Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

Trevor was passing by again, this time with a six-pack under his arm. He must’ve heard me, because he handed me a new beer and I grinned up at him, thankful. He looked blurry. But that was okay. I didn’t mind.

I didn’t mind much right now.

Things were soft and fuzzy—and they didn’t hurt so much.

There were no monsters.

There was only this beer and—oh. Wow. It felt so good pressed to my forehead. So so good. Yes. I liked that. I liked that even more than drinking it. I chugged the remainder of my solo cup then tossed it to the side, beer still in hand.

“Jeffrey,” Blair’s voice broke through the fog in my head. At first, I thought I imagined it. Because Blair shouldn’t be here. This was a party. Blair didn’t go to these—he hated my friends. If I was being honest, I hated them too. They were dumb and vapid and they thought high school was forever.

They thought any of this mattered.

But it didn’t.

It didn’t, it didn’t, it didn’t.

Not when there was blood out there. Blood and knives—and monsters—and the sounds they made when they died.

“Jeffrey,” Blair tried again. And this time I felt his hand on my shoulder. I flinched away, eyes fluttering open, my beer falling to the ground with an annoying clink. “I think you’ve had enough, man.”

“Fuck off,” I reached for the beer, but Blair beat me to it. He curled his fingers around the neck, pulling it away.

“Stop being a bitch,” I huffed out, flapping my hand out for the beer again, and missing—spectacularly. Which was not like me. I had impeccable aim. If I didn’t, I’d be dead. The scratches on my torso itched, scabs barely healing over.

“I’m not being a bitch,” Blair laughed, though he had this judgy look on his face that pissed me off. Like he was looking down on me or something. Like I was pathetic.

Hell, I knew I was.

But I didn’t need him to look at me like that.

“Just let me—”I reached for it again, and he batted my hand away.

“No.”

“Fuck.” I glared at him, struggling to my feet, though I stumbled a little and hit the bannister. A pained hiss escaped, one of the scratches on my torso pulling to the point of blistering—white hot pain. Fuck. Ow. Fuck. “Ow—” I gasped, wheezing as I held onto the railing, eyes pinched shut.

“Are you?—”

“I’m fine—” I managed, somehow holding on long enough to get the words out. “Fuck off.”

“No.”

“I’m fine—” my voice didn’t sound like my own. It was manic, and high, and twitchy. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Blair frowned at me. I could hear it in his voice. Didn’t even need to look at him to know what his face looked like. He was in this annoying phase lately. Seemed to think if he did whatever Lydia wanted him to, things would get better. That she’d change. That we’d be a happy fucking family and la-dee-dah.

Fat chance of that.

She was just biding her time.

Because she was evil, she was evil fucking incarnate. It was like he’d forgotten all the shit she’d done to him. All the times she’d locked him up. The violence. The nasty words. The cuts and bruises—the night terrors?—

The—

The—

Everything—