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“Not here for you,” I shout back, reaching down to grab my bag again.
They only laugh as they draw closer, less than ten feet away. I mentally prepare myself for the pain of a punch and do my best to block out memories of my grandfather and his belt, or of summer camp and that fucking counselor.
This is sick.
You are sick.
You know you deserve this, so be quiet and take it.
Take it, take it, TAKE IT—
“Devon!”
A hand grips my arm, jolting me back into my body. I yank myself away on instinct and look down into a pair of brown eyes gazing at me from beneath a fuzzy hood and suit.
A fucking teddy bear suit.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I ask Owen, glancing sideways to see Arnie’s guys retreating.
“I'm an Ewok,” he responds matter-of-factly. “Come on. Bouncer's my friend, he owes me a favor.”
With a harsh swallow, I cast one last glance over my shoulder before following him inside the club.
Heavy bass envelops us instantly. Fake cobwebs cling to the corners, and plastic skeletons dangle from chains above. Strobe lights flash, casting everything in violent pulses that make it hard to tell what’s decoration and what’s not. Fog machines blow cold vapor around my ankles. I flinch when something brushes my arm, only to realize it’s a rubber limb attached to the wall.
Owen, in his ridiculous teddy bear suit, keeps a firm grip on my wrist as he steers us through the crowd. We pass a group of witches taking shots out of plastic skulls, then Ghostface grinding against a slutty angel. Everything crashes together until my senses feel overloaded.
“Found him!” Owen shouts when we stop near the bar.
Logan stands against the counter, dressed in metallic gold from head to toe. Even his face is painted.
“You supposed to be C3PO?” I snort.
Logan’s eyes widen when they drop over my clothes. “Damn, you look nice. Where's your costume?”
I wink, even though my insides still feel like jelly. “Had court this morning, but I can be your Darth Vader.”
“How'd it go?” Salem asks flatly, bright red strands curled and loose. She's got a sexy black crop top on and a Boba Fett helmet under her arm. I think it's safe to say that she's still holding a grudge from last summer.
Since, you know, I fucked her husband and then almost killed him in a motorcycle crash.
“Fine. Christian around?”
They're all silent for a long moment, staring at each other. A bad feeling skitters across my skin.
“Look,” Salem sighs, setting her helmet down with a thunk. “Before anything happens, you need to understand that you don't have the best track record, Dev.”
I blink at her slowly. “Yeah, I'm well aware.”
“He's…” Logan trails off before peeking sideways. “He's over there, by the DJ.”
Following his line of sight, I turn my attention to a row of mismatched coffins where Christian is currently dancing. He's dressed as Indiana Jones, complete with a hat and the brown leather jacket that I left behind this morning. A coiled whip swings on his belt.
He's also not alone.
A woman presses against him, hardly wearing anything that could be considered a costume. Her hands slide up his chest, and he throws his head back to laugh, hips moving easily against hers to match the beat.
Something dark and ugly twists inside my chest.
