about me.

  But…

  I sat up and turned around, straddling him in the backseat and grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie.

  “You scared the shit out me,” I told him.

  “Yeah, I do that.”

  Yeah, lots of people liked to do that in this town.

  I wanted to be mad, but a laugh escaped, and I couldn’t be angry. He was here, and he got rid of Miles and Astrid.

  Keeping hold of him, I dipped my forehead to his, reveling in the feel of him.

  He took my upper arms in his hands and held me. “What were you doing with them?” he asked sternly.

  I stayed right where I was, our lips an inch away. “You were the one following them?”

  He nodded. “I show up to see you again, and when I do, I see you getting in a car with another man.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good stretch,” I said, smarting off. “There were two other girls in the car, too. I thought I was safe.”

  Releasing his collar, I glided my hands around his neck, feeling the same warm, smooth skin. He remained still, almost rigid, as I stayed there, holding him and breathing him in.

  Slowly, his hands left my arms, his touch drifting down, to my waist, digging his fingers in just slightly. Heat settled between my legs, and I bit my lip to keep my breathing under control.

  “Did you do something I’m going to make you regret?” he whispered.

  Make me regret?

  “Jealous?” I teased.

  But Miles and Astrid were far away now. Barely a concern. Tomorrow, I’d tell my mom what happened, but right now, I had all I wanted in this car.

  I touched his neck, trailing my fingers to his collarbone, and hovered over his mouth, playing with the tiny space of breath between us.

  “Winter…” He was almost growling.

  I moved around his face, caressing him with my nose, forehead, and hands, my tongue dying to reach beyond my lips and taste him.

  “You’ve been gone two years,” I said. “That’s a long time.”

  “Did they touch you?”

  “And if they did?” I taunted. “I’m grown up now.”

  “You’re not,” he said, sounding like a warning but breathing harder himself.

  I pressed my chest into his, squeezing him between my thighs. “I’m old enough for things.”

  He gripped my waist harder, pressing my body into his. “You’re old enough when I say.”

  I smiled, tipping my head back and feeling his lips trail a line up my throat. His mouth said one thing and was doing another.

  My body started to move, taunting him. Teasing him. Rubbing on him.

  I wanted to whisper his name, but I couldn’t.

  I took his hands and pulled them away from my body, sliding them up my thighs, just under my skirt. I wasn’t shy around him. I knew he wanted me, but he kept doing things—being bossy and overprotective—that reminded me of an older brother. It needed to stop. I wasn’t a child. I was ready.

  “So what do you say?” I asked, inviting him to touch me.

  He curled his fingers against my skin.

  “Stop it,” he ordered me.

  “I’m sixteen, and I’ve never been kissed.” I put my hands on his chest, feeling my breasts grazing his body. “I waited for you.”

  “Winter…”

  “I waited for you,” I repeated, panting and brushing his lips with mine. “But I won’t wait forever.”

  I layered my lips with his and dipped my tongue out, flicking his lip as I rolled my hips on him. The unmistakably hard ridge of his cock rubbed against my panties through his jeans, and I moaned.

  He grabbed me under my arms, holding me up to his face. “That better not be a threat,” he bit out.

  And then he took my face in one hand and snatched up my lips, biting my bottom one, almost chewing it like he was starving.

  He groaned, I whimpered, and we both gave in, holding each other in our arms, our mouths melting together.

  I was fast and clumsy, and I couldn’t keep up with his kisses and tongue in my mouth, but I loved every second.

  He nibbled and bit and took with force, gripping the back of my hair to tip my head back and eat at my neck. He moved from my throat to my chin to my jaw and then back to my mouth, and I clutched at his shoulders, tugging on his sweatshirt as I dry-humped him. God, I couldn’t stop myself. He felt so good. It was like an itch that I needed to scratch more and harder.

  I tugged at my bow tie, unable to breathe.

  Pulling it loose, I unbuttoned my top button, finally feeling freer and diving in, hugging him to where he was sucking on my neck.

  My hips moved back and forth, grinding into him

  “Winter…” he groaned, pulling back. “I don’t want to…”

  I picked up pace, and he grabbed my ass, helping me move.

  “Don’t want to what?” I gasped out.

  “Make you dirty.”

  I slowed, touching his mouth with mine and kissing him softly.

  Why would he think that?

  “You won’t.” I shook my head, touching his face. “We won’t go all the way. We’ll just play.”

  He breathed out a laugh.

  I kissed him, and he dug his fingers in again, making my body explode and every inch of skin come alive. God, I loved it when he did that.

  “Hey, man, what are we doing?” someone shouted outside. “You want us to wait or what?”

  I startled, taking a moment to register he had friends with him. I threaded my fingers into his hair, going for his mouth again.

 
; Don’t leave.

  “Dude!” the guy barked again. “Girls your own age, right out here! What the fuck?”

  A breathy laugh rumbled from his chest. “I don’t think I can wait for her to be legal, man,” he whispered to his friend but only loud enough for me to hear.

  I nibbled his mouth, playing. “Sixteen is the legal age of consent in thirty-three states,” I teased. “Just not ours. It’s a technicality.”

  “Researched it, have you?”

  I started to grin, but the guy outside grew impatient. “Man, come on!”

  But the boy in my arms shot out his fist, slamming it into the window to shut his friend up, and I heard the glass crack and splinter under his fist.

  “Ah, Jesus,” the guy whined, and I heard more laughter from others. “Let’s give them some room, guys.”

  Their voices drifted off, and he slowed down, touching me, devouring my neck, and getting to know my body. His hands drifted up my skirt, teasing the line but never crossing it, and I slid my hands under his sweatshirt and T-shirt, feeling his hot skin, taut body, and narrow waist.

  I brushed across raised pieces of skin under his arms, and paused, noticing they reminded me of what I’d felt under his hair two years ago. I rubbed over them with my thumb several times.

  “Why were you upset earlier?” he asked. “When you left work?”

  That’s right. He saw me leave the theater. I looked upset?

  I guess I kind of whipped the door closed rather vehemently.

  “Did someone else do something to you?” He pulled back to look at me as he buttoned my top button and retied my bow tie.

  Normally, I hated when people handled me like a kid and assumed they should do things for me, but I got the impression it was more for him. About putting me ‘right’ again.

  “Just a bad night all around,” I told him.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing important.”

  He finished and settled his hands on my waist, waiting.

  I laughed quietly, giving in. “I think I quit my job tonight,” I told him. “I’ve been working the ticket booth at Bridge Bay Theater. They’d asked me not to dance on the premises anymore, and I…” I paused, searching for a way to explain so I didn’t sound pathetic, “did whatever I could to stay involved there, maybe change their minds. But she won’t budge.”

  I drew in a deep breath and exhaled, reiterating my boss’s words. “‘It’s unsafe, and I could hurt myself,’ I told him, getting angry all over again and starting to tear up. “My boss said something like “God has a path, and I need to go where life leads me.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Right?” I said, my voice thick with tears. “I just wanted to, like…burn the whole place down.”

  He snorted, shaking with laughter, and after a moment, I started laughing, too. He kissed me, reminding me that no matter how the night started, it was ending very well. I wanted to stay with him, but he had friends with him, and I wasn’t sure if he already had plans.

  “So…” I said, changing the subject. “You have friends.”

  It was kind of weird, confirming that he was a regular guy with an everyday life. And here I thought he was a vampire, rising only when the sun set.

  “Can I meet them?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re mine, not yours,” he warned, moving his mouth under my ear. “And you’re mine, not theirs.”

  “Well that narrows down your identity,” I replied. “An only child, because you never learned to share.”

  I’d figure it out eventually. Or find a way to make him tell me. After all, I was keeping him a secret from others, too.

  But, it occurred to me, I wasn’t a secret to him. While he was one to me.

  Why?

  I didn’t feel guilty about hiding him from others, but he was hiding himself from me. There was a reason for that.

  Was he old? Attached? Psychotic?

  Or maybe…embarrassed by me?

  But he suddenly spoke up, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Where does your boss live?” he asked.

  My boss?

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

  Damon

  Five Years Ago

  We left Anderson’s car where it was and climbed in mine, the guys having already moved on, as I drove her back through town and to her boss’s house.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked me.

  I pulled up, parking along the curb, across the street from the theater manager’s house, a craftsman-style home with a large wraparound porch and several gables. The yard was green and pristine and only a single light shone from outside the front door.

  I wasn’t sure yet. But I always came up with something.

  Emory Scott lived in this neighborhood. It was nice and clean but boasted none of the mansions the seaside area of town did. I actually preferred it here. Houses close together, neighbors…it would’ve been a nice place to grow up.

  I put the car in Neutral and pulled up the e-brake. “What do you want me to do?”

  I looked over at her, her hands clasped in her lap, looking kind of nervous, and I smiled. Her mouth twisted, and I could see the apprehension all over her face. So scared of getting into trouble.

  But I was sorry. No one told her what she could and could not do.

  Except maybe me.

  “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking uncertain. “Let’s just leave.”

  “You want to dance?” I prodded. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I get anything I want,” I stated quite plainly.

  She laughed under her breath, probably thinking I was joking, and I went weak for a moment, the light in her eyes the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time.

  But she shook her head. “No.”

  Jesus. Is this how she wanted it? Me taking care of shit that hurt her or pissed her off behind her back because she was too timid? Because that’s what would happen. I didn’t let things slide.

  “No one denies you,” I said.

  “But not like this,” she told me. “I won’t like how it feels if I don’t earn it honestly.”

  Yeah, I got it. I’d probably feel the same way about basketball.

  But…

  “She deserves to cry like she made you cry, at least,” I pointed out. “At the very least, a pout.”

  Telling Winter to give up dancing—encouraging anyone to not do what they wanted to do—was arrogant, presumptive, and smug. I wanted to shut her up.

  “I can probably have her fired,” I said.

  But Winter just laughed.

  I frowned. “Can I at least flood her yard and do donuts?”

  “Nothing destructive,” she ordered me. “Nothing mean. It’s got to be funny. And like…easy to clean up. You know? Something elegant.”

  “Something middle school,” I corrected her snidely.

  She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again, smiling to herself.

  I relaxed into the headrest, pondering what I had in my trunk. My buddies and I had all been summoned back to town from college to host Devil’s Night tomorrow night, and as soon as we got back today, we’d gone supply shopping. I had bottles of liquor in my trunk, but Winter didn’t want to start any fires. There was plaster, glue, flashlights, and the guys had some other shit, like rope, smoke bombs, and sledge hammers. Most of this stuff we probably wouldn’t use tomorrow, but we’d been so into it after having not taken part in the Thunder Bay night of mischief for a couple years, we lost our heads and got excited.

  Something non-destructive, though.

  We didn’t do anything non-destructive.

  And then I remembered. I also had some air horns and duct tape in my trunk.

  Jesus. Well, that was it then. I knew what we had to do.

  I couldn’t believe I was sinking this low, for Christ’s sake.

  “Buckle up,”
I told her, shaking my head at myself. “I know what we’re going to do.”

  She held the back of my sweatshirt, following me as I jogged down the pathway, around the corner, and past the elevators. I’d been forced to come to Bridge Bay Theater dozens of times growing up to see performances my parents sponsored or to visit my mother when she deigned to perform as if the town should be so grateful to have a genuine Bolshoi ballerina in their midst. Really, it was just an ego boost for her, since she hadn’t performed on a grand scale since she was fifteen. My father married her, brought her to America, and that was that.

  I knew this place like the back of my hand, even though I hadn’t been here in years. Luckily, the basement window still didn’t lock.

  “You’ve done this before?” Winter asked me.

  I held the door open, pulling her into the ladies’ bathroom and turning on the lights and my flashlight off.

  “My sister and I did it at our house and once again at the pizza parlor,” I told her.

  We were like fourteen, but I remember it being pretty funny.

  Oh, how times had changed and what made me smile.

  “Here, hop up on the counter,” I told her.

  She did, and I dumped my duffel bag in the sink, digging out some air horns, wooden sticks, and duct tape.

  Diving into one of the stalls, I measured the stick’s length from underneath the toilet seat to the button on the horn, seeing how it fit.

  Perfect.

  Good.

  I came back to her at the sinks and put the bottle in her hand, fitting her fist around the can and the stick, to hold it in place.

  “Hold that right there,” I instructed. “Hold it tight.”

  She nodded, and I got busy making the can, wrapping tape to keep the stick in place on the button, so when someone put weight on it, like sitting on the toilet seat, for example, it would sound off, creating an ear-splitting cry loud enough to shake the foundations of this whole fucking place.

  And make every single person inside choke on their coffee.

  “So you have a sister,” she inquired, continuing our conversation.

  “Yep. Not an only child,” I corrected her and her assumption about my lack of manners in sharing.

  “How old is she?”

  “A year younger than me.”