Page 88 of Wicked Temptations
“Oh my god, it’s him.”
I tilted my head. Let them see the skull painted across my face, the Hunter in full predator mode.
“Can we get a picture?” Another girl stepped forward, brave or stupid. “Please?”
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back and relaxing my stance just enough to look approachable instead of threatening. The shift was instantaneous, muscle memory from weeks of fan interactions.
“Make it quick.”
They swarmed. Posed on either side of me, phones held high. I threw an arm around one’s shoulders, grabbed the other’s wrist and pulled it across my chest like I’d just captured her. Flash. Flash. Flash.
“Thank you so much.” The first girl clutched her phone like I’d handed her gold. “We love you and Simon. The videos are insane.”
“Are you guys doing anything tonight? Like, together?”
“Any word from Jude?”
The questions came rapid-fire, and even if I weren’t a bundle of nerves, I would have struggled to answer them all. I left it with a cryptic, “You’ll see,” before I let the smile drop. Let the Hunter slide back into place, cold and dangerous. Their laughter died. “Now run.”
They bolted. Shrieking and stumbling over each other as I lunged forward, not fast enough to catch them but close enough to make their hearts pound. They disappeared around the corner, and I stopped, breathing hard.
Fifteen minutes.
I prowled deeper into the zone. I scared a kid who looked like he might piss himself, posed for another photo with a couple who asked nicely and then chased a group of teens who thought they were tough until I vaulted over a barrier and growled at them.
And then the music shifted. It was subtle at first, just a change in the bass line before the tempo dropped and the lights went from pulsing red to a slow, steady strobe.
It was time.
I moved to the center of the zone, where the paths converged into a wide open space. The spot where Jude and I used to perform. Guests milled around, some watching me but mostly talking amongst themselves. Phones were already out. They always were.
I climbed onto the low platform that served as our stage and spread my arms wide.
Heads turned.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” My voice cut through the noise, amplified by the acoustics of the space and sheer volume. “Can I have your attention?”
The crowd quieted. More phones lifted.
Good.
“It’s been a hell of a week, hasn’t it?” I paced the platform, letting them see me. “Some of you have been following the drama. The injury. The speculation.”
A few people nodded. Someone shouted, “Is Jude okay?”
“Jude is fine.” I grinned, sharp and mean. “Better than fine, actually. But we’ll get to that.”
I stopped pacing and looked out at the sea of faces, the phones pointed at me like weapons.
“And for those of you shipping #Simash.” I drew the word out, mocking and playful. “I see you. I see your comments. Your thirsty, thirsty posts. Yourfanfiction.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. A few people looked embarrassed, but most leaned in, delighted.
“Simon’s a great guy. A solid performer. His girlfriend Amanda thinks so too.”
There was more laughter.
“But tonight isn’t about Simon.” I let the smile drop. Let the moment settle into something heavier and theatrical. “Tonight is about the man who built this. Who designed the Hunters. Who made the Scream Scene what it is and what you all love.”
