Chapter 10 Maeve
MAEVE
This time I was ready when I heard the iron gate creak open at the end of the hall.
I stayed in my position against the wall, waiting as the sound of footsteps grew closer.
Counting.
Three people this time: Todd, Meathead, and Mr. Skinny.
Time for the main event.
I tucked the piece of stone in my hand into the pocket of my tracksuit. It hadn’t taken long to find a loose stone on the floor of my cell, although I had spent some time sharpening its edge on the other stones. It wasn’t much as weapons went, but it was better than nothing.
My heart beat like a full-fledged marching band as the three men came into view on the other side of the bars.
Todd stood back while Anton unlocked the door, and the iron gate opened with a groan that echoed off the stone.
Todd entered first, clearly ready to play. He was wearing black tactical pants and a black shirt that looked like it belonged in the gym. He was also wearing boots instead of his usual sneakers.
I wanted to needle him about the look, ask him if his fans knew he liked to play dress-up, but my jaw still hurt from the punch he’d delivered to my face, and I needed to keep my wits about me if I wanted to get out of this hellhole alive.
“I hope you got some rest,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”
“I hope you got some rest,” I said. “You’re going to need it more.”
His jaw tightened and he shook his head. “I see why the Butchers have a thing for you. Sometimes it’s fun to break pretty things. Especially pretty, stubborn things.”
“Real men don’t have fun breaking women.”
Mr. Skinny was looking at his feet, like he wanted to be anywhere but here, while Meathead watched warily from his position by the iron bars.
Todd scowled. “Is that what you and your feminist friends tell each other over cocktails?”
“Nope, just something anyone with even a little bit of emotional intelligence already knows.”
“You’re pretty mouthy for someone who’s locked up in a literal dungeon half a world away from home.”
Well, now that he put it that way. Jesus.
Be quiet, June. I need to think.
I tried to calm the fresh wave of panic brought on by Todd’s words, because he was right: I guess I was locked up in a literal dungeon half a world away from home.
“What can I say, it’s a gift.”
“We’ll see how much of a smart-ass you are in a couple hours,” he said. “If you even last that long. Now get up.”
I didn’t obey. My brain was too busy telling my body to stay put, that the safety of the wall at my back was better than no safety at all.
“Get up or I’ll have Anton here get you up,” Todd said.
Meathead shifted on his feet. Anton. That was his name.
The revelation made me feel sick with dread. No one was worried about keeping their identities a secret here. I knew Ethan Todd had kidnapped me, and now I knew the first name of his bodyguard.
They didn’t care because they didn’t intend to let me go.
Ever.
I stood, motivated by the possibility of an escape during Todd’s hunt.
“How does this work?” I asked. “What are the rules?”
“Rules?” Todd laughed. “You’re not playing with the fucking Blackwell Butchers. There are no rules here, just consequences. You run until we catch you.”
There was something in his voice when he talked about the Butchers, a note of resentment that felt… personal?
My mind turned, trying to think of a way to play his game. “What do I get if you don’t?”
“What do you get?” He smirked. “You don’t get anything.”
I was playing with fire, risking another blow to the face — or worse. But at least I was killing some time. Every second I kept Todd talking was another second to think through my options, another second for the Butchers to find me.
“The Hunt in Blackwell Falls works because there’s something in it for everyone.” I tried to sound calm, bored even. “This is just an excuse for you to feel like a big man, but you have nothing to lose, so how big does that make you really?”
His gaze hardened. “You don’t make the rules.”
“I know. You do, except you haven’t, which just proves my point.”
Behind Todd, Mr. Skinny looked uncertain, like he wasn’t sure what to make of the exchange.
“Stop talking, bitch.” Todd took a step toward me. “Unless you want to feel my fist in your face again.”
His voice had risen, his eyes gone wild. He was losing control, which was either good for me or bad for me depending on how it all played out.
I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying.”
My words said, fine, you win but my tone said you’re sounding a little hysterical, Ethan.
Which was probably why he sounded so dissatisfied when he spoke again. “I’ll give you twenty minutes to run. You should thank me. You only get three minutes with the Butchers’ Hunt.”
I said nothing, and he stalked toward me and grabbed my arm hard enough to make me wince.
He hauled me to the open door of my cell and Anton and Mr. Skinny took a few steps back.
I didn’t know if it was because they were afraid of me or because they were afraid of Todd, but the possibility of the former energized me.
I might still be screwed, but I’d thrown them off their game.
I’d hurt Anton with my kicks to his bad leg, had planted seeds of doubt in Mr. Skinny, had picked at the scab of Ethan Todd’s insecurity, a gaping wound under all his big talk, which was usually the case with incels and misogynists.
“What are you waiting for?” Todd looked at his smart watch. “Run.”