Page 7
Frowning, I glance out the window, spotting the floodlight still illuminating the gate. No headlights, or silhouettes. No reason for anyone to be here. Briefly, I start to wonder if maybe I imagined the sound when another one slams into the door hard enough to make me flinch.
“What the fuck?”
A rattling sound draws my attention to the handle, and my heart jumps into my throat when it jiggles violently. Panic ices my veins. All thought scrambles for some logical explanation: Someone's lost, maybe, or Hank's pulling a prank. Not that he seems like the type.
“Real funny,” I call out roughly. “Ha ha, mess with the new guy.”
Immediately, the handle stills. Silence fills the shack so suddenly that my ears ring from the force of it.
Seconds tick by. I hold my breath, waiting for another bang or for someone to answer on the other side. Nothing comes, so I inch closer.
Each step feels heavier than the last, like the universe itself is trying to hold me back. I stop just short of the door to see moisture from outside seeping through the edges of the warped frame, and on the other side, I hear… breathing.
Don’t leave the shack.
Those words clang around my skull the moment my palm closes around the knob. Every instinct screams at me to step away, hide beneath the desk with the spiders, radio the sheriff. That's what I should do. What any sane person would do.
But the part of me that's always craving chaos—the part responsible for killing the most important people in my life—unlocks the door and opens it anyway.
Chapter
Four
Benji
“Holy fucking shit!”
It's a man.
I flinch back at the same time he does, both of us jolting like we’ve been struck by lightning.
“Yo, what the hell?” Rain pours down behind him, dripping off the edge of his hood and down the sharp line of his jaw. “Are you trying to kill me, asshole?”
“Are you trying to break the door down?” I growl.
The man blinks at me. “Huh?”
“You nearly took the handle off!”
An emotion flickers across his face, too brief and too shrouded by the darkness to decipher. “Forgot my key. I knocked twice.”
All I can do is stare at him and try to catch my breath, because that definitely wasn't knocking.
Rain hits the metal siding between us as trees creak low in the distance, and his gaze drifts past me. “So, can I clock in, or…?”
My brows slam down. “What?”
“I'm on nights,” he says, like that explains anything. “Overlap shift.”
“Uh… Hank said not to let anyone in unless they're scheduled.”
Whoever-He-Is huffs and points over my shoulder. “I am scheduled, numb nuts. It's fucking cold out here, let me in.”
Pursing my lips, I keep my eyes on him as I back away toward the desk. The ledger on top of it sits open with today's date, and I glance down to see someone's name scrawled beneath mine beside shift personnel.
Manuel.
Of course, because why would anyone tell me this ahead of time? That’s too easy.