Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I slide onto the ground next to his body, and immediately, I pry the mask off his face. He’s shivering, his face ghostly white. Urgency pummels me, and I waste no time searching for a wound. “What’d he do?” What’d he fucking do?
His hands tremble near his abdomen, his fingers stained with blood. I finally spot his switchblade lying near his thigh and another knife I’ve never seen before.
Trevor’s teeth chatter. “He . . . got me once . . . I got him better. But he . . . ran.”
I can already tell he’s lost so much fucking blood, and I swiftly take off my jacket and apply pressure to his stab wound.
“I . . . I wanted to end it.” He gulps for breath. “I was . . . so tired . . .”
Of being followed. Of being hunted. I pocket both knives, and I send a cryptic text to the people I trust most.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
And then, I collect his mask.
Tears leak out of his eyes. “I thought . . . Halloween . . .” He takes a shallow breath. “He wouldn’t notice me coming . . .” He winces into another pained gulp. “No one ever notices . . . me.”
His eyes flutter.
“Hey, stay with me.” I grab his cheeks. “You hear me? Stay. Awake.”
He blinks hard, and fear slowly contorts his face. “I-I don’t want to die . . . Rock.”
“You’re not dying.” It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told my brother, one I hope he believes. He needs a hospital. I know this. But there are a million and one reasons running through my head why I can’t take him there. Why I shouldn’t. “I have to put this back on you, all right?” I slip the mask back on his face, and I lift my brother in my arms, cradling him against my chest.
And I run.
I run down the main street carrying my slowly dying brother. Tendons scream in my legs, my lungs blistering with each short breath in the frigid night. My pulse is a jackhammer against my temple.
People are oblivious. It’s Halloween. He’s Jason. They’re either drunk or in their own celebratory world, and I’m scraping through real horror. Real terror.
Slowing at the apartment door next to Baubles & Bookends, I struggle to fish out my keys while holding Trevor.
“Grey!”
Sidney fucking Burke.
She comes up to me in a red minidress and devil horns, pulling away from her tipsy friends. “I thought you’d be at the pool party.” I’m a challenge to her, so telling her off at the Harvest Festival was temporary. Her curiosity descends to the hockey-masked boy in my arms. “Who is that? Is he okay?”
“He had too much to drink. You know how it is?” I widen my eyes. “Halloween.” I sound bitter that my night has driven me here. “You mind helping me? I’m trying to get my keys.”
“Yeah.” She begins to grin. “Which pocket?”
“Left side. Front pocket.”
I watch Sidney slip her fingers in my front pocket. Feeling around, she purposefully takes too long, and I bite back a glare when she caresses my shaft. What a fucking night.
“Find it?” I ask.
“Yeah . . .” Her lip quirks, and she dangles the keys.
I motion with my head to unlock the door. She does, then I let her drop the keys back in my pocket. “Thanks.”
“See you around, Grey.”
My back to her, I roll my eyes, and I slam the door shut after entering the stairwell. “Trevor?” I whisper to him.
He doesn’t answer.
“Trevor?” I’m about to drop him and check him on the stairs.
“Ughh . . . yeah . . . yeah.” He groans behind the mask. “Who was that?”
“A girl pretending to be a devil.” I carry him quickly up the flight of stairs, biceps burning, and while I’m unlocking the loft door, Nova arrives.
He bolts up the stairs and helps me carry Trevor into the loft. We place my brother on the couch, and I whip the hockey mask off his face and cup his cheek, my fingers bloodied.
Trevor winces. “Fuck . . .” His hands still rattle near the stab wound.
“Concentrate on staying awake, okay?” I apply pressure while Nova races into the kitchen. All I can think is, He’s not going to die. This isn’t how my brother goes out, and between Nova and me, we have enough skills to help him.
If I didn’t believe we did, I wouldn’t have risked bringing him to the loft.
“Yeah . . . yeah. I can do . . . that,” Trevor chatters, fighting consciousness.
“No hospital?” Nova asks, returning with a blue canvas trauma kit.
Trevor grimaces. “No . . . hospital. Just . . .” He shivers, and I rub his arm.
I look to Nova. “He hasn’t made a new alias yet.” I can’t be sure which IDs in his pocket are tied to what con, and if he dies because I’m trying to protect the families—it’s on me.