Eye Candy

That was Logan.

“SAM!”

He was coming down the path. I turned—the killer vanished.

Who was he? Who could he be? I kept trying to think, but then Logan was coming fast. He was almost to us.

If I said something, I would be exposed.

If I didn’t, he could be dead.

I held my breath, waiting. I didn’t know what to do.

“SAM! Where are you?”

But he didn’t stop. He soared right past where I was sitting.

I almost sagged from relief, but I heard a rustling sound. A black shape began to grow in size until he was standing up. The killer had stepped back out onto the path from where he’d been hidden.

My teeth sank through my lip, breaking skin. Something warm and liquid seeped out, but I wasn’t paying attention.

The killer turned to follow Logan.

He was going after him.

I wanted to yell, scream, stop him.

Calm, Samantha. Think.

If I revealed myself now, he would kill me here. He could go after Logan anyways.

Where was Mason? If Logan was running down this path, was Mason on a different path? Did Logan say he would cover the running paths and Mason would search somewhere else?

My time for sitting was dwindling, and fast.

The killer was farther away.

I had to go now.

I didn’t feel my legs. Everything was becoming numb, but I reminded myself to be quiet. He couldn’t hear me. If he looked back, he’d see me. My shoes were my weakness. I needed to make sure he had no reason to look back.

Silently, I stood and stepped out onto the path. I crept forward, spying the killer’s black shape in the darkness around us. When he moved, I moved. I tried to time every step to his.

I gripped the gun tightly against my leg.

If he looked, I’d shoot him—or try—but I didn’t want to risk the shot from where I was. I had to make sure I got him. I had to draw closer.

I sent up another prayer above for help.

Where was Mason?

“SAM!”

That was Logan, but farther away. It was quieter.

Keep going, Logan. Just keep going. Don’t turn back.

As if hearing my thoughts, the killer slowed.

So did I.

A silent gasp left me, and I didn’t dare move. Not. One. Inch.

I could hear Logan running farther and farther away, but this guy wasn’t moving. He cocked his head up, like a panther listening for new prey. If he turned around—I was gone.

I had no choice. I couldn’t keep trying to sneak closer to him. It was now or never.

I raised the gun, and I waited.

If he turned . . .

He did.

He turned halfway toward me, then stopped.

Shit!

My heart was pressed into my chest cavity. It was trying to work its way out of me. I could barely hear anything anymore. My heartbeat was deafening in my ears.

Then he . . .

I waited.

My finger was on the safety. I’d have to remove it, then quickly shoot him.

He’d hear the safety. I had to wait. I couldn’t unlock it yet.

One.

Two.

Three—he began to turn all the way.

Another half second and he’d see me.

But then someone ran ahead of us. Whoever he was, or she, they were moving fast. There was another path that ran across ours. I hadn’t known it was there, but this person was going fast.

Fuck. Mason? Could it be?

He hadn’t been yelling my name, but that wasn’t Mason’s way. He’d be silent, stalking, and dangerous. He would run like this.

Suddenly, they zipped past us.

The killer whipped back to the front, where he’d been facing before, and he brought the knife up, like he’d have to defend himself. He looked where the person ran, pausing, then he ran after them.

I couldn’t move.

Good God.

I lowered the gun, my arm visibly shaking. My knees were knocking against each other.

I had just missed my chance, but I hadn’t known for sure if I would’ve gotten him.

My legs were like jelly. I literally couldn’t make them move.

“Samantha!”

I turned around. Logan was behind me now? What?

It clicked at the same time that he hit me.

If I turned around—if I heard Logan behind me—so could he—and there he was.

He took me out, tackling me to the ground.

The breath was knocked out of me, his heavy weight anchoring me for a moment before I realized what he was doing.

“NO!” I screamed.

He was keeping me in place as he was reaching for the gun still in my hand.

Shit.

“No, you fucker!”

I had to fight for that gun, or I was dead.

The knife too—I looked for it. He was holding it in his hand. I twisted my arm between us, and tried knocking the knife out of his hand with my elbow. He was distracted for a moment, pausing to see what I was doing. The gun or the knife? He decided for me.

He tossed the knife to the side and rolled, his shoulder jamming into my throat as he began tugging the gun from my hand.

It was now a fight for that, and I cried out, feeling him clawing at my wrist and hand. He was tearing my skin apart, literally pulling it off in a desperate way. He was trying to get under the gun, to get a better hold on it.

“Motherfucker!” someone grunted, right above us.

I looked up, but they tucked their shoulder down and slammed into the killer. He was tackled onto the ground, caught and lifted off me in one motion.

I scrambled up, or tried. I was bleeding, I could feel it, from my arm, hand, my face. I could even smell it.

“Mason!”

I looked up and Logan was airborne over me. He launched himself into the wrestling foray—that was Mason fighting the killer.

No, no, no. The knife.

They were where it was. The killer knew it. Mason didn’t.

It was two to one. I sat there, dazed, before I could think of what to do to help.

I still had the gun in my hand.

I began to raise it, saying, “Stop . . .”

It came out a croak. He had hit my throat, and I tried again. A second hoarse whisper. I coughed, feeling blood spitting up my throat, and I yelled, “Stop!”

This one worked.

They did, freezing in place.

Logan twisted around, his eyes wide. “Sam. The gun.”

I had it pointed at him, and I gasped, correcting myself. I over-corrected. It pointed at Mason.

The killer had a second, and he dove for the knife.

“Mason! Get ba—”

Too late.

The killer grabbed the knife and brought it up, slicing the back of Mason’s knees.

“NO!”

But I felt it too.

The knife cut Mason, and it cut me too. I could feel it behind my knee, and I crumpled, still holding the gun, or trying to. It was beginning to fall from my hand. “No.” Another croak. This couldn’t happen.

I couldn’t lose everyone. I couldn’t lose my family.

“NO!”

The killer wasn’t done. He brought his knife back, at the same time Logan ripped out “NO!” and jumped at him. The killer rotated swiftly, the knife sticking straight out. Logan impaled himself on it.

No, no, no.

I was whimpering those words.