2. Chapter 2
Atlas
The granola bar wrapper slides across the dash pad when Hunter takes a left turn a little too fast. He grabs it and then drops it into the cupholder without taking his eyes off the road. “Told you to clean the fucking car.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I grab the half-empty bottle of Gatorade from the footwell, twist off the cap, then take a swig. “Ugh. It’s warm.”
Hunter's eyes cut to me, then to the bottle, then back to the road.
“What?”
“There’s another empty one under your seat.”
I roll my eyes. “I'll get it later.”
“You said that three weeks ago.” His jaw flexes. He's probably trying to restrain himself from arguing about how I’ve turned our truck into a biohazard again.
Technically, it’s my truck. But what’s mine is his ever since he moved in with my family.
“So, Cap’s meeting that chick he's been fucking around with.” I prop my feet on the glove box. “The one with the boyfriend.”
“Don’t care.”
“I'm just saying, our new captain isn't exactly worried about the boyfriend situation.” I take another swig of the orange Gatorade, put the cap on, then toss it back onto the floor.
“Still don’t care.”
I turn and look at him. “But you did care when it was announced he was our new captain.”
“Because Reyes is more like us than Blackwell.”
“Watch your fucking mouth. Kill was a good captain.” And he’s my friend, even if he did punch me that one time after I bodied his boyfriend during regionals. “Are you going to bitch about Reed now?”
Not that my best friend complains much. Most of the time, Hunter is silent. I’m the one who always has something to say. But after eight years of friendship, I can tell he’s also fuming over the fact that Jackson Reed is our new assistant coach.
Hunter’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “He’s a fucking Titan.”
“ Was a Titan. He graduated. And you know what happened, why he’s here.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“As long as he helps us beat his former team, I don’t really care.” I look out the window as he turns the F-250 onto the gravel road leading to the Pine Barrens.
Pitch pines line both sides of the road, getting thicker the farther we go. It's quiet out here. No houses, no traffic, no noise. Just gravel popping under the tires.
My shoulders creep up toward my ears. I force them down, but my knee starts bouncing. So, I press my palm into it.
Fucking stop.
Hunter's breathing has slowed, grip easing on the steering wheel. The woods settle him. They've always been a part of him—the good and the bad.
I hate that they still scare me.
But Hunter’s got my back. Always. And that helps.
My phone buzzes.
Cap: North side. Past Rocky Point lot. I'm here.
“Cap's already there.”
Hunter nods. “Should be enough girls here tonight. Easy to find someone we’re both into, eh?”
My stomach drops. “Yeah.”
It’s not like we haven’t had a threesome together before. We’ve done it twice. Tonight will be the third. But it’s not the girl I want.
Hunter shut down the idea of us being together like that two years ago. I’d been drunk and mentioned it as a joke. Turns out I’m sooo important to him he would never risk it. So, I take what I can get.
“You good?”
I jerk my head toward him. “Yeah no, I’m good.”
The truck slows as we pull into the parking lot. There’s no banner, no signs. Nothing advertising what’s happening out here tonight. But the lot is packed.
I sit up in my seat. “How’d Cap come across this event anyway?”
Hunter grunts.
Fucking typical.
It’s not like I don’t know our captain and my best friend have similar interests, both sexual and nonsexual. They like to hunt. To chase. And depending on the situation, to end a life or fuck the living shit out of whoever they caught. Which happens to be why we’re here now.
Don’t Look Back isn’t some horror fun run. It’s a primal play event.
Hunter pulls into a spot and cuts the engine.
He's been itchy since we got back to campus.
We spent the entire summer with my family.
It left us with no time to get away and take care of his darker needs.
And since coming back to school, there hasn't been a hunt. We haven’t found someone deserving of a shallow grave yet.
Tonight might not be what Hunter really needs, but it should be enough to take the edge off.
I whistle, taking in the view. “Big turnout.”
Not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t this many people.
They’re all stretching, pulling on masks, adjusting armbands.
A girl in a leather harness and running shorts leans against the hood of a Jeep while her friend laces up combat boots.
Two guys in matching wolf masks warm up near the tree line like they're about to run a 5K in hell.
Then there’s a girl wearing a short glittery dress, looking more like she should be at a club than here. “How far does Sparkles over there think she’s running in those stilettos?”
Hunter grunts, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “Don’t think she intends to make it past the parking lot.”
“Then why waste the money on the entrance fee?”
I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab the duffel bag from the backseat, open it, and pull out our masks. They’re plain white. Nothing special, nothing distinguishable.
But that’s the point.
When our group hunts—the real hunts, the ones that don't end with sex—we all dress the same. Same masks, same black hoodies and black pants, same silence. No names, no faces, just the pack moving through the trees until we catch what we’re chasing.
Tonight's not that. Tonight's just fucking.
Doesn’t matter.
Hunter and I are our own unit. Always have been. Two halves of a whole.
My breathing evens out as I pull the mask on. Something in my chest clicks into a lower gear, quieter, more focused. The version of me that has bashed a man's skull in with a rock.
I hold Hunter's mask out to him. He takes it without looking.
A few cars down, a guy with a similar mask is propped against the side of a Black Dodge Charger. “There’s Cap.”
Hunter looks out the windshield, then goes back to getting ready. Once our masks are secured and the hoods of our black sweatshirts pulled up, we exit the truck.
Outside, the sky is a burnt orange, which means there will be just enough light to maneuver through the trees to see who we’re chasing. My gaze lands on the tree line, and my heart rate picks up, throat tightening.
Fuck.
Hunter grips the back of my neck, his palm warm, fingers tightening just enough to steady me. He juts his chin toward a blonde wearing violet leggings and a silver masquerade mask. “She’s got a tight ass, big tits.”
I shrug.
The woman reminds me of the last threesome we had with Chelsea. Or was it Chrissy? Shit, it was something with a C. Hunter fucked her ass while I fucked her pussy. Came harder than I ever had.
Because I could feel him .
“What about her?” Hunter jerks his chin toward a redhead stretching near Cap’s charger.
She's pretty, I guess. Objectively. Like the way a painting is pretty. “Maybe.”
“Him?” He’s referring to the guy wearing a purge mask. The guy is lean, has long legs, and a broad back.
“Nah.” I slump against the fender of the F-250. My body is as interested as it would be in cleaning out the truck tomorrow.
Unlike it is with the wall of muscle beside me.
One of the purge mask guy’s friends looks over at us. His gaze runs over me, and I cross my arms. But when he winks, Hunter shifts closer, a low growl rumbling through his chest.
Turning to face my best friend, I incline my head toward the guy. “What about him?”
“No.”
“But maybe I want to experiment.”
He steps in, crowding my space, fingers twitching at his side like he's deciding whether to grab the other guy or me first. “No.”
I push past him. “Fine.”
Some days I really want to punch Hunter in the fucking face. But then my eyes fall on the one person I never expected to see here, and I stop dead in my tracks. Maybe six cars away is one very familiar Titan.
Cody Jenkins.
The mouthy little shit who keeps coming back, no matter how many times I put him on his ass. Five ten, maybe, built low and compact, and stubborn enough to swing at me even though I've got ten inches and sixty pounds on him.
I like fighting him. There's something about the way he refuses to stay down that makes putting him there more fun than it should be. “Well, this night just got more interesting.”
Hunter walks up beside me. “Why the fuck is he here?”
Good question. Jenkins doesn't have a mask on. Doesn't have an armband on either. His hands are shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie, and his head is swiveling like he's looking for someone specific, not looking to play.
He stalks past us, close enough that I could reach out and grab the back of his neck. His shoulders tense as he does, but he's too busy scanning the crowd to look twice.
Then his steps falter, body going rigid.
Can’t tell what he’s looking at since his back is to me, but he’s facing our captain, who’s surrounded by three women. I tilt my head, watching. “Does he know it’s Cap? Bet he’ll start shit if he figures it out. Kind of hope he does.”
Hunter doesn't respond. He's too locked in on Jenkins.
Everyone starts making their way to the designated areas, marking the start of the event. Those with green armbands move toward the tree line while the people with blue armbands gather at the traffic cones near the parking lot.
Hunter and I slip on our blue armbands and hang a few feet back from Jenkins. He doesn't move to either group. Just stands there, watching the crowd sort itself around him as if he unknowingly wandered into someone else's game.
I grin under my mask, bouncing on my toes. “He didn't sign up for this, and he definitely came looking for a fight.”
Hunter grunts. “He found one.”
Whatever tonight was supposed to be just got replaced by something else. The pining, the threesome I didn't want, the girl who's pretty like a painting—gone.
The Titan is on our turf . . . and this I know what to do with.
Jenkins checks his phone, then tucks it into his back pocket. He maneuvers through the pack, edging closer to our captain.
The first airhorn blares, and those wearing green armbands run into the woods.
I shake out my hands, muscles flexing, blood surging through my body. Under my mask, my lips are pulled into a wide grin. But it’s not friendly.
Hunter is still beside me. Poised. Locked in.
The second horn blares, and our group takes off. Jenkins is ahead of us, cutting through the pack with the same quick, aggressive stride he uses on the ice.
That’s right, you cocky little shit.
Run.
Because I’m coming to get you.