“That’s the one,” Spencer says, pushing the sweatshirt back in place and then kissing me quick on the lips as the twins high five each other and continue on up the path.

“I’m going to murder those fuckers,” I mumble, narrowing my eyes and continuing after them, into this really cool circle of mausoleums that used to surround a giant cedar tree. Apparently, it fell over in a recent storm, but it’s still impressive as hell.

Eventually, we end up at the catacombs, stepping into the cool, musty air as our guide uses a flashlight to show us around.

“Right this way,” he says, a bounce in his step as he takes us over to a very specific casket and begins to explain the life and times of the surgeon that’s buried there. While he’s talking, I get that feeling again, putting a hand on the back of my neck and glancing over my shoulder to see if maybe there’s an animal peeking out from the shadows or something.

But there’s nothing there, nothing at all.

My breathing quickens up just a tad, and Spencer notices. He’s attentive like that. I bet he’d make a good dad one day.

I freeze up like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, trying not to interrupt our tour guide’s enthusiastic speech.

“I’m not having kids until I’m thirty,” I blurt, and Spencer gives me the weirdest look known to man before bursting out laughing.

“Aww, Chuck-let,” he says, doubling over with laughter as the others glance back to see what all the fuss is about.

My random foot-in-mouth disaster drops my guard for just a little while, making me forget about the creepy feeling.

What a mistake.

We continue our tour through the brick-vaulted gallery, and then head back to the entrance. I’m in the back of the group with Spencer, trying to avoid his teasing about all the babies he’s going to give me, when I hear the sound of a scuffed shoe behind me.

A hand wraps around my mouth, and I’m yanked back into the darkness. The iron gate in front of me is slammed shut by two people in hoodies, and while one of them slaps a deadbolt on the door, the other turns toward me and I see the fox mask underneath his hood.

“Chuck!” Spencer screams as the other boys turn around and spot me being dragged through the darkness. Our poor tour guide looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.

The person holding me drags me around the corner and into the shadows as the other two approach, each one taking a leg the way they did before, at the Valentine’s Day incident. I’m pulled into the vault, kicking and screaming against a warm, sweaty palm.

They’re going fast, too, running full-tilt down the shadowed walkway.

They followed us all the way here, all the way to a different country.

I mean, I knew they could and would follow me, but this? This is next level.

There’s a door at the end of the hallway that leads to a set of steps and out into the woods again. I see it all in a blur as the three psychos bounce up the stone staircase and take off into the trees.

Panic is taking over me, but I struggle to fight through it, pulling up memories of practicing with the twins. I’m no ninja, believe me, but I come up with a plan on the fly. The person holding my top half has to keep one hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming, so they’ve only got one of my arms locked down.

With the other, I swing my fist down and nail my attacker right in the crotch.

Luckily, it’s a dude holding me up there this time, and my swing finds purchase. The man stumbles briefly, just briefly, but it’s enough that the forward momentum of the other two brings my legs toward my chest, allowing me enough power to kick out.

We come to a bit of a stumbling halt, a tangle of arms and legs on the ground as the boys’ shouts for me ring out across the woods.

“This is so not my job,” one of the hoodie-dicks growls, and it’s definitely a male voice, but not one that I recognize. Trust me: I’ve heard Mark’s irritating little quips enough times to know what he’d sound like.

“Just sort it out,” a whispered female voice responds as they try to get ahold of me again. But the second that palm slips off my mouth, I scream. And maybe it’s all the, like, orgasms I’ve been having lately, but I swear I’ve amped up my screaming game.

The sound echoes across the cemetery as my attacker moves his hand from my arm and back to my mouth. Unfortunately, the group quickly regains control, and we take off again.

We’re on our way out an open side gate now, where a limo’s waiting, the door open, engine idling. If I get into that car, and it takes off, I’m dead. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

They shove me inside, and I panic at the sight of another person in a fox mask, but this one isn’t wearing a hoodie: he’s wearing robes. I kick out my left foot and hit them square in the face, knocking the mask loose just enough that I can see the person’s scowling mouth. When I kick out again, I manage to make them bleed before they’re grabbing onto my ankle.

The attacker in the fox mask behind me is yanked back with a grunt, and I can see that the boys have finally caught up to me.

“Drive,” the bleeding man commands, shoving me out of the way and heading for the door. But if he thought I’d be easy to subdue, he’s wrong. I’m not a superhero, but I’m a little scrappy. Shit, I really should’ve been Scrappy-Doo for Halloween, huh?

I leap onto the man’s back as he tries to close the door, knocking him to the floor as the limo’s tires squeal across the pavement and it starts to take off.

There’s a person right there, though, just outside the door. On a whim, I fling my hand out, praying it’s one of the guys and not one of the Fellowship assholes. My fingers curl around Tobias’ and he yanks me out just as the limo really gets some speed going and disappears up the hill.

Two of my three attackers are fleeing in the opposite direction, the third lagging just slightly behind. Spencer grabs onto the back of the guy's hoodie, but the fabric slips through his fingers and the asshole takes off running.

“Ranger!” he shouts, and then there he is, bursting from the front entrance and slamming full force into the guy. The two of them go tumbling across the sidewalk and into the cobblestone street, coming to a stop with Ranger on top. He doesn't hesitate either, throwing a punch into the side of the man’s head that makes a cracking sound. I can hear it, even from all the way over here.

Damn.

My friends are as ruthless as my enemies, aren't they?

Ranger doesn't stop punching the guy until he goes still.

“Alright, that's enough,” the twins say, pulling their friend off while Church puts a hand on the side of my face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod before he turns away and heads over to the downed man, bending low near the guy's face as Spencer grabs me by the hand. I curl my fingers through his and we make our way over.

When the mask comes off, I find myself … slightly less shocked than I should be.

“Hello Mark,” Church says, and the way those words come out of his mouth … I’d be scared if I were Mark fucking Grandam.

“Get the hell off of me!” Mark shouts, but we’re not at Adamson right now, and there is no headmaster to save him. There will, however, be plenty of onlookers if we don’t wrap this up quick. It’s a quiet, drizzly day, but this isn’t exactly a ghost town.