Page 10 of Your Masked Haunting

Bates clears his throat and nervously says, “Yes, but I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail today.”

My head whips his way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His gaze darts behind me, and I instantly follow it, spotting the long black hair I’ve been desperately looking for.

Mona’s standing by one of the treat booths, talking to a guy I don’t recognize. She looks annoyed, but it’s hard to tell if it’s because of him or if it’s just her resting expression.

The guy—six foot, brown hair, athletic build—smiles suddenly, big and bright. I could absolutely obliterate him. I should.

When a hand flattens on my chest, I realize that I tried standing up. Kol’s steel arm keeps me in place enough to check myself from storming over there without thinking it through.

“You don’t want to do something you’ll regret. This is a long game, remember?” Kol warns. “Unless you want to throw your hard work away, in which case I will happily watch you fuck it all up.”

For a split second, he steals my attention as I glare at him.

“You know, I think you’ve become more of a prick over the years.”

He snickers. “It’s hard, being best friends with you two. Exhausting.”

“You love us. You know it,” I challenge him.

He smirks, and the realization dawns on me that he was just trying to distract me from myself.

“Well played.”

“Thank you.” He tips his head and glances over toward Mona. Then his eyes fly back to mine nervously.

“What’s happen …” My words fall away as I find Mona pulling away from a hug. A voluntary and consensual hug that she willingly offered. “What the fuck?”

I rip my phone from my pocket and jump to my feet, storming off toward the house. My vision is spotty; my blood is boiling. She can have friends; she can hug friends. The problem is that she doesn't have any friends. So, who the hell is this guy?

Pulling up her contact, I take a slow and steady breath, wanting to think it through before crossing a new line.

Fuck that.

The phone rings once, twice, and I peek behind me to see her glancing down at the screen. The back of the house has a veranda that encompasses the entire width of the structure, with two staircases that lead onto the porch and inside. I leap up the stairs and inside, tucking myself into a dark shadow.

People are bustling about. Staff rushing in a thousand directions. Guests mingling and exploring. But I can only see her.

I know it’s appearing as an unknown number, so there’s a chance she’ll ignore it. And that’s exactly what she does as she lifts her thumb and forwards me to voicemail.

I call again, and just like the first time, she declines it. She must know who it is. The persistence. The timing. She knows I watch her constantly. This is no different.

Her head tips up and turns, and she scans the crowds. I sink deeper into the house, completely hidden from her view.

Opening a new text, I enter her number and send a message. Straightforward and quick.

Answer the phone, Mona. —Your Masked Haunting

I find her again, watching her through the lattice paneling. She has three seconds to take this in before I call again.

Three.

Two.

One.

The moment the line trills in my ear, my vision tunnels out around her.