My release was coming.

My legs clenched around him, and I leaned my head back, helpless and only wanting what was coming—and then I exploded. My body shuddered in his hold.

He didn’t give me time to acclimate to the sensations coursing through me. Shoving his pants down and mine, he pushed inside me, and I groaned.

And I stopped thinking about her.

14

Heather

Fifth grade

“Who are you trick-or-treating with?”

We were preparing to leave the house when my dad asked that question. I had his green robe on with a dozen stuffed cats either glued, taped, or shoved into the pockets, and my hair was in three giant rollers on top of my head. I had explained the whole premise of the costume three times to my dad, and every time, he ended up looking down at his lap with his shoulders shaking.

I wrinkled my nose. “That stupid Channing Monroe.”

“I thought you two were friends.” He stifled more laughter, locking the door behind us.

I got it. It was hilarious.

Insert eye roll here, please.

I huffed out, “We are, but…still.”

I was just sore. Tate had gone trick-or-treating with her friends in Fallen Crest, because that’s where she lived now. I felt like a loser. She hadn’t even asked me to go with them.

“Tell me again about the idea for your costume,” he said as he crossed the porch.

“We were supposed to pick costumes for each other that show what we’re going to be when we’re old—like, twenty-five.”

“Old.” We separated to go to our car doors. He coughed as I climbed in. “Yes. Twenty-five is old.”

“It’s almost ancient, Dad.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway.” I climbed in, rearranging some of the cats so my seatbelt wouldn’t crush them. He started the car, and I continued, “He picked mine. He thinks I’m gonna be a cat lady.”

“And what did you pick for Channing?”

“That one was a little hard because I had three choices. He’s either going to be a rock star, a criminal, or a serial killer. He gets in so much trouble, it has to be one of those three.”

“Of course.” Again with the lip smashing. His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “So, which did you pick?”

“The obvious one.”

“Which is?”

“Serial killer.” Duh.

When we pulled up to Channing’s house, I saw him and was out of the car in a flash. “You’re supposed to be a killer guy!”

He stood up from the front step and smirked. His hair was slicked back, and as he raked his fingers through it, chain bracelets slid down his arm. He wore a ripped muscle shirt with a leather vest over it, and leather pants on the bottom. Three long chain necklaces hung down his chest, one with a cross at the end.

He cocked his head back, his thumb hooked into the waistband of his pants. “Come on. You really think I’m going to be a serial killer?” He waved a hand over himself. “I’ll be a rock star, hands down.”

“You cheated!” I growled, reaching for one of my cats. Ripping it from the duct tape, I chucked it at him. “I’m not going trick-or-treating with you now.”

The window rolled down on my dad’s car. “Things okay?”

“Yeah!” Channing yelled, scooting around me so he was first to the car. His hand found mine behind his back, and he squeezed it. “We’re still in negotiations over my costume, but we’ll be fine, Mr. Jax. My mom will call you when we’re done tonight.”

Dad moved his head to the side, a better angle to see me. “Heather?”

“Yeah, Dad?” Channing was almost killing my hand.

“Are you okay?”

I gritted my teeth and used both of my hands to crush his. When he howled in protest, I smiled sweetly at my dad. “I’ll be fine.”

Channing was the devil—I should’ve made him dress like that—but I didn’t have any backup trick-or-treating plans. Rock star would have to do.

As soon as my dad left the driveway, I shoved Channing away. “You’re a moron.”

“Come on, Heather.”

I paused at his tone. It wasn’t cocky like normal. He seemed embarrassed.

“I don’t want to dress like a criminal or a killer. A rock star is much cooler.” He looked away.

I picked at my robe. “What do you think this is? You think I’m Alanis Morissette here? I’m in a freaking robe with cats taped all over. Cat lady does not equal cool, but I played by the rules. I’m not a cheater.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s funny. You’re not going to be a cat lady.”

That made me feel better, but I was still sore. It had been his idea to pick each other’s costumes.

“Okay. Okay.” He held his hands up, walking toward me. “How about we go trick-or-treating like this, and I’ll give you some of my stash?”

Well… That held promise. “Give me a third of your candy, and it’s a deal.”

“What?” His eyes rounded. “No way.”

“Half your stash.”

He narrowed his eyes, his head tilting to the side.

“The longer you wait, the higher I go…” I chided softly.

“A third.” His held his hand out. “Final deal.”

“Half or no deal.”

“Heather!” he whined, then groaned as his head fell back. “Fine. I’ll give you half.”

I shook his hand. “We got a plan of action to hit these houses?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, come on.” I put my hands on my hips—or on one of the cat heads. “We need back-up costumes so we can hit the houses twice.”

He mulled that over a moment, sticking his bottom lip out until suddenly he snapped forward. “Hold on.”

He ran inside, the screen door slamming behind him. A moment later, I heard him running back.

His mother yelled from inside, “What are you doing with my new sheets, Channing?!”

He burst through, throwing the screen door open like it was made of air. Dropping the sheets at my feet, he produced a black marker and scissors and yelled back, “Nothing, Mom!” He turned to me. “Run!”

Three hours later, we’d hit all of Roussou twice and were walking down the tracks back to Channing’s house. Our bags were huge. The double costumes had worked. Plus, our second pass had hit the houses late, and most people wanted to get rid of their candy. Roussou wasn’t getting the customers it used to get, which was awesome!

“Stop right there, you two.”

A low growl came from behind us.

We turned to find two guys there, one in a reaper costume and the other in prison garb. In a way, they were the serial killer and criminal I’d picked for Channing. Talk about cosmic coincidence.

Both wore masks, and the bigger one growled, “Give us the candy, you losers.”

Losers?

Fu—nk this sh—at.

Yeah. Funk this shat.

My dad was on me about the swearing, but seriously. He wasn’t here.

FUCK THIS SHIT! I yelled too. “Ahhhh!”

Both guys took a step back.

Channing was watching me, frowning. “Don’t get all crazy.”

I howled at all of them. “I bargained hard for that candy. They’re not taking it.”

The serial killer and criminal shared a look, but neither said a word. Their shoulders rolled back and the taller one raised his head. He coughed. “I mean it. Give us the candy.”