Page 33 of Shadowface

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

SUMMER

He is leaning against a wall, approximately ten feet away, with the mask over his head like everyone else. His arms are crossed, biceps flexed, and he is wearing tight-fitted black pants, his shirt showing off his toned, pale arms. His head is tilted down.

My breathing stalls as I behold him. Evil is rippling off him like a sexy shadow, because that’s exactly what he is.

He is death.

I stay squatted down, my three-inch heels sinking slightly into the sticky, warm floor. A sharp, sickeningly sweet smell stings my nostrils; the drugs made the stench overpowering to my senses. Yet, I can’t bring myself to rise or face him. He slowly raises his head, and my heart jolts as we make eye contact.

I’m still wildly out of breath, my heart pattering. I can’t stop staring at him, and my pussy clenches at the thought that this could be the man who took my virginity two years before.

The pulsing is like fire in my veins.

I miss it—I miss him. I miss his constant presence in my dreams.

He doesn’t move, either, so we stare at each other for a few long seconds. The swirl of burlap masks surrounds my vision, but I keep my attention focused solely on him. For a moment, I think I’m just being crazy, and he’s not really looking at me. Then he raises his arms and gives me a little wave, and his lips curve beneath the mask into a cruel, evil smile.

My nameless monster.

Panic sets in.

Despite my desire for this…entity, he is dangerous. There is a missing girl, and he’s hinted she’s within his clutches.

If I wasn’t so high, I’d run. But running is futile, and I want him to come speak to me. His goal doesn’t seem to include killing me, and I won’t be some cliché by running out into the woods so he can chase me and get off on it.

I will never run from him.

He walks toward me and all my confidence shatters. I pull myself up, wobble on my high heels, steadying myself on the wall behind me. I want to be sure-footed for this.

He moves with grace and ease, and with a self-assurance I don’t remember from the nerdy kid sitting at my dinner table all those years ago, if they are indeed the same person.

His body is incredibly attractive. Tall, lean, and filled out in all the right places, but not in a jock way like Grant’s, where he was born with size. SF seems more…deliberate. Not at all like the scrawny nerd I thought he would be.

I scan his body, thinking back to class. Thinking back to Lincoln.

Their resemblance is uncanny…just not his movements, but his motions.

The lights are flashing, and it’s as if I merely blink and he’s stalking toward me, towering over me. He smells like spice, and after being on a sweaty dance floor for the past hour, his aroma is incredible.

And exactly how I remember.

I close my eyes and breathe in his scent, and when I open them, I meet his heavy stare with one of my own.

I’m staring at a devil—a really sexy devil who threatened to cut out my tongue. My heart is hammering now; his mere presence suffocates me and my body is like jelly.

I’m so close to him, I can make out his eyes through the holes in his mask. Dark brown, the blacks of them so black, yet in the flashing light, they are almost translucent.

His eyes seem different. Or maybe I’m just extremely high, and my vision is flickering.

I tilt my head up, and my mouth falls open as I actively study him. I’m mesmerized by him and can’t help but reach out and run my finger along his collarbone, playing with the edge of it, testing how far I can pull off his mask and expose him.

One more inch…

He leans down, cupping my hands with his. “You’re high, Summer.” His voice is exactly how it was on the phone