Page 17 of The Dead Don’t Scream

“You liked it.”

I did. Far too much. Rhys straightens my dress, then removes his ribbon from my wrist. He holds it between us.

“Two remain.”

Something unexpectedly hollow opens inside me. Our part is over. He must see the realization on my face because his knuckles trace my cheek.

“You wanted all three.”

“I know.”

“If I keep you, Dante will break down the door.”

“And Callum?”

The teasing ease leaves Rhys’s posture.

“He won’t need the door.”

A dull thud sounds overhead. Dust drifts from the rafters. Someone is on the roof. A second impact comes from outside the wall. Then metal begins dragging around the shed. My skin prickles. Rhys unlocks the door. Fog spills across the floor.

“Run, Sloane.”

I remain seated.

“Are you coming after me again?”

His thumb strokes the ribbon he took from me.

“Before sunrise, all three of us will.”

Desire tightens low in my stomach. I slide from the table. My knees nearly buckle. Rhys catches my elbow.

“Can you run?”

“You’re the one who did that to my legs.”

Something pleased moves through the eyes behind his mask.

“Five-second advantage.”

I step into the fog.

“One,” Rhys says.

I walk.

“Two.”

My pace quickens.

“Three.”

Corn rustles on both sides of the path.

“Four.”

A red mask appears between the stalks ahead. The Devil crooks one finger at me. Behind him, something tall moves through the field. Flannel. Black gloves. A burlap face. The Scarecrow.