Ghosts of Halloween: Chapter 12

I watch them in silence, trying to distract myself from my uncomfortable thoughts. But I can’t shake the two most persistent issues. How it suddenly got harder to hate her. And how the plan feels not so perfect now.

This changes nothing, I tell myself, crossing my arms. So she’s suffered. Who hasn’t? Her trauma doesn’t cancel out mine, and she is the root of everything that’s wrong with me. With us.

The boys may enjoy playing with her. They might fuck her, make her come, get everything they’ve wanted from her body. Especially Jack, but Caden, too. I know he misses pussy. I know he wants to top sometimes. So why shouldn’t he get it?

One last fucking game for us all.

That was the plan, and that’s what will happen. I step from foot to foot, watching as Harlow pants, Caden’s face back between her legs. Jack trails kisses down her neck and then pulls back, whispers in her ear, and turns to kiss down her bad arm.

All three of them are so into it. I move again and realize I’m fidgeting. This is making me uncomfortable, and for a moment, I wonder why. I’m no stranger to voyeurism. And straight sex has never really made me feel much.

So, what gives?

Caden pushes Harlow’s knee, opening her further, and I have an urge to go there, hook her knee up, and place it on his shoulder. She will be more open this way. More vulnerable. He will have better access and more control, and Jack will be more important for her support.

I already feel how the dynamic will shift, ratcheting up the tension at once.

Then I blink in confusion. Why would I even do that? I told them earlier that I won’t participate. I have no interest in it. Even the thought is off-putting.

Why does it seem so appealing now?

I bare my teeth and glare at Harlow. It’s her fault. She fucks with my head, making me forget what we are doing. Why we are even here. What we’ve gone through in the past two years.

Because of her.

And now, there she is, getting the boys’ full attention, the little princess they worship. Caden is on his knees for her. Yes, he knelt for me, too, but now he kneels for her and he never even wanted her like this. She’s just a kid to him. He’s 41, for fuck’s sake. She’s 22.

A fucking schoolgirl, and there he is, worshipping at her altar like her rundown pussy is the best fucking treat, when I know for a fact almost every dick in this town has fucked it at least once.

She’s damaged goods.

I turn away and kick the wall with a low growl, because that last thought makes me hate myself even more than I hate her.

I’m better than this. I don’t slut shame, even her, though if anyone deserves the shame, it’s Harlow. She earned that because of what she did to us. But I still shouldn’t say that about her. Not after everything I’ve been through.

I know what I’m doing, why I have these ugly thoughts. I’m trying to loathe her again. I’m trying to make myself hate her, but for some fucking reason, it’s not working.

It used to be easy. Just ten minutes ago, I was fully on board with the plan, itching for the games to end.

Until I found out. And it shouldn’t change anything, but, of course, it does.

To learn that someone hurt her like that, that she’s broken because of it… It makes my blood boil. It makes me want to go out there and slash some throats, and then come back here and show her the blood. Show her she’s avenged.

Even though what I really should have done was protect her, but that wasn’t fucking possible.

And I know this. We’re trapped. There’s nothing we could have done. But it still rankles. Protecting Harlow from harm is an awful compulsion that sits in my brain like a parasite. I can’t control it.

Fuck, we should have saved her.

The fact something like this happened to her and that we could have done nothing to prevent it makes me burn with rage. My bones itch, and I can’t fucking scratch them. I can only stand here and watch, hoping the plan will free us of this obligation. Maybe then, the compulsion will stop. The rage.

Except, I don’t fucking even want to follow the plan.

Harlow moans, shaking with pleasure, and Jack encourages her, pouring sweet words down her ear while caressing her stump. He’s got a thing for it, the sick fuck. And Caden… I tilt my head to get a better look. He’s hard, and there is a wet spot on his jeans.

He’s mine. And, fuck, but I can’t just watch him with someone else. I can’t watch and not be a part of it.

I clench my hands into fists, wavering. I can’t deny it any longer: I’m hard, too. The scene is highly erotic, and even though Harlow’s body does nothing for me, the way she responds, submitting to pleasure so utterly, makes my blood go faster.

And I can’t help but see how much Caden enjoys this. Eating pussy. Maybe I can even roll with it. I wonder if we can untie her later, lay her down on the floor, and have him get her off with his mouth while I fuck his ass. He can get both, then. Dick and cunt in one go. And I’ll be there with him. Inside him.

Fuck.

My resolve breaks and before I fully realize what I’m doing, I go over to them and pull Harlow’s knee up roughly, putting it on Caden’s shoulder. She wobbles, whimpering in surprise, and Jack tightens his arm around her, looking up at me. He raises his eyebrows, and I see the way his mouth twitches, suppressing a smirk.

“Told you so,” he says, smug as shit.

Yeah, he did. I clench my jaw and drop my hand to Caden’s head, relishing the way he shivers at my touch. He wants this, too. For me to be here. And I might play tough, but when push comes to shove, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

“Suck that clit, C,” I say, grabbing Caden’s hair and tugging it roughly up. “Suck it real good, and after she comes, drop your pants. I wanna play, too.”