The Hunt

34. Everly

34

Everly

“Are you sure I look okay?” I murmured, smoothing down my fake hair for what felt like the hundredth time.

Nikki sighed. “You look fine. Stop messing with the wig, or else it’ll fly off, and then it won’t be fine.”

“I’m just worried we’ll run into Peter. He might recognize me.”

“Your own parents wouldn’t recognize you right now,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Did you even see what I did with your makeup?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I muttered, fidgeting with the edge of my borrowed sweatshirt. “I’m just paranoid.”

“I don’t blame you. But you need to stay calm and try to act normal, or else our cover will be blown.” Nikki’s brows suddenly shot up. “Shit, I sound like a spy. That’s cool as hell.”

I forced myself to lift my chin and look straight ahead, wondering how Nikki was managing to be so calm. We were in the most precarious situation of our lives, where one wrong move could spell a death sentence, but she was acting like we were just walking around the set of a thriller movie.

I knew she was probably faking it to make herself feel better, but her casual air only highlighted the worry and tension tightening around my chest like a vise.

As for Rhett… god, I was even more worried about him. The last time I’d seen him today, his voice had been calm, but his eyes betrayed something deeper. He was worried too, and he was right to feel that way. Whatever he was doing on the hunting grounds to protect me and the other players, it didn’t change the gnawing fear at the edges of all our minds: what if he couldn’t protect himself from the full wrath of the society while he was out there?

The north wing loomed ahead, the carved double doors larger than I’d imagined. As Nikki reached for the handle, I exhaled slowly and whispered to myself, Just one step at a time.

“Okay, we need to find my friend Dane,” Nikki said, glancing at me. “He works in the north wing kitchen, and he’s cool. We smoke together sometimes.”

“What does he look like?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tall, brown hair—oh, never mind. He’s right there!” Nikki gestured ahead to a tall, young man in a slightly rumpled chef's jacket and dark jeans, the sleeves of the jacket pushed up to reveal tanned forearms. “That’s good timing for us.”

My pulse hammered as we stepped down the hall, seemingly louder than the murmurs of other people passing us by. Every flicker of a glance toward me left my stomach twisting, and every shadow made my heart skip a beat.

“Dane!” Nikki waved, and the young guy glanced up, face breaking into a smile.

“Hey, Nikki! How you doin’?” he asked, stepping closer to us. His warm eyes flickered to me. “And… who’s this?”

Nikki scoffed. “You don’t recognize Amy? She’s only worked here for four years.”

“In housekeeping, though,” I added, forcing my lips into a faint smile. “I guess we’ve just never run into each other.”

Dane chuckled and waved a casual hand. “I thought I knew everyone who works here, but the way my memory is these days… who the hell knows?” he said. “Anyway, what are you guys up to?”

“Same old gopher stuff for Peter,” Nikki replied, rolling her eyes. “I have to go check some stuff in the kitchen. Are you working the dinner service tonight?”

“No, I was just on my way out. I did breakfast and lunch today, and then half of the dinner prep too, so I’m wrecked,” he said. “I just want to go back to my room, have a smoke, and pass out for twelve hours.”

“Do you happen to know what they’re serving tonight?”

“Oh, you know… the usual for rich pricks,” Dane said. “Wagyu tenderloin with black truffle butter, caviar-topped lobster tails, and some kind of gold-leaf soufflé for dessert.” He paused, a faint grin playing at the edges of his mouth. “Why? You two planning to crash the party?”

“No, Peter wanted me to find out. You know how finicky he can be with food,” Nikki said. “Oh, and he also wanted me to ask about tonight’s featured drink. Do you happen to know that too?”

“They’re serving the 1985 vintage ports tonight. Apparently, they go really well with the tenderloin,” Dane said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know for sure, though. I don’t drink.”

Nikki laughed again. “Yeah, I know what your guilty pleasure is,” she said. “Speaking of which… got any eye drops on you?”

“Always.” He grinned. “Need some?”

“If it’s no trouble, yeah. I smoked a bit earlier, so I just know my eyes will start turning red any minute now.”

Dane reached into his pocket and produced a small white bottle. “Here you go,” he said. “Anyway, I really need to head out. I’m shattered. I’ll see you later.”

We said our goodbyes, and when the young chef was out of sight, I turned to Nikki with wide eyes. “Holy shit, you’re a genius,” I said in an excited whisper. “You got us even more eye drops!”

She shrugged like it was nothing. “I figured the more of these we have, the better.”

“True. And thanks to you, we know exactly where to put them. The 1985 vintage ports.”

She nodded and pointed to an entryway on our left. “This way to the kitchens, Amy. ”

She strode ahead, leading the way through the hall until we emerged into a bustling kitchen. Stainless steel counters gleamed under fluorescent lights, and the air was thick with the aroma of seared meats and roasted vegetables. Chefs in pristine white jackets moved with orchestrated chaos, shouting orders, flipping pans, and plating dishes on delicate porcelain.

At the center of the room was the head chef—a stout man with a balding head and a face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. He spotted us immediately, his gaze narrowing. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said, his voice sharp and cutting over the clatter of pans.

Nikki raised a hand in mock surrender. “Sorry, Chef. Peter Jennings sent me.”

His scowl deepened. “If he wants to complain about the amount of butter I use again, you can tell—”

Nikki cut him off. “It’s not about butter,” she said. “He heard you were serving the 1985 vintage ports tonight, and he thinks it’s a fantastic idea. He loves port.”

“Right. So why are you here, then?”

“Apparently there was an incident last year where one of the port bottles had something wrong with it, and it came out tasting like vinegar. So he wants us to give every bottle a quick sniff test. Just so he isn’t embarrassed in front of the entire society again.”

The chef narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember that happening.”

“Well, it did , because I’ve had to hear about it ever since,” Nikki said, giving him an exasperated look. “You know what that man is like.”

The chef’s expression shifted, suspicion giving way to grudging acknowledgment. “Fine,” he said, gesturing toward a stack of crates by the door. “The port is there. You can do your silly little testing over by the prep station. But don’t get in anyone’s way, okay?

Nikki smiled and promised we’d be careful. Then we stepped over to the crates and carried them together, one by one, over to what looked like a free space near the prep station.

My nerves were still jangling with every step I took, and every clang of a pot or shout from a chef made me flinch, but I swallowed down my fear and got to work on the bottles, pulling them out of the crates and lining them up in rows of four on the counter.

“See?” Nikki whispered with a grin as we opened the first one. “This is easy.”

I returned her smile. “I got the impression that the chef wouldn’t even care if he caught us poisoning these bottles,” I whispered back.

“Probably not,” she said, letting out a derisive snort. “Everyone thinks Peter is an asshole. But we should be careful just in case.”

I nodded. “There are twenty bottles, and we have four bottles of eye drops,” I said, forehead creasing. “So, one fifth of an eye drop bottle per port bottle. That should do the trick, right?”

“I fucking hope so,” Nikki muttered.

We spent the next thirty minutes carefully spiking every single bottle. The eye drop solution wouldn’t kill any of the Wilders who consumed the port, but it would be enough to trigger a sudden outbreak of vomiting, diarrhea, and crippling stomach pains.

That, in turn, would cause enough panic and chaos to force the Patriarchs to open the island for travel. The huge mess would also temporarily distract them from everything else Rhett, Nikki, and I had planned together.

“Okay, last bottle.” Nikki popped the cork back in and grinned. “Let’s head out.”

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and exited the kitchen with her. We still had a lot to do and a lot to worry about, but one of the most dangerous parts of our scheme was complete now, and that made me feel like a full ton of weight had just melted off my shoulders.

The hallway ahead of us was bustling with uniformed staff and Wilders in their casual clothes, strolling through the manor as if they owned it.

I kept my head down, doing my best not to attract any attention, but then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of someone approaching, their footsteps slow but deliberate... and familiar. My stomach dropped.

I didn’t need to look up to know who was coming toward us.

Peter Jennings.

I could feel his presence before I even saw him, as though the air around him was heavier, charged with that same unnerving energy he always carried with him. I took a sharp breath, my pulse quickening, and forced myself to keep walking, even though my legs felt like lead.

“Shit,” Nikki muttered, confirming my suspicion. “Peter’s coming toward us.”

“I can’t fucking believe it,” I said under my breath. “We were so close to making it out.”

“It’s okay. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm. I repeated it in my head like a mantra, even as the world around me seemed to blur.

“Nikki.” Peter’s deep voice echoed through the air as he drew closer. “I thought that was you. What are you doing in here?”

Nikki smiled faintly as we drew to a halt. “I ran out of cigarettes, and there’s a guy in the north wing kitchen who always has spares.”

“Hm. I didn’t know you were a smoker,” Peter said. He turned his head slightly, gaze landing on me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. What’s your name?”

Shit.

Changing my appearance was one thing, but I couldn’t do much to change my voice, so if I spoke right now, he’d surely recognize me. It would all be downhill from there.

Nikki let out a light laugh. “You don’t remember Amy, sir? She’s been on the housekeeping staff for years!” she said. “She’s the one who showed me around the place when you first brought me here. After… well, you know what.”

I forced a smile and nodded. “Mm-hm,” I murmured, figuring the vague sound was enough to make it seem like I was replying without actually saying anything.

“She’s finished for the day, hence the lack of uniform,” Nikki went on, gesturing to the clothes I’d borrowed from her. “We were just going to go for a walk before dinner.”

I didn’t dare look away from Peter, even though my heart was slamming against my ribs. The seconds stretched out, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as they moved down to focus on my left hand.

He finally looked up at me again. “Amy,” he said, nodding slowly. “I think I remember you now.”

“Oh, sir, I forgot to tell you,” Nikki cut in, clearly trying to distract him from me. “The bathroom in my new room is great. Everything looks brand new. No chance of another tap explosion.”

His gaze swiveled to her. “Yes, we had a few rooms in the west wing renovated this year. It’s not as important as the other wings, but we’re still getting it done, albeit very slowly,” he said. “Anyway, I must be going. I have a lot to take care of before dinner. Keep your phone on you in case I need you for anything.”

“Of course, sir,” Nikki said.

I nodded politely. Peter’s gaze slid back down to my left hand again, and then he walked away, his steps echoing as he disappeared into the shadows of the manor.

I exhaled slowly, my body sagging with relief. “Holy shit,” I muttered. “I really thought he was going to recognize me.”

“Maybe I should be a makeup artist when I get out of this indentured servitude bullshit,” Nikki said, brows rising. “I mean, the wig and glasses helped, but I seriously gave you a whole new face. Especially with your eyes. I changed their entire shape!”

I glanced anxiously over my shoulder as we walked toward the exit. Peter was no longer in sight. “Did you notice he kept looking at my left hand?” I asked.

“No.”

“I’m a little worried he suspected something because of the Band-Aid.” As I spoke, I rubbed my fingertips over the plaster Rhett had placed on the back of my hand to cover two small cuts I’d received from brambles out on the hunting grounds. “He could’ve wondered where I injured my hand, and then that could make him realize I’m an escaped player. Then—”

Nikki cut me off. “Ev, you’re being paranoid again,” she said sharply. “Housekeeping staff have minor injuries on their hands all the time. Maybe you accidentally touched a hot iron, or maybe you scratched yourself on a sharp edge while you were cleaning something. That’s all he would’ve thought about it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I murmured. “I’m just really on edge. It’s making me crazy.”

“Like I said before… I don’t blame you.” She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around herself as we stepped outside.

The bitterly cold air hit me like a slap in the face, the wind carrying the scent of saltwater from the ocean beyond the manor. The sky was heavy with dark clouds, swirling in a stormy mess as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. It was the kind of evening that felt like something was about to break; like the whole world was holding its breath before the impending storm.

Or maybe that was just me, given the weight of everything hanging over my head.

My mind raced, replaying every moment from the past several hours—our plan formulation, my murmured goodbye to Rhett before he left to carry out his part of the scheme, the sense of danger lurking in every shadow of the manor, the uncertainty of whether we’d actually get away with it all.

All I could do was hope and pray we did.

Nikki suddenly stopped in her tracks in the middle of the estate grounds. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, eyes widening.

She waved her phone at me. “I just checked the recruiter group chat, and things are getting… interesting,” she said, forehead creasing. “One of the tech guys just said that fourteen hunters have been incapacitated in the last three hours by a mystery hunter, and the viewers are finally noticing.”

“Shit.”

Nikki lifted a palm. “It’s not all bad. Firstly, they don’t know it’s Rhett yet, because he’s wearing a mask and camo, and he also removed his number,” she said. “Secondly, they think it’s part of the show.”

My brows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yup. The Wilder viewers and the dark web viewers seem to think the Patriarchs arranged this to make things more interesting and different from every other year. They’re already placing bets on who the mystery hunter is.”

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “That’ll buy Rhett a bit more time out there.”

“Yes. But the Patriarchs will hear about this any minute now, and they all know this wasn’t planned.”

“What do you think will happen then?”

Nikki’s brows furrowed. “They’ll have an emergency meeting to discuss it between themselves. Then they’ll either call all hunters to return to the Lodge until they’ve figured this shit out… or they’ll send people out to capture the ‘mystery hunter’. Aka Rhett.”

“How long do you think that’ll take?”

“Normally, not that long.” Nikki paused for a beat to look at her phone screen. “But dinner will be served in twenty minutes, and the food poisoning chaos will kick off about half an hour after that. On top of that, there might also be some chaos from Tessa working her magic back in Havenport. If she’s actually succeeded, that is.”

“So around an hour until shit really kicks off.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” She pursed her lips and glanced up at the darkening sky. “We should really get back to the room and call Tessa. See how things are going on her end.”

“I wish we could call Rhett,” I muttered.

“Technically, we could, but he told us not to,” Nikki said. “It’ll distract him. And the last thing that man needs right now is a distraction.”

“I know. I’m just worried.”

“Me too,” she replied, voice softening slightly. She grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Once we’d returned to our room in the west wing, she handed me her phone. “Mind if you check in with Tessa by yourself?” she asked. “I’m exhausted, so I could really use a nap.”

“Sure.” I gestured to the bed. “Go ahead.”

“The code is 2032. Wake me up if Peter calls or messages.”

As Nikki curled up on the bed, I went over to the window and sat on the small reading nook beneath it. Then I called Tessa for the second time today, breath hitching in my chest.

She answered almost immediately, voice sharp and laced with concern. “Everly?”

“Yep, it’s me.”

“Oh, thank god,” she said. “I wanted to call you an hour ago, but I wasn’t sure if it was safe to contact you on that number.”

“It’s safe,” I said, peering out the window. “At least it is for now.”

“In that case, I’m going to send you a whole load of screenshots and links,” she said. A gloating edge had entered her tone now. “Behold the work of a genius.”

I glanced down at the phone screen as a pile of messages flooded in.

The first contained several screenshots of a TikTok post featuring a slideshow of photos. Each of the photos showed different angles of Jake’s bloodied corpse, along with a header at the top in bold letters: Billionaire’s son found MURDERED on remote island favored by mysterious secret society!

Below the slideshow was a caption explaining that Jacob Jennings, son of billionaire Peter Jennings, had been found dead in mysterious circumstances on Wildercliff Island, long-rumored to be the stomping grounds of America’s most elite secret society.

The tabloid-style headline was absolutely perfect for attracting attention. People loved reading about the lives of uber-rich people, and they also loved reading about grisly true crime cases. Combine the two, and we had a viral post.

“So, I made a bunch of TikToks and reels about it, and I also sent the links to Holler like you suggested,” Tessa said. “It worked exactly how you hoped it would. Everyone went nuts over it.”

“In a good way, right?”

“Yup. It spread on campus like wildfire, thanks to Holler, and after that, it really took off. It’s been shared three hundred thousand times already, and that number will keep growing,” Tessa said. “I’m really just a small fry in terms of followers, but I know for a fact that some much bigger content creators are interested in the story, because they’ve already posted their own videos about it, asking what the hell is happening on that island.”

“So now you’ll send them the info Rhett got from his dad’s phone? And tell them it’s linked to the post about Jake’s death?”

“Already sent. Once they post that stuff to their millions of followers… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if twenty media helicopters show up on that island, along with half the FBI, by midnight tonight.”

I exhaled deeply. “This is amazing, Tessa. I can’t ever thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by staying safe out there,” she said. “I still can’t believe this shit is happening to you. But I knew something was wrong as soon as I got that weird call from you the other night. It just cut off midsentence, and then you wouldn’t answer any calls or messages.”

“I don’t even remember any of that happening,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “They drugged me, so it’s all a blur.”

“Yeah, you told me about the drugs earlier,” Tessa said. She let out an angry huff. “I’m so glad those fucking assholes are going down. And I’m so glad I get to help make it happen.”

“Do Bree and Sloane know what’s going on?” I asked.

“Yes. After you called me earlier, I managed to keep it to myself for a few hours—shocking, I know—but as soon as I posted the stuff online, I filled them in on the whole story,” Tessa replied. “They were going to find out soon anyway. I mean, the whole world is about to find out.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you told them. How are they doing?”

“They’re just as shocked as me. This stuff is seriously crazy. Like, movie-level crazy.”

“No shit,” I muttered. “By the way, how long do you think it’ll take for this stuff to go so viral that the Wilders will hear about it?”

“Some of them might’ve heard already, if that island has decent phone signal and Wi-Fi,” she said. “And any of the younger guys who have Holler on their phone will have seen it for sure. Unless they’ve been too distracted by other stuff to check their phones. But even then, it’s only a matter of time before shit kicks off. So you should really lie low.”

“I’m planning on it,” I said, glancing out the window again. “I just hope Rhett gets back soon.”

“I’m keeping every finger and toe crossed for you guys,” Tessa said. “You have to keep me updated on everything, okay?”

“I will.”

“Anyway, I should probably go now. I just thought of some more content creators I can get in touch with,” she said. “Promise me you’ll watch out for yourself?”

“I will,” I repeated.

Once I’d ended the call, I glanced over at Nikki to see if she’d caught any of the conversation. She was fast asleep, though, her chest rising and falling steadily as small snores escaped her lips.

I turned my attention back to the phone in my hand, feeling the heavy silence in the room settle around me like a shroud. I wanted nothing more than to call Rhett’s satellite phone and ask him how he was doing out on the hunting grounds, but I knew it was a bad idea. He didn’t need the distraction.

Footsteps suddenly echoed in the hall, and I sat up straight, heart racing. A few seconds later, there was a knock at the door, followed by Rhett’s voice. “Hey, it’s just me,” he said. “Can you open up?”

My shoulders sagged with relief. I hurried over to the door, unlocked it, and flung it open to see… Peter.

Oh, no.

No, no, no!

He was holding his phone in one hand, and on the screen, I could see a large white play button on some sort of media file.

“I thought you would’ve learned your lesson about our ability to deepfake voices after the audio messages we sent you last week,” he said, baring his teeth in a malicious smile as he slid his phone into a pocket. “But I suppose not. Some people just never learn.”

“I… how…”

“You want to know what gave you away, Everly?”

I gulped and nodded, unable to speak anymore.

“I’ll give you one thing. That disguise was amazing. I genuinely didn’t recognize you, even though I’ve known you for most of your life,” he said, smile widening. He paused and dipped his chin toward my left side. “But your wrist gave you away. There were distinct marks on it. Marks that could only come from wearing a very tight wristband for a few days. Even though you removed it, those marks take a while to fade.”

Shit. I wasn’t being paranoid earlier when I thought he was looking at my left hand—he was, but just slightly above it, at my wrist.

I took a faltering step back as he moved closer.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards. A staff member I was sure I’d never seen before, with those marks on her wrist… I knew something was amiss, but I couldn’t quite figure it out,” he said, rubbing his jaw. Something dark and dangerous was flickering in his eyes. “Then it hit me. Player 50— you —haven’t been seen on any of the feeds since yesterday afternoon. Neither has my son, who I’ve just learned is deceased. And the last person to see him—Rhett Sinclair—lied straight to my face about the situation earlier this afternoon.”

My stomach lurched. “What did he lie about?” I managed to whisper.

“He claimed JJ told him he’s been hiding out in sector L13, where there are a lot of blind spots from the cameras,” Peter said. “But I know this island, and there are no blind spots in that sector. L14 and L12, yes. But not L13.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“At first, I thought Rhett simply misspoke. A silly mistake. But then I recalled how strangely he’s been acting over the last day,” Peter went on. “He suddenly stopped racking up kills and started spending a lot of time away from the hunting grounds. So that made me think he might be up to something. Then I saw you with Nikki and received the news about my son a few minutes later… and that was it. I finally knew what had happened.”

I gulped again and took another step backward. “Rhett will be back any minute, and he’ll—”

Peter cut me off, his hand moving swiftly to his pocket. Before I could react, I felt a sharp sting in my neck.

The world tilted, my vision blurring as a cold wave of dizziness swept over me. My legs buckled, and I barely managed to keep myself upright before Peter grabbed me with one arm.

Out of one half-open eye, I saw him pull out a small gun with his free hand, aiming it at the bed. I tried to scream, but my voice came out in a slurred whisper instead. “N-Nikki…”

There was a faint popping sound. Then Peter slipped the gun away and put both arms around me, his grip uncomfortably tight as he pulled me against his chest. My limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, and the world around me grew fuzzier by the second.

"No one’s going to save you this time, Everly." Peter's voice was a distant echo in my fading consciousness. "Not even Rhett.”