Page 119 of Two Sides of Sin

I watched her hum along to the radio at peace. Things felt so natural around her. The pieces of my existence had just effortlessly melted into place since the day we met. It was flawless.

It felt too good to be true.

A cold prickle of dread suddenly washed over the back of my neck—the distinct, primitive instinct of a soldier realising the quiet means an ambush is coming. It felt like something catastrophic was waiting right around the corner.

I forced myself to exhale, shaking off the gross, creeping feeling. She is right here, I reminded myself. She is safe. I hit the turn signal, the tires of my vehicle crunching over the asphalt as we pulled into the crowded parking lot of the massive Halloween store.

The automatic sliding doors parted, and we were instantly hit by a wall of chaotic noise. The store was an immediate sensory overload of flashing strobe lights, the loud cackle of animatronic witches, and the distinct, overwhelming smell of cheap latex and synthetic fog.

The aisles were packed. Kids in half-finished costumes were sprinting past us, weaving through the racks, while stressed parents rushed to grab last minute fake blood and pumpkin buckets. It was the exact kind of unpredictable, crowded environment that usually set my tactical instincts on high alert, but I forced my shoulders to drop.

We wandered through the chaos until we reached the display back wall, covered from floor to ceiling in rubber masks and weapons.

I stopped walking. I could feel the weight of her gaze on the side of my face. I slowly turned my head and found Sage staring up at me, a highly suspicious, wicked smirk playing on her lips.

“Really,” I deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

She gave an enthusiastic, rapid little nod.

I let out a long, heavy sigh, though I couldn’t hide the amused smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. “Fine. Go pick one out.”

Her eyes lit up. She dropped my hand and darted over to the wall, standing on her tiptoes to sift through the terrifying, blood-splattered options.

She returned after a minute of deliberate observation, a hanger hooked over her finger and a smile that had evolved into something dangerous.

“I found the perfect one,” her voice a low vibration as she held it out to me.

It was the original suit from The Ripper—the film that had redefined horror for a generation, a relic of cinematic slaughter.

“And conveniently,” I breathed, leaning in until the scent of her skin began to cloud my judgment, “one of your favourite movies, if I recall.”

I watched the way her pulse jumped at the base of her throat—a delicious, tell-tale sign that I’d hit the mark. She liked the dark; she always had.

The hood was the first thing to draw her eye. It was made of a black, light-devouring fabric designed to collapse forwards and swallow the identity of whoever dared to wear it.

Half-lost to the shadows, the faint, distorted outline of a skull mask peered back at us. The bone-white surface was dulled to ash, burn marks crept like vines along the cheekbones, warping the structure into something ruined and terrifyingly imperfect.

The dark material of the robe was fitted, designed to follow the lean lines of a man’s body and a pair of leather gloves dangled from the hanger, the palms worn and the fingers curved as if already waiting for a throat to settle into.

I watched her eyes linger there before her gaze dropped to the chain.

It was wrapped loosely at the base, its weight dragging the hanger to one side. The links were thick, forged from a darkened, unpolished metal. The Ripper never rushed, The chain was his signature— it wasn’t meant for a fast or clean kill. He took his time with the struggle. He savoured every second.

The faint blood like stains along the links were supposed to be fake—streaks of dried pigment worked into the metal to mimic a struggle—but under the flickering light, they didn’t look staged.

Sage’s gaze snagged on those rusted marks, held there by a magnetism she couldn’t explain, until the air in the room felt far too thin to breathe. She was mesmerised by the madness, and I was mesmerised by her.

She shoved the hanger against my chest. “You have the height for it. You’ll be terrifyingly hot.”

I took the plastic hanger in one hand, stepping smoothly into her space. I wrapped my free arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest right there in the middle of the crowded aisle. I leaned down, brushing my nose against her jawline before pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin of her neck.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty…” I whispered against her ear making her shiver, “and that I like scary movies, too.”

Sage let out a bright, breathless laugh, her hands resting flat against my chest to steady herself.

“Okay, my turn is over. Now your turn,” I said, my tone shifting back to authoritative.

Before she could protest, I spun her around by the waist and marched her down the next aisle, directly into the women’s costume section. The racks here were significantly less terrifying and significantly more revealing.