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His head shakes back in one violent thrust.

MAX

What the fuck did I just witness? There’s no doubt Emma is fucking stunning, and her body—fuck me—she’s everything and more, but watching her talk about everything she once wasn’t allowed to say changed something in me. I love it.

He’s on the ground now, gone, but Emma is still frozen in place, like her body has forgotten how to move. Her hands are trembling, the Glock practically glued to her grip. I creep toward her slowly, doing my best not to startle her. I carefully reach for the Glock, but the second my fingers brush it, she spins around and points it straight at my face.

Tears stream down her cheeks.

“Emma, stop. It’s me, Max. I’m not here to hurt you,” I say, my voice low and careful, thick with concern.

Her eyes are wide, unfocused, like she’s still somewhere else entirely. She’s looking at me, but I can tell she doesn’t really see me yet. Her chest rises and falls too fast, every breath sharp and uneven, and her whole body is locked tight with fear, shock, and adrenaline. I don’t know what to do, which is fucking stupid. I really had no idea he would be here; in fact, we never requested anyone to come. We could have if we wanted to. I mean, Emma could have, but that’s a very far stretch; she would want him here, I know that for a fact, plus she wouldn’t keep this a secret from me, we don’t do that, that’s not how we roll.

‘Fuck, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have hurt you.” She shakes her head, clearly trying to come out of the trance she was in. I stumble closer, pressing my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay, what you did was a lot,” I reassure her and take a deep breath.

“Em, look at me, what you just did was so fucking sexy, don’t ever for a second think you didn’t deserve that revenge.” Fuck, it was so fucking sexy watching her kill him.

Even in the darkest moments, I will show her the light, and in the lightest moments, I will show her the darkness because no one lives through life without a sprinkle of darkness.

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles under her breath.

“Don’t ever say sorry for him; he deserved everything you did to him,” I murmur roughly against her. All I want to do is sweep her up in my arms and run out of this place tonight. It was fun; it always is. I love Halloween, and maybe we have only done seven of these, but seven was all we needed. There’s only so long we can keep running before the ghosts of our past catch up. After tonight, it won’t take long for the police to find out. Not when they find Danny. She told teachers and friends not to do anything. It sickens me that she was just an innocent child trying to get on with life.

When does this stop? When do men stop taking things that don’t belong to them?

I look at Emma, and she looks drained, not surprised she’s been spending. Days, if not weeks, sorting our masks out, and while she wore hers the whole time, it’s only when I look over a second ago, I notice that she’s taken it off. Her dark ombre lipstick, her eyeliner smudged, blue hair curled. I get my phone at the right time, just the right time to end this night. I should probably clean up, but a ruthless rise at my lower stomach tonight, which means by tomorrow night it’s done, we won’t be here, and it’s only now it’s really starting. I won’t see Emma again, she’ll always be my best friend and nothing else. But I guess everything comes to an end, and sometimes not everyone gets to live the life they dreamed of.

CHAPTER 12

EMMA

My head’s banging, and I’m pretty sure I’m still hallucinating, because why are rabbits running around the edges of the scare fest as Max and I stumble on our way back to the parking lot? The whole place still feels wrong, even though we’re leaving—too much fog clinging low to the ground, too many fake screams echoing from somewhere behind us, too many actors in masks slipping through the dark as if they belong there more than we do. My skin still feels like it’s crawling.

It takes us forever to get out because I keep stopping dead every time I catch a flash of white in the corner of my vision. A rabbit, then another one, darting between people’s legs, slipping under fences, vanishing when I look straight at them. Max keeps grabbing my elbow and steering me forward before I can say anything stupid.

By the time we make it to the parking lot, the crowd has thinned out. The place is mostly quiet now except for music thumping somewhere in the distance and the occasional burst of laughter that sounds sharp enough to hurt. The lights overhead buzz and flicker. Every car looks vaguely unfamiliar until I spot Max’s.

He digs the keys out of his pocket and tosses them at me.

I stare at him. “Why are you doing that?”

“Because you’re driving.”

“I should absolutely not be driving.”

“You’re less fucked than I am.”

“That’s not the same as being capable.”

He gives me a look, tired and pale and done with the whole night. “Can you get us home or not?”

I look down at the keys in my hand. My stomach turns over slowly and unsteadily. “I don’t even have a license.”

Max blinks. “You what?”

“I mean, technically, I was going to get one.”