Page 83 of Shadowed With Fear

Whatever the mayor’s saying, Grayson’s telling me is a complete fucking lie. And I don’t know if that thought is as unnerving as it is settling. The mayor does know something, and the fact he thinks that everyone in the crowd doesn’t, means we have an advantage. And we desperately need the advantage right now.

“The fiends that have taken over East End, filling it with depravity, terror, and darkness will be stopped. I will stop at nothing to ensure that you, the citizens of this town, are safe, secure, and unafraid. Thank you.” The mayor gives a solemn nod to the crowd as an uproar begins. People shouting at him, cursing his name and the police. The few men in blue who were unlucky enough to get this assignment work to keep the crowd from pressing further into the building as the mayor disappears inside.

Beside me I hear a quick click, and a soft chuckle.

“What is it?”

“Fiends,” he snorts, looking at me amused. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Dahlia

After news of Mayor Cook’s speech circled around town, as well as through the guys, things have been…bleak. East End had already been suffering a melancholy that had begun a few years ago, but now, it seemed like no one ever really leaves their homes. Campus is not nearly as lively as it was at the beginning of September, and now nearing the end of the second week of October, I’m afraid it will only get worse from here.

The plaza is empty, town square is empty, there might be a handful of cars on the streets as Grayson passes on his bike, riding us home.

It’s heartbreaking. I think it’s this moment that I fully begin to grasp why the guys are doing this. They’re older than me, so they remember when East End was…better, alive. I’ve always remembered there were things that would happen, even as a kid. I remember mom locking the doors and telling me I always needed to be sure the windows and doors were locked once the sun went down.

But I guess the guys remember when it used to not be this way.

Fighting for the town to not only stop getting worse, but with hope that it may heal, and return to what it used to be before the darkness settled over the streets and the homes of these innocent people.

We pull into the driveway, and I note the subtle differences in Grayson’s house from the first time I was here a little over two weeks ago.

There are lights strung across the porch, and I hung a wooden sign by the front door that has “You better have Boos” written in a loopy script. Grayson rolled his eyes when I showed him the purchase I had made when Liz took me with her to shop around town for Halloween costumes. I think it makes the place homey…and maybe I also knew that it would annoy him. Win-win.

Things with Grayson have pretty much remained the same. It’s like he’s completely ignoring the fact that he’s had his cock shoved down my throat or that he had given me the best orgasm I’d ever had in my entire life. It hurts.

A voice in my brain keeps telling me it’s because the entire time, he was just playing this game, and I was just a pawn. Using me to have some fun while he was tied to me due to Brahm’s fucking orders.

But he told me everything he did, said, it was all true. I’ve never known Grayson to lie, at least not about something like that.

We’re quiet walking up the steps to the house. Brahm had told me Monday night that I was good to come home, but I don’t want to leave.

Grayson’s house is warm, it’s comforting. Feels like home. It’s only a bonus that I don’t feel the thousand eye monster staring at me from the dark.

I shiver at the thought that maybe it my imagination hadn’t been playing tricks on me, and the thousand eye monster was the man in the ski mask.

“What’s wrong?” Concern laces each word as Grayson looks over me, his eyes pausing at my hips. The first sign of anything more than platonic from him in weeks.

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Nothing. Hope you enjoy your eyeful. Take a picture Grays, it’ll last longer. And I know your plenty good at that.” I huff passed him to the room I’ve claimed as my own.

I stayed this week hoping that something would change in him. That he would stop tiptoeing around me—around us. I guess I was wrong.

“D?” He calls from my doorway, a frown plastered on his face.

“Yes?” I bite.

“Tell me what’s wrong, little flower.”

I soften. My insides turning to mush at the sweet voice he uses. I sigh, slumping on the bed. I look up at him, but what do I say?

My mouth opens, but he cuts me off.

“I’m sorry, Dahlia.”

Okay, maybe I don’t need to say anything.

“I see that I have upset you, and I’m sorry. I— “he sucks in a deep breath, coming to kneel before me, grabbing my hands into his warm ones. His thumb traces each knuckle.