Page 13 of Slaying for Sloan
I’m still trying to stop myself from fucking his shit up right here and now.
Then they look at each other, a silent exchange passing between them like they’re wolves who’ve just spotted wounded prey. The taller one tosses his cigarette into the snow and nods toward Sloan. My heart pounds, the heat in my veins turning into a cold, sharp rage as they step off the curb and start following her.
Like fuck.
I trail them, my boots crunching softly against the snow. They’re too focused on Sloan to notice me—fucking amateurs.
The taller one laughs under his breath, his voice low and lecherous as he mutters something I don’t quite catch. The shorter one, Marcus, makes some crude comment about her ass, and that’s all it takes for me to see red.
Marcus. I know him—everyone around here does. The sleazy little punk with the smug smile who thinks he’s untouchable. I’ve seen the social media posts about him, the whispers on local forums, the headlines that everyone pretends to forget. Accusations of rape. Multiple women came forward, but nothing ever stuck. His parents’ money kept his name clean, but I know the truth. Everyone does.
And now, this piece of shit thinks he can follow Sloan?
Not if I have anything to say about it.
I follow them for a block, staying far enough back to avoid their notice. The ski mask I slipped on earlier hides my face, but the cold air bites at the sliver of skin it doesn’t cover. Sloan is still ahead, oblivious, her red hair catching the glow of the holiday lights like fire in the snow.
She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. These bastards don’t even deserve tolookat her.
Marcus nudges the taller guy, his voice carrying just enough for me to catch. “Bet she’s got a tight little—”
My hands curl into fists.
The taller one laughs again. “Think she’s alone?”
Marcus smirks. “Guess we’ll find out.”
I stop walking. My breath fogs the air as I take a moment to calm the fire raging in my chest. They don’t see me yet, too busy watching Sloan’s every movement like the predators that they are to even notice they’re being hunted themselves.
Big mistake.
Marcus doesn’t know it, but he just signed his fucking death warrant.
Traffic snarls ahead, a long line of cars stalled at a stoplight beside the wooded park, its paths lined with Christmas inflatables and strings of twinkling lights. The air smells of pine and frost, the faint jingle of a holiday tune drifting from the speakers mounted somewhere out of sight. Sloan crosses thestreet quickly, her figure illuminated for a moment in the glow of a giant inflatable Santa before she disappears down the snow-dusted sidewalk.
The two dipshits aren’t so lucky. They pause at the curb, their pace faltering as they glance around, trying to spot where she went. The taller one mutters something under his breath, looking annoyed, while Marcus flashes his typical cocky grin, clearly confident they’ll catch up.
They won’t.
I trail them as they veer off the main path, following the winding walkway into the wooded park. The lights stretch ahead, a kaleidoscope of reds, greens, and whites reflecting off the snow, casting the trees in an eerie, shifting glow. The inflatables—everything from grinning snowmen to a reindeer in a rocking chair—sway slightly in the frigid wind, their movements almost lifelike in the flickering light.
The further in we go, the quieter it becomes. The festive music fades, replaced by the crunch of snow under boots and the occasional rustle of branches overhead. Everyone else has gone home, tucked away with their families for Christmas Eve. The park feels deserted, the kind of empty that sends a shiver up your spine.
They pass a towering nutcracker standing guard at the edge of the pond, its painted face frozen in a hollow grin. The pond itself glistens under the lights, its surface frozen and slick, surrounded by a low metal railing. Sloan’s long gone now, but these idiots aren’t giving up. Marcus nudges the taller one, his voice low but audible as he laughs, probably cracking some dumb joke about catching up to her.
I hang back, my boots soundless in the snow as I slip between the inflatables, keeping to the shadows.
They stop near the edge of the pond, scanning the area. The taller one curses again, kicking at the snow in frustration,while Marcus shoves his hands into his pockets, his grin never faltering. I see his breath puff out in little clouds, his confidence radiating off him like a stink.
He doesn’t know I’m here.
Stepping out from behind a trio of inflatable penguins, I move toward them, silent as a wolf closing in.
They don’t see me until I’m too close.
“Lose something?” I ask, my voice low, sharp, and cutting through the cold air like a blade.
They turn around, startled, but they’re quick to cover it up. The taller one sneers, his jaw tightening as he sizes me up. “Who the fuck are you?”