Sneak Peek - Winter release, coming soon!
PROLOGUE
I’m going to solve this madness. I’m going to beat him at his own game. But the only way I can do that is by playing along. To at least pretend to follow the rules of the game.
“Be good, Bethany,” he whispered, his hands like silk in my hair, his sky-grey gaze full of warning. “Remember the rules.”
Three hard rules.
Rule number one.
Don’t go wandering the East Wing. It is forbidden. There are bloody, dark secrets there and fucked up memories. One of them is my own. Down on my knees. His PA—that mean bitch—spying around the corner.
This means one thing. I need to learn more about the East Wing. Learn his dark, dark secrets. Use those secrets against him.
Rule number two.
Don’t go outside after dark. Still don’t know exactly why. But Skull was adamant. Aside from the fact that there’s a slasher on the loose—more than one, they say—there must be another reason Skull doesn’t want me out there.
I need to find out.
Rule number three.
Do as you're told.
For one, finish the dreaded horror novel. It started interesting, but it’s creepy as hell. He wants me to keep reading until I’m done. I had put the book down in defiance, thinking it was just Skull’s way of getting in my head. But now I’ve decided there might be something to gain. In the very least, I can use my knowledge of the book to show I’m following his rules. Playing along. Being a good girl.
Most importantly, keep lying. Lying is now my middle name. I lie to those I love. I lie to those I hate. Only in my lies can I find an escape route. Somewhere in the deception, there is a hidden exit.
But to my captor, my twisted lover, my slasher husband, I lie because I’m told to.
Because good girls…
Never.
Tell.
SKULL
The scene was something I’d imagined. Over and over.
Bethany in her gown. The only girl at the ball in red. All the others in virginal white, but my girl wrapped in the color of blood. She was so fucking gorgeous—even more than I imagined. Long dark hair flowing down. Smart hazel eyes lined with black. The necklace topped it off: a silver chain running along her pale collarbone, the black heart diamond encased in a half-broken skull—rare, twisted, and pressed against Bethany’s heart. Exactly as I’d intended.
I told her it was for her protection. She finally asked from what.
Not protection from my ghouls, my cronies. Maybe that’s what she thought. Nah, they don’t give a shit about anything symbolic. They don’t even know. I won’t be sharing this romantic gesture with those idiots.
Not protection from anything supernatural. At least, that wasn’t my intent. Don’t know if I even believe in the supernatural. Unless digging up the bones of your past, and communing with the dark echoes in the halls where so much murder took place, counts as supernatural. I've added my share to the body count, so... Skull Hill might be haunted, and I’m just in too deep, too fucked up to know the difference between the dead and walking dead.
Regardless, the necklace was made to protect Bethany from the most pressing danger in her life.
Me. My demons. Her greatest threat.
I used to think I had control over my demons. But that was before I finally decided to face them. Before I even knew how black and bottomless they ran. I thought naming them would help, like I was stealing power by assigning labels. Appropriating the monsters. Owning them.
So I started naming each and every one of those demonic bastards.
Starting with every fucking Greylinn that cast me out.
The day they sent me away was the beginning and the end. Or so I thought. Until I wised up and decided that nobody gets to decide my future but me. I would take back what was stolen. I would remake my destiny.
Blood for blood.
And then…
I finally got to this point where my bride in red was looking back at me with tragically pretty, bewildered eyes, the symbol of my black heart wrapped around her slender neck. In that moment, all my methodical planning began to take on a life of it’s own.
In that moment, I felt less in control.
It was bittersweet. I was winning. I was getting what I wanted, and everything was going according to plan. But then, at what cost?
I had fought hard for control, rising up from having none. No control over where I lived, who I lived with, or how poorly I was treated. No control over knowing who I was, or where I came from, or why I was abandoned. No control over the nightmares, the hateful midnight pranks, the abusive guardians, the drinking and the drugs, and the self-harm. No. Fucking. Control. None.
Then finally, finally, in a fit of awakened rage, I came up with a beautiful plan.
Finally, it began to all come together. I sobered the hell up and got to work. Did my research. Learned. Plotted.
I was patient.
The most important things are worth doing right, and I would do this right. I would come out on top. I would get revenge and make things right. Put everything back in place the way it was always meant to be. Not with my found family, smiling and loving and all that bullshit. No, that was never real. That stopped being the dream a long time ago. I just wanted to put myself where I belonged.
Just as soon as I learned where that was.
But, boy, was I in for a fucking hard lesson. I didn’t know what I was missing. So when I learned just how much I’d been robbed, just how high of a station I’d been knocked off of, how far down I’d been thrown, left for dead. My rage grew beyond something I even knew was possible. Rage so hot it turned cold. Hate so deep it turned numb. My destiny became crystal clear. I was born into a mighty bloodline. That blood had brought me into this world, and it was my own blood that took me out.
It was time to return the favor.
Blood for blood.
By the time I came to Sleepy Hollow, I already knew the place, its history, and its people like the back of my hand. The internet was my savior.
So, one by one, I began picking them off. Anybody complicit in my downfall, anybody who got in the way of my uprising.
I kept winning. I made some nice friends who didn’t mind getting their hands dirty. I settled into my new life with more ease than I’d imagine. I’d wear my dead twin’s slippers to the marble kitchen where I made a rich cup of espresso each morning. Fuckin-a was justice was sweet. It didn’t have to be that way. My twin didn’t have to die. He left me no choice.
Did part of me regret not knowing him? That I missed out on that special sibling bond? The thing is, I knew by the look in his eye when I came home, the pure shock followed by disdain he hit me with, like I was a stray dog that should have stayed gone, like there could be only one Greylinn heir and I was nothing but competition, the castaway that should have never existed, the secret that was supposed to stay buried. I knew pretty quickly that he wasn’t going to share the throne with me. It was him or me.
He made his choice.
I made mine.
We fought it out. Brother to brother, fist to fist. But I was stronger. I was the hardened, twisted other half. He was always destined to fail. I just didn’t know it. And neither did he.
Now that’s karma.
Thing is... I’d come so far. So. Fucking. Far. Only to have my bride—my ticket to the Greylinn inheritance—threaten to undo me with the gloss of innocence in her eyes, and the quiver on her lips. Looking so beautiful wrapped in red chiffon.
Mine. All mine. But she made me realize that winning is bittersweet.
Because of her, my control was slipping. I loved and hated her for that. How could she do this to me? This was my game. I made the rules. I am the king on the hill, and I’ve got this town in a chokehold.
A monster is still on the loose.
A slasher.
The slasher doesn’t always act alone. Not some lone serial killer, as previously thought. This monster has accomplices. Some have counted as many as three. There could be more. A terrorist organization preying upon the town of Sleepy Hollow. Not just one masked killer, but a network. Can one town handle this kind of threat? Is anybody safe?
These are the questions whispered day and night as the community goes about its day. But there is light at the end of the tunnel. The Greylinn heir has not abandoned the town as once thought. He’s back with his billions. He will help pool resources into fighting crime. This is what billionaires do, right? Or at least… they should. With all that money.
All that money.
What a fucking lie. I may have gotten my name back. My identity. The mansion on the hill. The girl. But the money? There is no liquid money left in the Greylinn estate. It was squandered. The profile of real estate? Sold off when the parents died. The only thing left is the family mansion and the remaining casinos. Lindsay Greylin signed those fully over to Landon when she left Manhattan for Asia.
Two casinos. The rest have gone bankrupt or shuttered. But the two local ones are mine. They make some profit. It’s not that I don’t have any money, but I’m more what you would call land rich, cash poor. Either way, I’m still atop Skull Hill where I belong. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kill to get here. But the killing was just the icing on the cake. That part I did for fun.
What my sweet little Bethany doesn’t realize is I’m not done. This game isn’t over. I’m in too deep. She might be worried I’m done with her. She served her part. Too much of a liability. But then…this is where it gets tricky. Part of me still needs her. I’m still trying to figure out why.
BETHANY
“You guys scared the shit out of me!”
They both laugh over the phone, but their laughter doesn’t land well for me. I wish it did. I even force a smile so my words come out better, pretending it was all fun and games. I would love to believe that.
“The look on your face, hon!” teases Albi.
“You were ghostly pale," adds Mary.
“Yeah, well… running through the dark in a mansion while my friends get lost with strange guys isn’t my cup of tea.”
Mary puffs air. “This is your home we’re talking about, right?”
“My new home. Still getting used to it.”
“And the so-called strangers are your husband’s friends,” she adds.
“I know, I know. But I barely know them.”
“They’re practically family now,” quips Albi, rubbing salt into the wound.
Family? My stomach drops. If these girls even knew the half of the mindfuck situation I’m in. We’re in. The fact that they’ve been texting with these psychos for two weeks makes my stomach churn. I thought my girls had better taste—and instincts—than that. Then again, I’m one to talk. I know the biggest hypocrite award goes to me.
After all, I married a slasher.
No, it wasn’t my choice. But nonetheless, I’m living a big fat lie that spans an entire community, including friends and family. Which begs the question. How long can I keep up the charade? How long until Mr. Skull Landon 2.0 Greylinn decides he’s done with me?
How long until people die again?
I have no answers.
I glance at my reflection in the oval mirror on the wall near my shop chair. My dark hair is clean, shiny, and braided, but I have shadowed bags under my eyes. I haven’t bothered with makeup today. I told myself I’d do that before I flip the Open sign. I always open late on Saturday.
“When we get together again…” I say. “How about I come to you?”
“Hold up, did you really just offer to come back to the city you hate?” says Mary.
“I don’t hate it,” I lie. I do, mostly, hate Manhattan. But that’s how desperate I am to keep my girls away from Sleepy Hollow.
“Speaking of. We need to make plans for Thanksgiving or Christmas,” chirps Albi. “They asked us back up, but I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
“They, as in…?” I choke out, hoping I’m wrong.
Mary sighs. “Yes. But, sisters before misters.”
God, it only gets worse. To think that the horror doesn’t end just because we’re going into Christmas time.
“Albi and Ace, it has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?” Albi muses.
I’m glad she can’t see me roll my eyes.
“It’s very…alliterative,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Don’t tell, but I got him beard beads,” she says. “Nordic symbols on them. He likes that stuff.”
“How cute,” says Mary.
No, not cute. Not. Cute. I try to imagine Albi braiding Ace the gargoyle’s beard before a fireplace. I can’t wrap my mind around it. I just can’t.
“So, I don’t know what to get Banks,” says Mary.
“Wait, hold on, girls,” I interject. “I mean, you just met them. How do you even know you’ll still be…on speaking terms come Christmas? Don’t tell me you’ve run out of eligible bachelors in Manhattan. I highly doubt that.”
“No, but they’re not your husband’s friends,” Albi counters in an annoyingly sweet tone.
“Yeah, that has a certain weight to it, Beth,” adds Mary.
“Okay, they may be my…husband’s friends. But I wouldn’t assume they are good enough for either of you, is all I’m saying. Besides, I’d rather just get some girl time when you come up.”
“We will, hon!” sings Albi. “But you are a married woman now, so it kinda also works out to do some double dating. Or triple dating.”
“We’re just having fun, B,” says Mary.
“How much fun did you all have that night, by the way?”
I already regret asking.
“Possibly…best sex ever,” says Mary.
“Oh, honey,” laughs Albi. “So, Ace isn’t exactly the preppy kind of guy you would expect to be besties with a Greylinn. I mean, he’s rough around the edges. In a good way. He surfs.”
“I didn’t think that was your type, Albi,” I frown.
“I didn’t, either,” she laughs.
I knock my head back. God, what have I started?
“Yeah, so Banks has that surfer guy vibe, too. But he’s also got this element of danger about him. It’s hard to explain. The body of an athlete. Mm. The dude’s hung like a freakin beast.”
As they both burst into laughter, I go silent.
“I think he’s been stalking me,” Mary adds, and I jump in my chair.
“What?”
“He told me he was going to do it. I dared him.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“What? It’s hot. He drove all the way down from Sleepy Hollow just to stalk me.”
“I’m jealous. That’s so romantic,” says Albi.
“Literally, what is wrong with you two?”
“Don’t judge!” snipes Mary. “You’re married to a billionaire. You don’t get to judge anybody anymore.”
“Or complain,” chimes Albi.
“Noblesse oblige, Princess,” says Mary.
While they laugh at my expense, all I can think about is how the gargoyle and the devil threatened me in the True Crime section of my bookstore. They said a rumor was going around about me. That I was at the scene of the crime spree at The Hollow Inn. They warned me not to talk to the police. Said I’d be guilty by association. Those words played perfectly on my fears. I did feel guilty for having sex upstairs with a masked man while people died. I didn’t know people were dying below. I didn’t want to believe it. It was Halloween. A live stage show was going on. For all I knew, it was part of the act, and Skull was part of the show.
My instincts said otherwise.
Meanwhile, my body said, yes, please, to the sexy stranger between my legs, making me feel like pure sin.
Stupidest thing I ever did. Now, look where it’s gotten me!
I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. Damage control. That’s what I need to focus on. If I can’t put the evil genie back in the bottle, I must…
Cope. Plan. Survive.
My girls are entangled in this now. They don’t know that these hot surfer guys kill humans for sport. That their idea of fun is donning masks and wielding curved blades.
I need a better fucking strategy. I need to outsmart the game master. I need to figure this out. And fast.
