Page 55 of The Reaper's Vice

“Someone help me!” I scream, my throat raw and bloody. “Someone please HELP ME.”

HELP ME!

H

E

L

P

M

E

!

!

“Help me!”The mouth mocks. “Help me help me help me! She’s bleeding! Someone please help!”

I slip into the deep cavern of its throat, closing my eyes as terror rolls over my skin in waves. I wait for the pain, the shredding and gnawing of sharp teeth, but it never comes.

Opening my eyes, I find myself crouched on the dirt a few feet from my bike, my fingernails cracked and bloody, caked with wet soil from where I’ve been tearing at the earth. I suck in a breath, my entire body shivering with the aftermath of my hallucination.

I don’t have time to recover, though. The bar doors bang open, and I don’t have to look to know who it is that’s followed me into the night. With Dr. Kebler’s gaze boring a hole into my back, I push to a standing position and race the last couple of feet to my bike.

My engine roars to life and I kick off, hanging low over the handlebars as I speed off down the street and away from the man who used to make my life a waking hell.

I never thought I’d see the day where going to see Ivan is a better alternative.

25

SERAPHINA

“PAINTING THE ROOM RED”

I stepthrough the doors of the Neon Flamingo, a heady tang of musk and spilled liquor hanging in the air. My nerves are buzzing, and the smog that floats through the air slips down my throat, choking out what little oxygen I manage to gulp down.

Not bothering to search for Ivan, I stumble toward the bar, the flashing neon lights causing my vision to pitch, my footing to falter. Somehow, I manage to procure a drink from the bar, though the only thing I remember is the burn as the toxin flows to my stomach.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I wheel around, the hand wrapped around my empty glass raised and ready to smash into their face.

“What are you doing?” Ivan’s eyes widen at the furious snarl spreading my lips, and he takes a step back, his hands raised in defense. “Easy, little doll…”

The world comes back into focus as I lower the glass to the bar top, blinking up at Ivan’s terrified chocolate gaze. “Sorry… I didn’t realize it was you.”

“I would hope not.” His dark eyes search my face for any of the rage that had been there moments before. “Are you ready?”

I nod once, allowing him to take my hand and lead me toward his usual table at the back of the club. The bass pounds in time with each step I take, and by the time we make it to the booth, my skin is crawling with millions of tiny ants.

I gaze at each of the four faces situated around the booth but am unable to identify a single one due to the ridiculous Halloween masks they’re donning. There’s a clown, a scream mask, a werewolf, and?—

My heart shudders to a halt as I place eyes on the last mask.No. No, it’s not possible.

Yet, no matter how many times I try to blink it away, there’s no mistaking it—the glowing red orbs, the messy stitching along the seams of the arched leather beak—it’s exactly the same. A perfect replica of the mask the man who chased me through the woods was wearing.

I take a step back, only to be stopped by Ivan’s hand on my lower back. He leans close to my ear, his hot breath eliciting a horrified shudder as he whispers, “I hope you’re ready to play, little doll.”

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