Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I pace in my room, that feeling of deep loneliness and dread seeping through my veins.
Finally, I stop, staring out at the tropical landscape that now seems…
dark. It shouldn’t. The sun is shining on all the trees, bringing out the vivid greens.
Seagulls dip in the air, landing on the back porch.
It looks like there are trails out into the woods for hiking. Objectively, it’s a beautiful place.
But I don’t have my phone. My gut is screaming that there’s something wrong here. Something is very wrong. I’ve been taking notes all day. I need to keep track of everything so I can check back later. I have a horrible habit of forgetting the bad things to convince myself that everything is fine.
Like the fox.
My vision gets blurry, and for some reason, I find myself missing Mrs. Amy. Missing how she’d kiss me on the forehead before bed and how she’d rub my back when I was sick.
My throat feels tight, and I clear it, shaking my head.
I fucked up. I fucked up big time. Plus, I brought someone here.
Poppy’s therapist. I haven’t seen her in any of the rooms yet, and I can’t tell if I want to or not.
I’d almost rather find whoever’s in charge and ask them to put us on separate flights out of here.
Of course, I’ll pay her everything in my savings for bringing her here. And then some.
But, in order to find who’s in charge, I need to see who’s here. Staring at the deer mask on my bed, I hesitate. I don’t want to wear that. It’s stupid, and everyone will look at me. I stride to the door without it, then hesitate.
Everyone else is wearing them. I don’t want to be the only one without. So, reluctantly, I grab it and put it on.
The strap is tight around the back of my head, and it smells like plastic, although it’s surprisingly easy to see through the mesh-covered eyes.
Sneaking downstairs is less of an ordeal than I thought.
This place is just like a big villa, with a main check-in area and conference room.
There are a bunch of people around in masks.
At first, my face burns under mine, feeling like everyone will look at me.
But, they don’t. In fact, they don’t even give me a second look.
I almost find the mask helps. No one can see my discomfort.
In addition to the masks, everyone has a number pinned to their person. It’s odd, until I remember the number the man gave me in exchange for my phone. Where did I put it?
Oh yeah. My pocket. I feel around my jeans, which I haven’t changed, and feel the hard card in there.
As I glance around, I realize that the people are all focused on the front of the room. There, a large man stands by a table. He’s even bigger than Manson, and I suck in a breath. Is everyone here huge?
A glance around the room confirms that not everyone is big, but they’re all men. Which is…odd. Where is Holland?
The man at the table is talking, and I focus on him. If I can figure out whatever fucking game this is, maybe I can win it, find Holland, and go home. Or lose it and go home. I don’t really care. As long as I can go home.
“And the lucky number is…” The man is reaching around in a jar. He has a skull mask on, and his arms are massive. He pulls out a paper and reads it. “Fourteen.”
I look around the room as everyone else does. Who is fourteen?
The men lean as they try to catch a glimpse of everyone’s numbers. As they do, I spot Riley in the back of the room. She tilts her head at me. Manson must be the huge fucker in a full mask beside her, and there’s also a smaller person between them, fully masked. Is it Holland?
“Lucky number fourteen.” The man’s voice is louder, but somehow sounds just as bored.
There’s muttering through the room. They must not be here?
The silence stretches on for an uncomfortable period of time, and I begin to wonder what my own number is. Pulling it out of my pocket, my stomach turns to ice as I see my card.
Fourteen.
Then, the person next to me is looking at me. “Hey man, that’s you.”
More people start muttering, and then there are hands shoving me forward. I walk on autopilot, scanning the table. The big man stands there, holding something. A knife. A big knife. It’s bigger than his hand.
I stop.
Oh my god. Is he going to kill me? Sacrifice me in some freaked-out ritual?
The knife is sheathed.
Slowly, my brain catches up. He’s not going to kill me. Why would he kill me? What’s wrong with me?
Stiffly, I start walking again. When I stand there, the man just looks at me, then nods at my hand.
I stand there for a second before realizing that my number is still gripped in my hand, so he can’t see it. Slowly, I force my fingers away.
I catch a slight eye roll under the mask, then the man drops the knife in my hands. It’s heavy, and my hands drop a little under its weight with a finality that twists the knot in my stomach.
As I turn back to the room, it’s like the energy has shifted. It’s like the air has gotten colder, and people have stopped talking. Some people are looking at me like I’m the enemy now.
What in the actual fuck is going on right now? My heart races. I wanted to come in here, gather information, and leave without anyone noticing me. Instead, I feel like this knife has more significance than just a knife.
The men part around me like no one wants to touch me. Then, slow clapping starts. It’s Riley. She stands up, staring me down as she claps. Everyone is looking at us, and I hate her for it. I hate her for drawing even more attention, and I hate her for bringing me here.
I start walking away.
“Where you going?” Suddenly, Riley is right there. She’s throwing her arm around me, yanking me to her.
“Get off me,” I hiss.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll chill,” Riley says in a low voice. Then she goes back to her normal voice, albeit louder, “The lucky number.”
I realize that Manson is next to us now, too, pulling the smaller person with him. I’m ushered out of the hall, then into the main check-in area.
I yank away from Riley. “What the hell?”
All traces of mirth are gone from her eyes, and she narrows them at me. “You’re welcome. You know, you’re not very good at this game, are you?”
The pressure in my chest feels so tight that I let out a small gasp of air. “Game? How can I be good at it if I don’t know what it is?”
“Go.” Manson shoves at me, pushing me further down the hall, glancing over his shoulder.
“What is this? What does it mean?” I wave the knife around.
Manson herds us into a sheltered corner by the elevator. I realize now that the small person they have with them is a woman. Her eyes are soft and framed in thick, dark lashes. But she doesn’t look like Holland, who had pale skin and light blue eyes. I wonder where she is?
“It means you’re lucky,” Riley says.
“Luck isn’t a thing,” the woman pipes up. “It’s a human construct made to help us feel better about the unpredictability of life.”
“Yeah, I meant that sarcastically, Rachel.” Riley snorts. “It means I paid a lot of money so he could have the first weapon.” Riley’s gaze softens as she looks at the woman.
The first weapon? My head spins. I suck in breath after breath. So I wasn’t being dramatic. This is real. A real knife bigger than my hand.
“Chin up, fourteen.” Riley pats me on the back. “You’re fighting for true love. All you have to do is get rid of the thing that stands between you and your woman.”
I have a sick feeling that getting rid of means more than it normally does. My stomach heaves.
“No one fights for love anymore. You are one of the few people who will.” Riley’s voice is light. “And don’t take that as a compliment. I think you’re either exceptionally stupid or you have serious mommy issues. Both are equally entertaining. But you’re here now.”
“Go.” Manson is pushing us in the elevator again, and as I feel it lurch under my feet, I think I might throw up.
“No one will touch you before tonight, now that we’ve claimed you. You’re welcome,” Riley says. “Just do me a favor and stay alive till then, yeah? I’m bored, and you’re a train wreck. It’s perfect.”
I think the elevator doors ding open, and the others shuffle out. I’m focused on keeping the vomit inside.
“Wait,” I say, stumbling, my voice rising in panic. “This is a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”
For a second, the three freeze. Manson glances around. His voice lowers. “Shut the fuck up.”
But I can’t. The panic is bubbling in my chest, and it has to go somewhere. Anywhere. I rip the mask off. “I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t even know where here is! I don’t want to play the game. I want to go home.”
It feels like I can’t get a breath.
Suddenly, Riley is in my face. She’s grinning again. The grin that shows too many teeth. “No one leaves the game, Fourteen. Not till it’s over.”
I heave, trying to keep the panic at bay. I have to leave. I have to. I have to go home. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
Riley’s expression turns deadly. “And yet, here you are.” She shoves my shoulder, hard. “Don’t embarrass me, fourteen. And keep that mistake shit to yourself. If you sound too much like prey, they’ll turn you into it. Play the game, or it’ll play you.”
And then, they’re gone.