He thought for a moment he was having a heart attack, but it abated as quickly as it had started, leaving only a cold numbness in its place.
He welcomed that numbness. He relished it. Somehow, he’d always known it would come down to this.
“That’s not true,” he said, his eyes not wavering from Newman’s. “One person is just that crazy.”
Unfortunately, her name was Carrie Morlock.
Chapter Four
“Oh, Carrie—I’m so sorry I treated you like the scum that was growing inside my vest. I was wrong, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
“Would you? Would you really? Anything?”
“Of course. I love you more than the moon loves the stars, more than you love re-watching Gone with the Wind , more than a necrophiliac loves his job at the morgue.”
“Scott, I can hardly believe it! How do I know you’re not just trying to sweet-talk me?”
“Believe this, my darling.”
Their lips touched somewhat awkwardly, since their noses got in the way and Voodoo Scott still had his creepy Joker face on, so Carrie made a few kissing noises for authenticity. Barbie Carrie was totally into it, her cotton miniskirt riding high under Scott’s wandering plastic hands.
But then she realized what she was doing and stopped. Best-case scenario, she was a grown woman sitting in her bedroom playing with dolls. Worst-case scenario, she was an unemployed and recently dumped helicopter pilot pining after a man who hated her.
Not her best moment either way.
She tossed Voodoo Scott into the corner, where he hit the wall with a satisfactory thunk. “I hope he feels that one tomorrow, the jerk.”
As if by magic—the dark, scary kind—her front door thunked one time in a similar way. She thought for a moment she was imagining it, that too much wine and not nearly enough human interaction was having its eventual effect on her, but the knock sounded again.
Her misery decided it could use the company, so she got to her feet and pulled the door open with a flourish.
“Hey, Carrie.”
Her jaw landed somewhere south of her knees. “Scott? What are you doing here?”
He didn’t look her in the eyes, which was her first clue that he’d been possessed by demons. As the alpha in his own little canine world, he had a freakish attachment to staring at people until they caved under his will. Her second clue was when he cleared his throat and spoke words that had never before crossed his lips.
“I came to apologize for last night.”
She slammed the door in his face and turned the deadbolt, her heart pounding all the way up to her throat. It was that stupid candle of Lexie’s that had done it. There had to be some kind of supernatural powers in there to make the wax smell so good. She’d tapped into those powers and claimed Scott’s soul. That was the only explanation for this.
Another knock rattled her body, but it was just Scott re-announcing his presence. “I deserved that,” he called, his voice only partially muffled by the wood.
“What are you doing here?” she called back. “Who sent you?”
“No one sent me. Would you just open the door, please?”
She wasn’t falling for it. The second she turned the knob, he was going to transform into an evil spirit and possess her—mind, body, and soul. Just like he did last time. “What’s our secret code?”
The sound of his forehead hitting the door in a gesture of exasperation was unmistakable. “We don’t have a secret code, Carrie. Just open the door.”
“Oh, we have a code. Maybe if you try very hard, you’ll remember it.”
Pause. “You mean that one?”
Yes. She meant that one—the one they’d come up with one playful night with a pair of handcuffs and two of Carrie’s silk scarves. The one they’d never actually had to put to use, because neither one of them was all that good at being submissive.
It was a mistake to introduce the subject, though, because the moment she let her thoughts wander down that path, there was no retrieving
He welcomed that numbness. He relished it. Somehow, he’d always known it would come down to this.
“That’s not true,” he said, his eyes not wavering from Newman’s. “One person is just that crazy.”
Unfortunately, her name was Carrie Morlock.
Chapter Four
“Oh, Carrie—I’m so sorry I treated you like the scum that was growing inside my vest. I was wrong, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
“Would you? Would you really? Anything?”
“Of course. I love you more than the moon loves the stars, more than you love re-watching Gone with the Wind , more than a necrophiliac loves his job at the morgue.”
“Scott, I can hardly believe it! How do I know you’re not just trying to sweet-talk me?”
“Believe this, my darling.”
Their lips touched somewhat awkwardly, since their noses got in the way and Voodoo Scott still had his creepy Joker face on, so Carrie made a few kissing noises for authenticity. Barbie Carrie was totally into it, her cotton miniskirt riding high under Scott’s wandering plastic hands.
But then she realized what she was doing and stopped. Best-case scenario, she was a grown woman sitting in her bedroom playing with dolls. Worst-case scenario, she was an unemployed and recently dumped helicopter pilot pining after a man who hated her.
Not her best moment either way.
She tossed Voodoo Scott into the corner, where he hit the wall with a satisfactory thunk. “I hope he feels that one tomorrow, the jerk.”
As if by magic—the dark, scary kind—her front door thunked one time in a similar way. She thought for a moment she was imagining it, that too much wine and not nearly enough human interaction was having its eventual effect on her, but the knock sounded again.
Her misery decided it could use the company, so she got to her feet and pulled the door open with a flourish.
“Hey, Carrie.”
Her jaw landed somewhere south of her knees. “Scott? What are you doing here?”
He didn’t look her in the eyes, which was her first clue that he’d been possessed by demons. As the alpha in his own little canine world, he had a freakish attachment to staring at people until they caved under his will. Her second clue was when he cleared his throat and spoke words that had never before crossed his lips.
“I came to apologize for last night.”
She slammed the door in his face and turned the deadbolt, her heart pounding all the way up to her throat. It was that stupid candle of Lexie’s that had done it. There had to be some kind of supernatural powers in there to make the wax smell so good. She’d tapped into those powers and claimed Scott’s soul. That was the only explanation for this.
Another knock rattled her body, but it was just Scott re-announcing his presence. “I deserved that,” he called, his voice only partially muffled by the wood.
“What are you doing here?” she called back. “Who sent you?”
“No one sent me. Would you just open the door, please?”
She wasn’t falling for it. The second she turned the knob, he was going to transform into an evil spirit and possess her—mind, body, and soul. Just like he did last time. “What’s our secret code?”
The sound of his forehead hitting the door in a gesture of exasperation was unmistakable. “We don’t have a secret code, Carrie. Just open the door.”
“Oh, we have a code. Maybe if you try very hard, you’ll remember it.”
Pause. “You mean that one?”
Yes. She meant that one—the one they’d come up with one playful night with a pair of handcuffs and two of Carrie’s silk scarves. The one they’d never actually had to put to use, because neither one of them was all that good at being submissive.
It was a mistake to introduce the subject, though, because the moment she let her thoughts wander down that path, there was no retrieving
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