Page 6 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“I don't want to die.”

The mask watched him. Mason's breathing became ragged. Each inhale felt smaller than the one before it. He reached out. His bloody fingers caught the man's sleeve.

“Please.”

The masked man looked down at Mason's hand. Then something strange happened. He covered it with his own. For one brief, impossible second, the gesture felt almost comforting. Like someone sitting beside a hospital bed. Like someone telling him everything was going to be okay. Mason stared into the black eyes. The blade entered him again. His body jerked. A strangled sound escaped his throat. The hand remained over his. Steady. Mason tried pulling away. He couldn't. The trees overhead blurred. Branches shifted against the night sky, but their movement had become strangely slow. His body felt distant. Heavy. Cold. The church tower disappeared behind darkness gathering at the edges of his vision. Mason thought about Tyler. His mother. His little sister asking whether he was coming home for Thanksgiving.

Then, inexplicably, he thought about the freshman. The kid standing on the table. His face red. Everyone laughing. Mason tried to say something. Sorry, maybe. He wasn't sure anymore. His lips moved. Nothing came out. The porcelain face remained above him. White. Cracked. Silent. The last thing Mason Kerr ever saw was the darkness behind its eyes.

Chapter One — Everybody Loves Elliot

ELLIOT

MONDAY · 10:17 A.M.

Everybody loved Elliot Mercer. This was not something Elliot thought about often because thinking about being liked seemed like the sort of thing people did when they weren't. Popularity became embarrassing the moment someone admitted wanting it, and Elliot had spent enough time around people who manufactured personalities for approval to understand that desperation had a smell. It lived in laughter that came half a second too quickly, compliments delivered too eagerly, stories exaggerated for whichever audience happened to be listening. People could tell when someone wanted something from them. Elliot had discovered years ago that the easiest way to make people like you was to convince them you wanted nothing at all.

“Mercer.”

He turned at the sound of his name and nearly walked directly into a girl carrying three coffees.

“Shit.”

Elliot caught the cardboard tray before it tipped. The girl gasped. One plastic lid popped loose, releasing a ribbon of steam between them, but nothing spilled.

“Holy fuck.”

Elliot laughed and steadied the tray with both hands. “Good morning to you too.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“You're apologizing because I almost murdered your coffee?”

“You came out of nowhere.”

“I was walking in a straight line.”

“So was I.”

“That does complicate things.”

She laughed. Elliot recognized her after another second. Sophie something. Sophomore. Political science, maybe. They'd met at a student-government fundraiser the previous semester. She'd been wearing silver earrings shaped like little stars that night.

“Sophie, right?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Okay, that's creepy.”

“Remembering your name?”

“We've spoken once.”

“Twice.”

She stared at him. Elliot smiled.

“The fundraiser and Professor Ellison's election panel.”