Chapter 10
OLIVIA
PRESENT DAY
My body is on fire. Even against the cold, damp tree holding me up and the wet mixture of mud beneath our feet, my body feels lit with the heat of a million flames.
The memory of that night floods me. It was the last true memory I have before everything went black. Or at least I thought. I know now that my memory with Declan happened before Trace and I…
It’s weird to me that I have a very clear recollection of the cabin with Trace, and I remember nearly everything up until my new imagery with my brother.
But then after meeting up with Trace, I can’t remember anything.
Not until I was surrounded by flashing lights and the sound of crying as I watched the bodies be loaded into ambulances.
But that moment with him is so vivid. I can still feel the gentle caress of his touch as he handled me with care that night, making sure he didn’t hurt me while he treasured me like it was going to be our last night together.
It was our last night together.
I never saw Trace again after that. It was the reason I inadvertently found solace in someone else’s arms. The reason I needed to black him out on top of everything else I was forced to forget.
But getting him out of my head was harder than I thought.
So much so that even now, I’m still trying and I’ve probably been in denial of the fact that I haven’t thought about him since then.
But I have and now that he’s here, actually in front of me and not just lurking from the darkness, I feel like I’m about to burst.
It's his eyes. That’s what causes the heat to spread along my body and tortures my mind with memories that I know I’ll never be able to forget, no matter how hard I try.
I know he’s looking at me, even behind the glow of his mask, caged and protected.
There's nothing else that lights me up the way his eyes do, the way they always have.
When he's looking, I know. I can feel it.
Seeing him again is like teetering on the edge of agony and elation. He's familiar but unknown. And I miss him but I really fucking hate him right now.
"What do you want?" I dare ask again with a little more bite than before, still knowing that he won't give me a straight answer, but nothing is making much sense right now.
I can only hope that he'll be honest with me, just like he always was before.
Though I feel eerily enough that the man in front of me is not the man I left behind, the man who left me behind.
I can tell by how aggressive his tone is when he speaks to me, not at all the gentle but confident tone he once carried.
The way his body now seems to hold anger, evident in the way he touches me, and a modicum of something else I can't pinpoint.
I have to remember that he lost a sister that night in the Pines as well. But that can’t have anything to do with this right now . . . can it?
What else could I have fucking done to him?
"What fun would it be to fill you in on my agenda, Reckless?
That would ruin my plans for you," The resonance of his voice sounds hollow, like he's been running away from his own ghosts for far too long. The sound of it causes me to wonder what he's been up to all these years, where he’s been and who he’s been with.
Part of me wants to feel empathetic to the idea that maybe he also lost a part of himself after Seren’s death.
Another part of me wants to pick him apart and figure out what's causing the pain that I can undoubtedly feel radiating from him.
But what business of that is mine when he left me broken and alone and why would I want to burden myself with whatever it is his past holds?
He left me there for a reason, otherwise I might think to actually care. I wanted to care.
The man standing in front of me—nearly holding me hostage to whatever the fuck kind of mind games he plans to ensue—is the same man I gave my whole heart to only for him to shatter it into a million pieces.
Regardless of how the years have changed him and what those reasons are, that fact will always remain the same.
And while his hidden eyes still feel like hot coal on my skin, his demeanor is cold as ice and I feel discomfort with the fact that I don't actually know who he is anymore.
But then again, he doesn't know me anymore either so maybe the playing field is even.
Or maybe it's a recipe for an undeniably toxic disaster.
"Aren't you supposed to be in prison or something?" I accuse, letting the words come out of my mouth with a hint of sarcasm. But I cringe just a little when I realize that they might also portray a modicum of disgust and I just hope he doesn't catch that.
I lean further into the tree, not really feeling the desire to get away from him but more so needing distance from the way it feels to be this close to him again.
Trace stands in front of me with only a shoe length of distance between us.
I take this moment to analyze the rest of him, needing to let my eyes take a break from the bright neon light his mask emanates.
He's wearing his usual dark blue jeans and black pullover hoodie combo.
It's something familiar that I can recall, something so minor that brings me back.
Trace never wore more than the regular pair of jeans—sometimes he'd switch it up with sweatpants—usually paired with a plain colored shirt and a hoodie of some kind.
Before I can allow myself to get lost in the way his body looks, I bring my eyes back up to the crosses over his mask as he pulls his hand up toward my face.
He scoffs as he lifts his index finger and swipes at a few pieces of mist-soaked hair laying over my eyes, brushing them away. "Do you really believe everything you hear, Olivia? I thought you were smarter than that."
"I let actions speak louder than words," I reply immediately.
A jab intended for more than just this moment and even though I don't mind the fact that his face is hidden away, I wish I could see his eyes.
His feelings have always been reflective in his eyes and honestly, so have mine which is why I always had a hard time maintaining eye contact with him.
Now, I'm not sure what to expect but I know the moment he takes off the mask, everything will come flooding back full force and I don't know if I'll be able to take it.
“Well then where the hell have you been, Trace?” I decide to ask him when he doesn’t respond to me, starting to feel annoyed.
His head tilts and almost at the same time, I hear rustling come from somewhere around us, hiding in the night. I know I can no longer see the maze, but I can't really gauge how far off we are from the trail either.
I start to feel my heart race, causing me to squirm against the tree just a little—anticipation and adrenaline swirling in my gut—and a little gasp comes from behind Trace's mask. I don't have time to analyze it though before I hear another set of footsteps, or two, approach in the distance.
I lean my head to the side just in time to see two more glowing masks step out from behind the trees about twenty feet back. The same black masks with the same infamous, neon crosshatches. Only these ones are red and . . . yellow.
The sight of the brightness makes me sick. Nausea fills my veins when I look at the color that once represented the sun, but now reminds me of nothing but false hope and insurmountable pain. Why the fuck is he wearing my brother’s old mask?
The Cutthroats; a name given out by the fans of the football team years ago designed specifically for the four most ruthless football players of MCU.
After an undefeated season and winning the Bowl, a parade was held in the town and that’s when the four named MVP players were granted the honor of being named the Cutthroats.
The masks came about as a token for the guys, it resembles the mask of Match, the Masked Nightmare; the Marauders' mascot. At first, the formation of the Cutthroats seemed a little silly to me, but when they say cutthroat, they fucking mean it. The boys were monsters on the football field so the name is rightfully deserved. They’re pretty much legendary names in college football.
I stare out into the distance, looking at them. I know who the guy on the right of Trace is; the flicker of the crimson light of his mask caresses his dark brown skin and his height is unmatched. Evrin.
And I know who’s under my brother’s mask because the yellow lighting of it illuminates green against his blue hair. Sage.
The third member hasn’t been seen wearing his mask in quite some time and some question if he even considers himself part of the group any more.
I shift uncomfortably as I strain my neck to look out at our new audience, Trace not budging one bit.
"What are they doing here?" I ask calmly but choose to not leave out the slight annoyance in my tone that I am inevitably feeling.
"Didn't you hear? It's…" Trace lets his words trail off as he turns behind him and addresses the two others who have joined us. "What are they calling this again?" he asks, waving his hand around at the trees surrounding us, almost maniacally.
"The Final Forest Anniversary," the one in the yellow mask hollers out, and even though I knew who it was before he spoke up, the pop of his blue hair peaking out around his face the tell, his voice serves as further confirmation.
I cringe thinking about anyone wearing my brother’s mask. It makes me ill, honestly. How the fuck do they even have it? And why is he wearing it? He’s not a Cutthroat and he certainly hasn’t earned the right to steal it.
"Right." Trace turns his head back to me, a sinister layer to his tone. "That. It's like a party, Livie. So I brought my friends."
I roll my eyes; a facade to hide that fact that my stomach twists as Trace hovers over me and the others watch on.