Page 6 of The Dead Don’t Scream

The Scarecrow tilts his head.

“You scared me.”

“That’s the point.”

“You’re supposed to scare Sloane.”

“I can do both.”

I turn. Callum’s attention shifts toward the observation monitor. The registration camera shows Sloane sitting at the table outside the gate. Dark hair spills over her shoulders. Her white dress ends high on her thighs. She opens the envelope. Three ribbons slide into her lap. My cock hardens when she touches the red one. Callum notices.

“Don’t.”

I look down.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Don’t look at her like that.”

“She submitted an application asking three masked men to hunt her through a corn maze. How am I supposed to look at her?”

“Respectfully.”

“You built an altar for her.”

Silence.

“Exactly.”

I return my attention to the monitor. Sloane reads the rules, ties the ribbons around her wrist, and rises. She’s nervous. Not uncertain. There is a difference. I learned it years ago—the same way I learned that laughter can hide pain, arousal can resemble fear, and the loudest person in the room is sometimes the one begging to be understood.

Sloane’s application told me everything she was afraid to say in daylight. She wants to be watched. Caught. Overwhelmed. She wants a man who makes pleasure feel dangerous without ever making her unsafe. One answer made me choose her. Make me scream for reasons I can’t admit in daylight. Challenge accepted. The first bell rings. Sloane steps through the gate. Callum’s body becomes rigid.

“You’ve been waiting a year,” I say.

“Yes.”

“She still gets to leave.”

His blackened eyes meet mine through the mask.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His silence gives me the answer. Callum will respect her consent. He will open the gate himself if she asks. Then he will spend the rest of his life haunted by a woman he touched for one night. Poor bastard. I pick up my radio. Rhys’s voice crackles through it.

“Positions.”

I lower my Devil mask. Sloane walks toward the maze. She looks directly into the registration camera as if she knows we’re watching. Then she smiles. Like a woman preparing to become someone’s favorite fucking sin.

My pulse accelerates. Callum disappears toward the chapel. I head for the carnival. Rhys can make her beg. Callum can convince himself she already belongs to him. I want Sloane laughing when she should be afraid and screaming when she should be quiet. By sunrise, she won’t remember whether she entered this maze to escape us or find us.

Prologue Four

THE SCARECROW

Callum