Chapter 10
The aftermath is a clammy wave of shame.
My body is humming with a pleasure so intense it was painful, and now, in its absence, all that’s left is the sickening reality of what I just did. I came in my pants just from my stalker’s touch. The front of my jeans is a disgusting, damp patch against my skin.
He’s still pressed against me. He lowers his head, and I can feel the soft brush of his lips against my temple.
The tenderness of the gesture is so at odds with the brutality of everything else that my mind can’t reconcile it. It’s a trick. It has to be a trick.
Then I hear it.
A scream. High-pitched and terrified. It’s cut off abruptly, but it’s followed by another, deeper shout filled with pain. They’re close. Getting closer.
He tears himself away from me so suddenly the loss of his body heat is a physical shock.
I almost stumble forward into the empty space where he stood. He moves to the small, grimy window, peering out through a clean patch on the glass, his whole body coiled and tense.
And a new feeling, one that makes no sense at all, floods me. Panic.
He just left me. He just let me go. I should feel relief. I should be looking for a way to escape, to lock him in here and run for my life. But the exact opposite happens.
With him no longer touching me, no longer a solid, dangerous shield, the true scope of the situation crashes down on me.
This is real. The screams are real. That “Hunt” isn’t a joke. There is a very real, very violent danger just outside this shed, and I don’t understand it. I don’t know the rules. I don’t have all the information, and that lack of control sends my anxiety spiraling into a familiar, choking vortex.
My lungs feel like they’re shrinking, two tight fists squeezing the air from my chest. The dim light seems to sink even lower, swallowing the room in shadow as the edges of my vision start to blur.
He turns from the window, and I can tell he sees it instantly—the panic attack that’s about to consume me.
He closes the distance between us in two strides.
“Easton. Look at me,” the modulated voice says, but there’s an edge of something real under it. Concern. Or maybe just annoyance that his toy is breaking.
“What is happening?” I gasp out, my hands coming up to clutch at my chest as if I can physically hold my lungs open. “Who is screaming?”
“Forget about them. Breathe,” he commands. “You need to breathe!”
“Why are you so afraid of them?” The questions tumble out, fueled by my rising panic. “Why are you wearing a mask? Some of them are wearing masks too. I saw them. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“Stop thinking about them,” he says, and his voice is sharp now. “Think about yourself. Listen to my voice. Nothing else matters right now.”
He reaches out, his large hands coming up to frame my face. His palms are warm against my cold, clammy skin. The callouses on his fingertips are a rough, grounding texture against my jaw.
“Look. At. Me.” He says each word with slow, deliberate force.
I try. I really do. But my gaze lands on two holes of impenetrable darkness. I can’t see his eyes. I can’t see the one part of a person that tells you the truth.
“Breathe with me,” he orders. “In.” He takes a slow, exaggerated breath. “And out.”
I try to follow his lead, but my breaths are shallow, stuttering things. The fear is crushing me. He can’t fix this. He is this. He’s the reason I’m here. He’s the reason I’m falling apart.
He seems to sense his failure, a low growl of frustration rumbling in his chest. “Okay. New plan. We need to move. Now. We find a new spot to hide for five minutes, just until that group passes. Then I’m getting you out of the park.
” He squeezes my face gently. “It will be difficult, but everything will be alright.”
Another scream rips through the night, closer this time. It’s followed by pleading. “Please, no, stop—”
My entire body goes rigid. That’s not a sound from a stupid Halloween prank. That’s the sound of genuine terror. Someone needs help.
“We have to help them,” I say, my own panic momentarily forgotten, replaced by a surge of horrified adrenaline. I try to pull away from him, to move toward the door. “We have to do something!”
He doesn’t let me go. His grip on my face tightens, forcing me to look at him.
“No,” he says, and his voice is cold steel.
“But they’re hurt! Someone is being hurt out there, and we’re just hiding in here?” The injustice of it claws at my throat. “That’s not right!”
“Listen to me, you stubborn idiot,” he snarls, giving my head a little shake. “The absolute last thing I need right now is for my stupid, brave little bee to try and play hero and get himself caught. Or worse.”
“I don’t care! It’s not normal for people to be screaming for help and for no one to do anything!” I shove against his chest, a useless gesture. “We have to call someone!”
“There’s no signal, and you know it,” he bites back. “And you will go out there to ‘help’ them over my dead fucking body. You are staying with me.”
His possessiveness is suffocating. But before I can argue further, a new sound cuts through the night.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
A loud, metallic ringing, like a giant, discordant bell. It’s coming from somewhere near the center of the park. It rings three times, then falls silent.
He freezes. Every muscle in his body goes taut. He lets go of my face and whips his head back toward the window as if that bell was a signal meant just for him.
“Shit. We’re out of time.”
He turns back to me, all business now. The predator is back in control.
He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the small storage room, back into the main part of the dark shed. He drags me to a different door, one on the opposite side from where we entered. He cracks it open, peering into the foggy darkness.
“Okay. Listen to me. And this time, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” His voice is low, urgent, leaving no room for argument. “I have to create a diversion.”
“A diversion? What are you going to do?”
He ignores me. “See that path out there? The one lined with the old stone lanterns?” He points into the fog, and I can just make out a faint trail.
“You are going to run down that path. You are not going to look back. You are not going to turn left or right. You will run straight until you see a large, white, wooden gazebo. Go inside it and hide. Hide and do not make a sound until I get there.”
“You’re not coming with me?” The panicked question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
The thought of being out there alone is suddenly more terrifying than being in here with him.
“I will be right behind you. Two minutes. Max,” he promises. He shoves something hard and metallic into my hand. My keys. I didn’t even realize I’d dropped them. “Now go. Run.”
He gives me a firm shove out the door into the cold, damp air. I stumble for a second, my feet sinking into the muddy ground.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate. I look back at the dark doorway, at the monstrous silhouette of the man who just claimed my body.
He just stares back. “Don’t you dare stop or turn somewhere else,” the distorted voice commands, a final, chilling order.
Then, from the other side of the shed, I hear a loud crash, followed by a shouted curse that sounds deliberately designed to draw attention.
My choice is made for me.
I run.