Page 44 of Your Masked Haunting

“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am.” Ransom sticks his hand out for hers, and she takes it, her cheeks reddening more and more by the second. “I’m Ransom.”

“Ransom?” She inhales, batting her lashes. “You are so handsome. Oh! That rhymed.”

Ransom and Ledger humor her flirty banter, and she tells a sweet, long-winded story about her husband, Ritchie, who passed away a few years ago. The moment I hear he was a giant hockey fan, I'm positive we will be inviting Paula to a game or two this season. Good seats, personal driver, the whole works.

I think I feel drawn to her because she reminds me so much of my grandma, Carol. The line of C names in my family has got to be some kind of world record because sooner or later, we’re going to run out of new ones.

After slipping Paula a hefty tip for her excellent customer service, we make our way over to my place, the evening city traffic making our trip longer than expected. I beat the rest of the guys and park my car in the private parking garage before meeting them at the front of the condominium.

Bates and Kol have been here many, many times, especially since I’ve had this unit for, like, five years. It’s nice, and it’s served its purpose of giving me a comfortable home. But I’m itching for something new, something with more roots in the ground. Something I can share with Mona.

I give Ledger and Ransom the walk-through of the lobby, nodding to security as we stroll across the marble floor toward the elevator. I fill them in on some funny resident drama as we ride up to the eighth floor.

They’re quickly impressed with the place, and I mention that I’m looking to buy a house near Bates, so they’re welcome to snoop around further if they’re really interested.

Three bedrooms. Two bathrooms. A small in-home theater that I barely get time for. Huge walk-in closets. Massive kitchen. That’s only listing some of the amenities inside of the unit, not everything the condominium offers. But they can hear that whole spiel another day.

In the meantime, we have to officially induct them into the Sinners Craft Club, where unsuspecting hockey players become stalkers to the girls who capture their hearts. It’s romantic.

Once we’re all inside, we order pizza and devour every slice. Then I invite them to my playroom full of secrets. Just kidding—well, about the playroom part. It’s definitely where my darker side comes out to play, but instead of whips and chains, it’s paper, ribbon, and glue. And a few monitors displaying constant surveillance of Mona.

“Welcome, boys,” I announce, throwing the door open dramatically, “to your first craft night.”

Leading the way inside, I let Ransom and Ledger take it all in. The large table, fit for meetings of kings, has organized art supplies all over it. My mask is kept in a lit glass case on a pedestal against the back wall—because I have a flair for the dramatic. And it happens to look sick as hell.

“When you said we’d be making cards, I didn’t think I needed to come mentally prepared. But I was mistaken,” Ransom mutters, his tone unreadable. “Cas, you make these for your girlfriend, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I state proudly.

Ledger plucks a finished card from the table, one I’ve been saving for a very specific date I have planned. Opening it up, he reads it out loud. “My Little Prey …” His gaze flicks up through his long, dark lashes, a twinkle sparkling for a split second before he glances down and continues, “Sink into your desires, the ones you keep close. Into the darkness, anything goes. You’ll be hunted, lured, and chased. Brave the unknown. I promise you’re safe. Time’s running out. We’re getting near. Run and scream. No one will hear.”

Silence falls upon the room, and my skin starts to crawl.

Inviting these two in will either pan out perfectly or start the biggest scandal in the hockey community in a long time.

Three Sinners players conspired and led a stalking sex cult. Great. I can see the headline and article now. Attempted indoctrination of new teammates.

A laugh tears through the room, coming straight from Ransom. “Cas, you’re … fucking insane.”

“Watch it,” Bates warns him, and Ledger holds up his hand, drawing our attention.

The flat, emotionless expression suddenly shifts, like blood is finally circulating through his face, as if he were coming to life. Then a subtle smirk tips the corner of his lips. “How can we help?”

“I meant, you’re fucking insane”—Ransom walks around the table and throws his arm around my shoulders, a shit-eating grin on his face—“just like us.”

This is my shot, a real chance at showing what I can do with a brush and a dream.

Peyton has been letting me shadow her for the last week or so, which has made for long nights, especially when I’m working at the face-painting booth the entire day beforehand.

But it’s worth it because I got approval from the makeup department to do one of the scary fairy’s looks tonight. It’s primarily glam and then splattered with fake blood. I can do this.

Peyton is watching over me, making sure I stick to the brief and will be able to deliver. She’s my professional babysitter.

With my eye-shadow palette in my left hand and brush in my right, I feel truly unstoppable and one hundred percent in my element. I love it. It’s my favorite form of art, and this masterpiece is almost complete.

Kennedy, my gorgeous client, is radiating by the time I finish her look, complete with about a pound of body shimmer. She hops up from the chair and heads straight to wardrobe, a pep in her step.

From Peyton’s shit-eating grin, I think she’s proud of what I’ve done. And so am I. I knew I could kill a glam look every day of the week, but even I’m impressed with the cleanliness. It’s flawless.