3. Chapter 3
Cody
A cropped tank top.
That's what she’s wearing.
Not a sundress like she puts on when we go to dinner. Not even a pair of jeans and sneakers. A fucking cropped tank top with white micro shorts and her hair pulled back into a high ponytail.
My feet slam against the dirt trail covered in pine needles, branches whipping across my arms as I cut through the trees, trying to keep that douchebag she was smiling at in my sight. Who the fuck is he anyway?
Did she meet him here?
I sprint, shouldering past some guy in a wolf mask. Asshole better get out of my way because he’s not the one I want to choke the shit out of. It’s that douchebag in the white mask. Pictured it the second I heard her laugh in the parking lot as she ran her fingers down his arm.
That same goddamn laugh I used to get at Jones Beach when I'd tell a joke and she'd grab my arm like I was the funniest person alive.
Tonight, she aimed it at him.
My lungs burn. But not from running. It’s deeper, behind my ribs, and it won't move, won't break apart, won't let me breathe all the way in.
About seventy feet ahead of me, the guy in the white mask veers to the left. Jumping over a log, I follow. Less light filters through the canopy above us. It’s not dark yet, just dimming. Still, I increase my pace, making sure not to lose him because following him means I find Cindy.
Someone screams to my right.
Shit.
Maybe they tripped over a root. What kind of asshole event planner thought this was safe? So much can go wrong.
Another scream. This one, more high-pitched, breathless even, followed by a giggle. I slow, approaching someone on the ground. Except it’s not someone, it’s—
Holy shit.
People are fucking out here?
No thank you. There’s ticks, mosquitos, and poison ivy in these woods.
I shake my head and keep moving. None of my business what others choose to do. I’m only here to find out what my girlfriend is up to.
A branch catches me across my thigh hard enough to sting through the fabric.
Fuck.
Should've worn jeans. But I wasn't exactly planning on barreling through the goddamn woods tonight.
This was just supposed to be recon. Actually, what I was supposed to be doing was sitting across from my girlfriend, eating overpriced pasta, and pretending the breadbasket wasn't the best part of the meal.
Loud snaps rip through the woods from the left.
Every muscle in my body coils as three guys crash through the brush, shoving each other, laughing like they're at a frat party instead of—whatever the hell this is.
Fucking assholes.
They blow past me without a second look. I shake my head and turn back ahead, but the masked guy is gone.
God-fucking-dammit.
The trees are thicker here, packed tighter, branches overlapping. I slow to a walk and look around. He can’t be far. Just need a glimpse of him to see what direction he went.
Or better yet, a hint of my girlfriend. Would be easier to spot those white micro shorts.
My breathing evens out as I scan the area, which is weird because it shouldn't. Cindy is out here with some masked asshole, and my body's acting like it's on a power play instead of in the middle of a goddamn crisis.
Un-fucking-believable.
A shadow shifts between two pines about fifty yards out. Too small to be him.
I turn in a slow circle, scanning the tree line, checking every gap, every shadow, every flicker of movement between the pines, when someone slams into my side, causing me to stumble.
A small brunette wearing a glitter mask that hides half her face, squeals, then covers her mouth. “Oh, my god! Sorry. I didn't even see you.”
“Obviously.”
She steps closer, twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger. “You're cute. You know, there’s like a really good spot by the—”
“I'm looking for someone.”
“Aren't we all.” She grins, her focus shifting down to my left arm, then the right, her brows pinching together. “Where's your band?”
“My what?”
“Your armband.”
“Don’t have one.”
“Okay, but like, that’s the whole point.” She holds up her wrist to show off her green band. “I’m a runner. The blues hunt us down.” She leans in like she's telling me a secret. “Are you a runner ?”
The fuck did she just imply?
I huff. “I don’t run from anyone.”
She pops a hip, placing a hand on it. “Then why are you out here?”
Good fucking question.
So, this event . . . it’s a goddamn sex thing. My girlfriend signed up for some freaky sex tag game in the woods. Then lied to me about it.
Motherfucking fuck.
And that guy? Does she know him or is he a stranger? Jesus Christ, is anyone using condoms?
I push my fingers into my hair under my hood and tug at the roots.
The girl in the glitter mask reaches out. “Hey, are you okay? You look like you're about to—”
I jerk back. “I'm fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
A guy appears behind her. No shirt, masked, already sweating. He looks at me, then at her, then back at me. “Bro, if you're not gonna hit that, move. I've been chasing her for ten minutes.”
She whirls around. “You were not . I would've heard you.”
“You did hear me. You just didn't run fast enough.” He picks her up and she wraps her legs around him. They're against a tree before I've taken two steps.
Wonder who she's got waiting at home. Boyfriend on the couch, maybe. Watching TV, thinking she's out with friends. No idea she's in the Pine Barrens getting railed by a stranger after some other guy she just met turned her down first.
My teeth clench so hard they ache.
Was it just this once or has Cindy been—the whole time we were together—has she been—
My stomach drops. All those nights she canceled. The texts that went unanswered for hours. The slow fade I kept blaming on busy schedules and hockey and the tutoring center eating my time.
Was I really that fucking blind?
I'm the guy who notices everything. But I didn't catch this.
Any other night, I'd be halfway back to my car, breaking up with her over text, and talking to someone new by next weekend.
But Cindy lied to me. Used her strained relationship with her father as a cover. Even made me feel like it was my life causing our problem.
Well, fuck that.
I refuse to be the idiot in this story, so I run deeper into the woods.
It’s darker, harder to see. A low branch catches my cheek, the sting sharp enough to make my eyes water. I hop over another log, lifting my feet higher so I don’t trip over the vines on the ground.
She never asked me to come with her. That's the part that keeps hitting. Not the lying. Not the event. It’s that she never once looked at me and thought, Maybe he'd be into this too.
Because why would she when I'm the dumbass who takes her to the same Italian restaurant twice a month and thinks he's killing it.
Moaning cuts through the trees ahead. I ease up, moving quieter through the brush.
I swallow hard, my heart rate picking up.
It’s the asshole in the white mask. He’s maybe forty feet away, half his body hidden behind the trunk of a thick pine. His pants are around his ankles, hips snapping forward at a brutal pace.
I inch closer, the pine needles on the ground muffling my footsteps. I circle wider to catch a glimpse of who he has pinned against the tree, my heart thumping so hard I feel it in my throat.
The girl reaches up, trying to steady herself. The guy in the white mask wraps his hand around her throat. “Your cunt is so fucking sloppy.”
She moans.
Cindy.
I keep moving until my girlfriend comes into view. Her mask is gone, shirt ripped open, the fabric hanging off one shoulder as he manhandles her tits, smacking them. She wraps her legs around his waist as he continues fucking her.
Not gentle. Not sweet. The kind of hard that makes the tree shake.
“Fuck me.” Her voice rips through the woods. Raw. Loud. A voice I've never heard come out of her mouth. Not in my bed. Not in my car. Not ever. “Harder. Oh, my god. Harder. ”
He slaps her across the face.
She moans again .
My throat closes, hands shaking.
I step without thinking, and a branch snaps under my foot. “Shit.”
The guy in the white mask whips his head in my direction. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn away. Instead, he fucks my girlfriend harder, head tilting the slightest bit as if daring me to do something.
This motherfucker.
I step back to cut around the thicket between us because I'm going to rip that mask off his face and break every bone in his—
My back collides with something solid. “The fuck?”
I spin and—
Shit.
Two large men in masks stand there, towering over me. The hoods of their black sweatshirts are pulled up. One steps closer, boxing me in.
My gaze snaps between them, fists clenched and eyes narrowed.
But . . . their masks . . . I turn back to the guy fucking Cindy, then face the two in front of me again.
They’re the same. Their fucking masks are the same.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My breathing picks up, but I hold my chin high. Same way I do whenever that prick Trembley knocks me on my ass. Because I don’t back down.
Ever.
Instead, I make myself bigger.
But my chest won't open. The air won't come in all the way. These two aren't Trembley. We’re also not on the ice where teammates have my back.
Three-on-one isn't brave. It's a fucking death wish. Especially when nobody knows where I am.
So, I cut left and run.
My legs do what they've always done—the first step is explosive, low, and fast. Branches rip at my hoodie and slice across my arms and face.
My sneakers tear through the dirt. I'm running the way I skate when I've screwed up and the play is going the other direction and I'm the only one who can get back in time.
Except there are no boards. No bench. No whistle.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I ignore it.
Following Cindy was a mistake. A disastrous one. Maybe even a deadly one.
Fuck.
I should've just broken up with her.