Chapter 12 Cassie
CASSIE
I watched with a mixture of fear and relief as they disappeared into the shadows.
Maybe it was a form of Stockholm syndrome, but at least they were an enemy I knew.
Now I was strung up, naked and attached to the chain by all my most private parts, exposed to any of the other teams who might walk past.
I tipped my head back against the stone wall, trying to process everything that had happened in the last… however many minutes it had been since I’d run into the men in hawk masks.
It was over. I’d lost the Hunt.
Now I’d have to live with the three men who’d chained me to the wall. Worse, I wouldn’t get justice for my parents.
Not anytime soon anyway.
And what was I going to tell Bram?
I pushed the thought away. I had bigger and more immediate problems. Namely the fact that I was starting to shiver, the warmth from the heat lamps long since dissipated, my bare feet cold on the dirt floor.
But that wasn’t all. The clamps on my nipples and the folds of my pussy were uncomfortable.
And not just in a painful way. Every time I shifted, the chain around my neck and the clamps on my nipples tugged at the clamp on my pussy, the chain rubbing on my clit, sending a shock of friction through my core.
I closed my eyes as I remembered the hot slide of the black-haired hawk’s tongue through my slit, the way he’d lapped at my clit in the moment before he’d gotten to his feet.
I’d wanted more.
Jesus.
My face was tight where their blood had dried on my cheeks and forehead. What had that been about?
Trust us, it’s for your own protection.
I didn’t feel protected. I felt like an animal pinned to the ground in the jungle, open season for any creature that passed by with an appetite.
I tried to ignore the pinch of the clamps on my nipples and pussy, tried to ignore the desire sparking between my thighs.
My breathing slowly returned to normal, the tunnel quiet all around me.
I could almost believe I was suddenly alone, that everyone else had left, leaving me alone with the men in hawk masks.
The adrenaline seeped out of my body, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion.
I had no idea how much time had passed since I’d last checked, had no idea how long I’d been in the tunnels or how much time was left in the Hunt.
My phone was in the pocket of my jeans, tossed aside by the one of the bird men who’d taken them off, and there was no digital clock in this stretch of tunnels.
Time felt meaningless, and my eyelids started to feel heavy, my head nodding against the stone wall until I fell into sleep.
It felt like only a second later when I woke with a start, icy water pouring from the spigots on the ceiling.
I shrieked in shock, yanked from the comforting darkness through which I’d been floating while I slept.
I sputtered and coughed, turning my head to try and get away from the worst of the spray, closing my eyes against the onslaught while it went on and on until suddenly, as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
I gasped for breath, water streaming down my face and naked body, my hair soaked all over again. The chain was still looped around my neck, the clamps still attached to every private part of me, but now I was too wet and cold to feel anything but anger.
“Assholes!” I shouted.
My voice echoed through the tunnels, and I realized my mistake a few minutes later when the sound of approaching footsteps thudded on the dirt floor.
I’d drawn attention, and if I’d thought I was alone before, I knew now that I wasn’t.
I held my breath, expecting (hoping?) the men in hawk masks would emerge out of the darkness, but the three men who eventually appeared weren’t disguised as birds but as bulls.
Wide-set horns emerged from the top of their black masks, their eyes glinting through large eyeholes above a thick snout.
Their footsteps slowed as they approached, like they’d been out for a Sunday stroll and had happened upon an unexpected artifact. They ambled closer, the tattoos that were inked onto their bare upper bodies writhing like living shadows as they moved.
Like all of the men in masks, they were virtually featureless, even their hair hidden. I sensed the meaning behind their masks: they moved slowly and deliberately, like bulls pawing the ground right before they charged.
The one who spoke first had lean defined muscle and a shiny patch of skin — half-hidden by the tattoos on his chest — that made me think he’d been burned. “Looks like you got yourself into a pickle.”
He spoke casually, as if he were talking about the weather.
I should have been embarrassed — I was naked, chained to the walls, some kind of sex toy/torture device clamped onto my nipples and pussy — but I’d started to shake, the icy water from the sprinklers seeping into my bones.
“Poor little darlin’.” I could almost see the scowl behind the second man’s mask, and I noticed that his knuckles were scraped raw as he scratched at his neck. “They could have been gentlemen and left you a jacket at least.”
The third man had done nothing but watch, his body coiled with a predatory stillness, and I recoiled when he finally stepped closer.
I had no idea what to expect from any of the deranged men hunting us in the tunnels. I had a reason for being here — so did all the girls — but it was beginning to occur to me that the men were here just for the fun of it.
What did that say about them?
“Who marked you?” The third bull dropped his gaze to the silver collar around my neck. “Who claimed you?”
I remembered the glint of the knife, the hot smear of blood on my face, the shine of ownership in the eyes of the men who’d chained me to the wall. “The bird men.”
“Hawks.” Burn Scar spit lazily onto the floor. “Fucking figures.”
The guy with the scraped knuckles unzipped his jeans.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the third man drawled.
“Draping my jeans around her shoulders. It’s all I’ve got.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. She was marked by the Hawks.”
“She’s freezing,” the guy with the unzipped jeans said.
“She knew what she was signing up for. We don’t mess with another man’s property. You should know that better than anyone.”
“Sorry to interrupt” — I was almost proud of myself for the ability to be sarcastic after witnessing their lazy back-and-forth — “but I’m not anyone’s property. And I can hear everything you’re saying.”
“Good for you.” The third man returned his attention to his friend, who was standing there with his jeans unzipped like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is our first Hunt. We’re not going to fuck it up by breaking the rules.”
“Not to mention the fact that the Hawks are fucking insane,” Scraped Knuckles said.
“I’m not scared of those fucking hotheads. But it took us forever to get in. We’re not fucking it up our first time out. Let’s go.”
Scraped knuckles shrugged apologetically at me and zipped up his jeans, then followed the other two as they continued past.
They were merging with the shadows when the bossy one turned around. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re chained to the wall. You’ve been marked by the Hawks. You’re wearing their collar. What are you now if not their property?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer before he disappeared into the darkness with his friends, but the question echoed in my mind.
What had I done?