“Legal age of consent in the state of Texas is seventeen.” He shrugs before taking another drink. “She’s seventeen.”
She is but … “How do you know that?” I ask, coming to a stop. Since when does Cole know Texas law?
A dark look clouds his eyes when he answers. “My dad brought it up back in Oregon regarding Austin and me. And after what I saw between you and Demi earlier, I looked it up. Just to make sure she couldn’t get you in trouble.”
Even he thinks she was setting me up for something. The sad part? I fell for it. Who knows what I would have done if he hadn’t shown up when he did. I run a hand through my hair. “That fucking bitch played me. Then she laughed. As if it was some kind of game to her.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” he asks.
Placing my hands on the table, I lean over and look down at my best friend. “I want to show Demi just what kind of game I like to play.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, the one that tells me he’s up for whatever I want to do. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. Whatever Cole is dealing with right now, this could be his distraction. I’m always willing to help my friend out.
He nods. “Let’s play.”
That bitch doesn’t want to fuck with me. I’ve got all kinds of tricks up my sleeves. I watched the look of satisfaction in her eyes and her smug smile when she sucked on my finger. Fuck, it made me hard. And I tried so goddamn hard not to think about it. Not to feel it. But in the end, she won that round. She thinks she can push me to touch her, to fuck her? She’s about to realize she can push me, all right, but it won’t get her the result she wants.
DEMI
I lie in my king-size bed, my back propped against the padded white headboard while I watch the documentary Serial Clown Killer on YouTube. A serial killer who lived in Illinois known as Pogo the Clown. Hired to perform at birthday parties, he would sexually assault the boys, strangle them with rope, and then bury their bodies under his house. He was put to death in 1994 after being found guilty of thirty-three counts of murder.
Murderers and psychopaths have always fascinated me. I’ve always wondered how a mind of a serial killer works. What makes them want to kill? And what makes them choose their victims? How do they not get caught? I can see someone getting away with one or maybe two, but more than that? Thirty-three fucking murders before finally being arrested. No way. That would never happen these days. The technology we have now would make it difficult for anyone to slip through the system.
That’s what you think, my mind taunts. You know a killer, and he’s not locked up in prison or on death row.
Deke told on himself. I overheard him confess what he did to my sister three months ago. I’ve never cared for the bastard, but it made me respect him a little.
I lean up against my bedroom wall at my father’s house, listening to my sister and her boyfriend fight. He looked pissed when he stormed into her room and ordered me to leave.
“I’m sorry …” she cries out.
“You will be,” Deke says, and I snort.
I quickly place my hand over my mouth, hoping they didn’t hear that. But honestly, come on? What the hell would he do to her?
“Please, Deke,” she begs, and I roll my eyes at the desperation in her voice. “It’s not like you haven’t kept secrets from me.”
“What I did was none of your business,” he replies simple as that.
It’s how all the sharks work—they can do whatever the fuck they want.
“You lied to me!” she screams. “You killed Kellan!”
Whoa! What the fuck? His friend Kellan has been missing for two months now. After the news broke of him shooting Austin Lowes and killing her stepmom, the authorities have had a manhunt out for him but haven’t had any luck finding him. Now I know why.
“I have.” He doesn’t deny the lies. “Want to know the truth, Becky?” I press my body more into the wall to listen since he’s lowered his voice. “I’m a murderer,” he admits with no shame. “I’ve killed five people.”
Holy shit! The town is afraid of the GWS, yet my sister always bitched about how harmless they were. I knew they were untouchable. Evil. That’s what fascinated me about them the most. They played a stupid game of dare that always went too far and landed them injured most of the time. Or in trouble with the law. But a group of kids whose parents have endless pockets mean you never have to pay for your actions.
“Do you wanna be my sixth?”
She gasps.
And I can just see her body trembling in fear right now.
“You … What …? Why, Deke?” she rambles.
“It doesn’t concern you,” he answers.
She was terrified for a few seconds. Then when she realized he was really going to leave her, she dropped to her knees and sucked his dick like the pro she is.
Why isn’t the guy in jail? I know he had help from the GWS. How did they do it and not get caught? And why hasn’t my sister turned them in? She has to know more than she is letting on. She must have evidence to put Deke and his fucking pathetic sharks away, right? Maybe she’s keeping her mouth shut for Austin since she is engaged to Cole. He was arrested for killing her stepmother and shooting her, but I didn’t believe it. Cole isn’t that stupid or that careless. He’s a fucking time bomb, but he wouldn’t do something to get caught. No, they’re all smarter and more calculated than that. So, after being questioned, he was released. And a body was never found to prove what the cops already knew.
I turn off my TV and get out of bed. All I wear is an oversized T-shirt of Seth’s and a pair of boy shorts. I walk down to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and a banana. I notice the clock on the wall reads 10:35. I’m home alone on a Saturday night. My mom and her husband are at some fundraiser for his job in New York, and they won’t be back until Monday. Becky’s out doing who knows who at the moment. She’s never here. I don’t know where she goes or what she does, but I never ask, and she never offers. The hired help my mother keeps on the property have been sent home for the weekend. My only friend here in Texas is at some party tonight that I refused to go to because it’s at some bitch’s house that I don’t like. She tried that I’ll come visit you instead of going shit, and I waved her off. I don’t need her to coddle me. Or pretend she’ll pass up free booze. And Seth is … well, I know he’s busy.
I shut off the kitchen lights and make my way back to the foyer. My mother bought this house after my parents divorced. I was twelve at the time. I managed to stay in Collins until just a few months ago. I hate Texas! I loved Collins, Oregon. It was smaller, but that’s what I liked about it. It didn’t take hours to get somewhere due to traffic. Even though she picked to live in Austin, she associates with the same people: stuck-up billionaire snobs. My mother owns a lingerie line, and she’s in stores all over the world. Some would say she’s a big deal, but I think it’s stupid. She makes slutty little outfits so housewives can dress up to try to seduce their husbands who are already fucking someone else on the side. The ironic part? I bet my life that their “secrets” are also dressed in the same lingerie and look better.
I walk past the round glass table that sits in the middle of the grand foyer and take the right set of stairs to my room on the second floor. I enter and notice that my windows are open. The soft wind blows my violet curtains around, giving my room a cold chill from the outside air. “Hmm.” That’s weird. They weren’t open a minute ago. My bedroom light is off how I left it, but since the window is open, the lights on the side of the house give my room a soft glow.
I walk over to them and look out the open windows. The Victorian mansion sits on five acres in a secluded neighborhood. You have to have a gate code to access the property, so it’s not like you can just pull up to our house. If someone doesn’t have the code or clearance to get in, the guard shack will phone us for approval. My mother thinks she’s some kind of celebrity and needs protection from the outside world.
I look over the manicured lawn
. Holly trees line the area below my windows—big shrubs that have pointed leaves on them. I’ve cut myself on their sharp edges before, and they sting like a bitch. I’m pretty sure my mother put me in this room so I can’t jump out and escape. Becky’s doesn’t have anything outside her window, but she’s always been allowed free rein. She comes and goes as she pleases. Plus, when we lived with our father, the parent who wants to be your friend more than a parent, he allowed her to do whatever the hell she wanted. That’s why she begged our mother to stay there when they announced their divorce. Thankfully, my father talked her into letting me stay too. But he was just as strict on me as our mother is.
I place my knee on the white cushion of the alcove and pull both bay windows closed, then flip the latch. I turn around, and a scream erupts from my mouth when I see a guy sitting on the opposite side of my bed with his back to me. He has his head down, facing the floor. A black hood pulled up, so I can’t see the back of his head. With matching black jeans. He sits with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
I’ve fallen onto the bench, pressing my back up against the windows. My heart races in my chest. He sits perfectly still—like a statue. Swallowing nervously, I try to remember any survival skills, but I’ve got none. The thought crosses my mind of the serial killer documentary I just watched and how I’m about to be raped and hacked into a million fucking pieces before they’re buried under some psycho’s house. I’ll never be found.
By the way his broad shoulders pull against the black fabric, I’m guessing the guy has at least a hundred pounds on me. I’m five feet three and weigh a hundred and twelve pounds. I can’t fight off someone that size.
I sit paralyzed, waiting for him to stand. To turn and show me his face. The fact that he’s hiding from me has to be a good sign, right? I’ve seen enough documentaries to know if they hide their face, they don’t want you to be able to identify them. If they do show their face … well, then they’ve already decided you’re going to die.
I swallow nervously and push myself up when he just continues to sit there. I will my shaky legs to tiptoe over to my bed and snatch my phone off the nightstand to call 911. But it’s not there.
My stomach drops. I know I didn’t take it downstairs with me. That only leaves one other possibility—he has it.
“What … what do you want?” I ask and swallow the knot in my throat. I’m here all alone. Why isn’t he doing anything? Did Becky send him? Is this some sick joke she’s playing on me? It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to scare me. And since I made fun of her getting scared at Silence, I wouldn’t put it past her to retaliate.
A thought hits me, and I release a long, shaky breath. Halloween is coming up. My hands come to rest on my pounding chest. “Seth, knock it off.” The guy likes to scare me because he knows how much I enjoy it. Last year on Halloween, I just happened to be visiting my mother in Texas, and he dressed up as Jason and hid in the back seat of my car. When he popped up, I had just merged onto the highway and almost killed us both, barely missing the center median. We laughed about it afterward.
He swears he’s going to scare the shit out of me. My eyes narrow on the back of his hoodie when he continues to just sit there. “Seth …”
The hallway and outside lights go out, cutting off my words and leaving us in complete darkness and total silence. I blink and suck in a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. Blood rushes in my ears, momentarily deafening me. What the hell is going on? Looking around, I notice that even the green light to my DVR is off. He’s cut the power. But how? It isn’t storming outside. The stars were out when I looked out my window a minute ago.
“This isn’t funny,” I snap, my chest aching from my heart beating so hard.
The silence swallows me, and I blink, trying to adjust myself to nothing. You know when you imagine a spider crawling on your arm, and you scratch at it as though it’s really there? That’s how I feel right now. I get that feeling creeping up my spine that has my fear rising again. It’s not Seth. He messaged me earlier that he had plans tonight when I asked him if he wanted to come over and watch a movie.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Seconds pass before I hear footsteps. But they’re outside my bedroom door not inside. The banister creaks as they grip it with their hand, making their way slowly up the stairs. Oh, God no. There’s more of them. That’s why he hasn’t moved. He’s waiting for help. “Please …” I say as tears begin to sting my eyes, and my anger rises at how hopeless I am. “Just go …”
“Can’t do that,” a voice whispers from my right.
I jump and slap my hand over my mouth to keep from yelping in surprise. A hand gently touches my side, and I begin to shake. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I scream this time.
Voices chuckle, and I try to catch my breath. I spin around in a circle. How many are in my room?
“To play a game,” a male voice says softly, right up against my ear. And I jerk away. My body heat rises at the closeness of a stranger in my room, and my hip runs into the corner of my nightstand. Shit! That’s going to leave a bruise.
I reach over, wrap my fist around my lamp that I know sits on it, and throw it across the room. Seconds later, you hear it shatter against a wall. Not wanting to stand here like a sitting duck, I run for my bedroom door. If I can get downstairs or outside ... but just as my fingers wrap around the doorknob, a hand twists in my hair, yanking me to a stop. I cry out, my hands flying to the one that holds me. I claw at the hand as my scalp stings from them fisting my hair. “Please … don’t …”
My back is pulled into a hard body and another hand comes up and slaps over my mouth. I try to catch my breath through my nose, but it’s not working.
My chest rises and falls fast, and I cuss myself for not wearing more clothes. I’m your typical cliché in every horror movie. The one I laugh at when she ends up getting stabbed or dismembered in a brutal fashion.
A warm breath hits my ear as the person who holds me leans down to whisper. A shiver of fear runs through me at the same time my thighs tighten. “I thought you wanted this, Becky?”
My entire body stiffens at his words. And not because of how he called me by my sister’s name but because of who said it.
Deke!
My fear is doused like fucking water thrown on a fire and replaced with anger. I start to squirm in his hold and try to twist around to punch him, kick him, anything. When it gets me nowhere, I lean my head forward the best I can and then slam it back. I smile when it makes contact with something, and he growls.
He removes his hand from my mouth, and I suck in a deep breath. “You motherfucker …”
He lets go of my hair, and before I can run to the door again, he wraps an arm around my waist, picks me up like a rag doll, and tosses me onto my bed, face down. My fists grip the already tangled comforter, and I try to crawl away, but he jumps on top of me, straddling my ass, and his force makes my headboard slam against the wall. His weight pushes my body down into my mattress. I try to push myself up with my hands, but he grabs them and yanks them behind my back.
“Deke …”
He crosses my wrists and wraps something hard and rough around them, and then I hear the zipper as he pulls it tight. Shit! The zip tie pinches my skin.
“Stop!” I fight him. He shifts, and then I’m rolled onto my back. I cry out as my hands get smashed underneath our weight.
He slaps his hand over my mouth again. This time pressing the back of my head into the bed and digging his fingers into my cheeks. I whimper just as my legs tighten, and my pussy begins to throb.
This can’t be happening …
His breath hits my face, and it smells like his gum that I had stolen from our kiss last night. His lips run along my jawline, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine. “Last time, you didn’t tell me to stop.” Deke’s voice skims over my skin like a warm blanket—one he’s going to smother me with.
He removes his hand from my mouth, and I suck in a long breath.
I h
ear a chuckle behind me, and I know it must be Cole. I pant and then snap at him. “Get off me, Deke!”
His body shakes against mine with his laughter.
This fucker!
“But I wanna play. Don’t you want me to play with you?” He places both of his hands on my hips and slides them upward, pushing my shirt up a little in the process. Even though his fingers are as soft as a feather, they set my skin on fire.
“Deke …” I pause, my heart pounding and stomach tensing. I close my eyes, and that familiar burning sensation licks my skin.
“Yeah, Becky?” his soft voice says. Almost lovingly.
Again, calling me by her name is like he’s dunking me into ice-cold water. “Fuck you, Deke!” I snap.
“I know you want me to fuck you, princess. I’m ready. Are you as wet for me this time, too?” He moves his hips, grinding them into mine, and he’s hard. Motherfucker … Just like last night at Silence.
My breath hitches, and my pussy begins to throb. They say that the reaction your body has to fear is similar to what you feel when you’re sexually aroused, like an increase in your heart rate, breathing, and blood pressure. And I feel all of them right now. It makes my head spin. The fear of what he will do to me, and the arousal of what I want him to do to me.
Heat runs up my spine, and suddenly, what little clothes I have on are too many. The dark room too hot. “Oh God,” I whisper to myself. What is he doing to me? Will I stop him? I allowed him to touch me at Silence because I liked that he thought I was Becky. I wanted him to think she gave in to him and that she actually still cared. I liked the look of surprise and confusion on his face. Now … now … he’s come to play, and I don’t know this game.
He chuckles in the darkness. “I can be your God, princess. Wanna get down on your knees and worship me?”
He grinds his hips into mine again, and I lift my hips to him. Needing more. Wanting more.
I’ve always been the girl who loved scary movies. The hunt. The kill. They fascinate me and turn me on. My mother tells me I’m sick and need to watch more Disney movies, and I tell her I don’t want to live in a fantasy world. I want to live in a dark one. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m sick and need help. Because Deke breaking into my house, pretending to hurt me and tie me up should not turn me on, but fuck if it does. I’m so fucking wet for him right now. The way his hands grip my body like he owns it. His weight on top of me, pinning me down. And fuck, the way his cock presses the roughness of his jeans against my swollen clit. I could come right now.
If You Dare (Dare Series Book 3) Page 7
