I went to my mini fridge and grabbed a Red Bull. We’d been at this for weeks. Rewrite after rewrite. The studio executives kept adding more scenes. They had Skye and me do sex scenes, Evie and me domoresex scenes, and everyone had a million extra fight scenes. They filmed me dying, Evie dying, Bryce—the main character of the entire fucking franchise—meeting his final demise. It was becoming torture.
“I’ve never been on a film this long,” I yelled at Anderson as he came to the set—after I’d told Dante to fuck off when I was sent another new script.
“I know. I agree with you, Sebastian. I’m not entirely sure what the studio is doing either. They seem to be throwing more money at this movie to keep the cameras rolling. I’m going to ask for a higher salary for you.”
“You bet your ass you are,” I snarled. “I need a fucking break.”
“You want a break? I can do that. What do you want? Two weeks?”
“I want to be off this fucking set for good,” I groaned.
My agent watched me have a meltdown in my trailer, then nodded. “Okay, let me see what I can do.”
An hour later, I got a text that I had a meeting with a studio executive. Under normal circumstances, I’d be elated, but when I saw the name of who I’d be speaking to, my mood sank.
Arthur Englund.
The man who had stabbed Evie. The next man on her list.
I’d convinced her to take a break from her murder spree. I’d promised her that once the movie wrapped, I’d help kill them quickly, but the movie wouldn’t fucking end.
Connor, my assistant, drove me to Arthur’s office. I slammed my energy drink just as I walked through the door with his name on it. I tossed my can in the trash, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and plopped down in the chair in front of his desk, propping my boots on the edge.
“You called?”
Arthur looked a bit taken aback but quickly recovered. He cleared his throat and shifted papers on his desk.
“I heard you’re unhappy with the film schedule.”
“What schedule?” I laughed. “This is a joke. You’ve pushed back the wrap date every Friday for a month.”
“Yes, well—”
“No ‘well.’ Stop pussyfooting around and just spit it out.”
Arthur’s bumbling demeanor shifted. His smile dropped, and his eyes narrowed. “Remember who you’re talking to, Shaw.” His voice was cold, and I raised an eyebrow.
“You want to be done with all of this?” he asked and looked down, pulling out a drawer in his desk. “I have good news. We want to be done too. All of this...nonsense. Let’s finish it once and for all.”
His tone didn’t match his words.
“If I’m being candid, Sebastian, we’ve been filming more scenes because Evie has made it clear she will not be returning after this film. We want to get our money’s worth for flashbacks and things like that. When you create a franchise as prolific asSimon Says, you have to plan not just for the movie you’re currently working on, but the next five or six.” While he spoke, he continued looking in his desk, shuffling things in each drawer.
“Evie wasn’t even scheduled this week.” I crossed my arms. “I call bullshit.”
“Yes, well, we are also planning for your possible exit.”
The words hung heavy in the air. He wasn’t talking about killing Ronny McCoy, the character I’d played since I was a kid. He was talking about me.
I slid my boots off his table, dropping them to the floor as I leaned forward. “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”
He stopped and looked up, a smirk playing on his face. “I think we both know that might not be true.”
“So, this is why you’re holding us hostage and making us film more every day? Because you’re preparing to kill us?”
He ignored my direct question, sidestepping it with ease. “Sebastian, I know what you’ve been doing. Rumor has it, your extracurriculars are going to be leaked soon, and you might not be Hollywood’s golden boy anymore.”
I froze but forced myself not to react violently. I regretted slamming the Red Bull as fast as I had. I was beginning to feel jittery.
