Page 3 of Trick Me, Treat Me
Her voice dropped to a whisper, even though her room was full of noise behind her. “Just be safe, girl. You know Halloween brings out the weirdos and creeps.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, I know. This one is definitely different already. Sent me a car. Knows my name. But hey, the deposit cleared. And you know I don’t walk away from money.”
“Still… be careful.”
“Shit, you too, hoe,” I said. “Rack them tips. Later.”
The call ended, and I stared out the tinted glass as the limo rolled through the city. Fog swallowed the streets. Pumpkins glowed on stoops. Kids in costumes screamed for candy on corners. But the deeper we drove, the quieter it got. Brownstones gave way to long stretches of trees, branches black against the moon.
When the car finally slowed, I leaned forward. At the end of a long driveway sat a mansion, massive and dark, like it had been carved straight out of a scary movie. Tall iron gates opened with a creak, and the limo glided past, tires crunching gravel.
The place was lit only by jack-o’-lanterns flickering across the steps and a single chandelier glowing through the upstairswindow. The air was colder here, fog thicker, wrapping around the house like a veil.
The car stopped. The driver stepped out and opened the door. “We’re here.”
I slid out, clutch in hand, heels clicking against the stone driveway. My stomach fluttered, but I kept my face calm, chin high. The mansion loomed over me, gothic and quiet, every shadow looking alive. As I walked up the steps, the door opened before I even touched the handle. And there he was.
He leaned against the frame like he owned the night with a thick gold Cuban link around his neck. Tall as hell, six-four, maybe six-five. Shirt gone, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, blunt burning between tattooed fingers. Braids fell neatly to his shoulders, beard full, lips glistening when smoke left his mouth. His neck, chest, and arms were covered in ink, muscles cut sharply under the dim light, and when his eyes met mine, I froze. His grillz caught the light, glinting gold. He was dangerously fine.
My throat went dry. “Damn,” I whispered, before I could stop myself.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Spirit.” He said my name like he’d been waiting years to taste it. “I’m Hallow.”
He stepped forward, slid one arm around me, and pulled me close. His hug was firm but gentle, heat radiating off his body. My face pressed against his chest, and he smelled like smoke, spice, and something wild I couldn’t name.
“Welcome,” he murmured, his voice deep, smooth, with an edge that made my knees weak. “You're right on time.”
Spirit
T h es e c o n dIstepped deeper into that mansion, it felt like I’d crossed into another world. The air inside was heavy but warm. It was charged, like static before a storm. Everywhere I looked screamed real money, not the fake flex shit most dudes posted on social media. This was the kind of wealth that came from old power. From being untouchable.
The chandeliers above dripped crystal that caught the candlelight, scattering sparks across the walls. Velvet curtains pooled against black marble floors, and the fireplace in the living room snapped and spat flames that painted everything gold and red. My heels clicked against the stone like a soundtrack.
“This is some Addams Family shit,” I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
Hallow chuckled, deep and low, smoke slipping from his mouth as he dragged the blunt slowly. “You like it?”
“It’s… spooky,” I admitted, lips twitching.
“Spooky keeps people away,” he said. “Means the ones who stay got a reason.”
Something about the way he said it made me look twice at him. He wasn’t nervous or putting on. His energy was calm but heavy, like he knew he was the most dangerous thing in the room and didn’t need to prove it. He handed me the blunt, and I pulled. The smoke was smooth, almost sweet, but strong enough to loosen my chest. I coughed once, laughed, and shook my head.
“Cali shit?” I asked.
He smirked, eyes slit like he was enjoying watching me take it in. “Better.”
We kept walking until we hit the dining room, and my jaw damn near dropped. The table was long enough to seat twenty, glossy mahogany, black silk runner stretched down the middle. Tall candlesticks burned, dripping wax like blood. The silverware gleamed, wine already poured into crystal goblets that looked older than both of us combined.
At the far end of the room, a chef in whites stood tall, hands behind his back, waiting. His eyes flicked to Hallow like he needed permission to breathe.
“Dinner,” Hallow said simply, pulling out my chair.
I sat, smoothing the lace across my thighs, and the chef moved fast. The chef laid down plates of lobster tails splitand steaming, steaks perfectly seared, and roasted vegetables shining with glaze. The smell made my stomach growl loud enough to embarrass me.
“Damn,” I muttered.
Hallow caught it, his grin flashing gold and fang. “Enjoy it.”
