30. 30 – Alyss
30 – Alyss
I keep my hand on the wall as I turn another corner.
These passages are endless. I feel as if I’ve been walking for days. And there’s no sign of any of the others.
Pausing, I frown. That noise… it sounds familiar.
Almost like a ticking .
I keep going, following that noise until I turn into a new passageway. When I pause to listen, I can still hear the ticking.
But… my body stiffens. There’s something else, too. The soft tread of footsteps against the ground. Whoever it is, they’re trying to stay quiet.
Casually, I glance over my shoulder.
Nothing behind me.
I take a few more steps.
He steps out in front of me, smile gleaming. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
I pause, taking him in. The short, balding man grins at me. “I’m Bruce.”
He bounces back on his feet. “You’re very difficult to get alone, you know. Always one of the others following you around.”
I spread my feet out. “And why would you need to get me alone?”
His smile shows me stained teeth. “For a chat.”
Sure, asshole.
I take a step back. “I’m not feeling in the mood for a conversation.”
“Don’t be like that.” He follows me, full of over-inflated ego and something darker, something that makes my skin crawl as his eyes drop to take in my dress, lingering on my legs. “Everyone else gets a go. Seems only fair I get a turn.”
I’m not a fucking merry-go-round.
Stopping, I pretend to actually consider his offer. My head tilts to the side. “You know, I don’t think I’m in the mood for rapist cunts today, Bruce. So… I’m going to say no.”
I widen my stance. Brace.
Darkness slithers over his face. “Say whatever you want.”
He lunges for me; thick, meaty hands reaching out. There’s nothing but vile anticipation in his face, no thought that I’m not moving, not trying to run.
My guard is wide fucking open, and Bruce runs straight into it. My back hits the floor with a hard smack as he takes me down.
But he leaves his neck wide open.
His expression when I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist is gleeful. “I knew you’d come round.”
My ankles hook together in a tight grip. Bruce stiffens as I pull myself up and hook my arm around his neck. “What—,”
His words cut off in a choking sound as I tighten my grip, pushing against his windpipe.
If this were Chess, he could get out of this easily enough. But this nasty, vile, perverted little asshole is nothing close to Chess, in any fucking way.
The average guillotine choke can render someone unconscious in less than ten seconds. I keep my grip tight, crushing, as Bruce flops around on top of me like a wet fucking fish, gurgling as his face turns purple.
When his body slumps, I shove him off in disgust. “Six seconds. Of course you’d be less than fucking average.”
I scramble to my feet, straightening my dress before I turn and kick him in the face. My foot slams down, a satisfying crunching noise coming from his nose.
I pull my foot back and kick him in the ribs this time. “Bet your dick is the size of a matchstick .”
Again. “And you probably call your own fucking name when you come.”
It’s possible that I may have some outstanding anger issues. I’ve been kicking him for a while when I become aware of eyes on me.
Kayden steps forward, his arms crossed. “I’d ask if you need a hand, but you clearly have this covered.”
His words are genial enough, but his face… if Bruce was awake right now, I’m fairly sure he’d have shit his pants at the expression Kayden is giving him.
Aiden grins beside him. “You’re rather savage. I like that.”
“Uh.” I lower my foot from mid-air. “Thanks?”
“Did he touch you?” Kayden’s voice is lethally quiet as he steps forward to stand beside me. His blue eyes are dark. “Hurt you?”
The smile disappears from Aiden’s face.
“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ as I glance down to his unconscious body. “He thought I’d be an easy target.”
Kayden surveys me. “He was wrong.”
I half-shrug. Before I can say anything else, Kayden turns to Bruce, lifting his own foot.
He slams it down on Bruce’s windpipe. Once. Twice.
Bruce’s breathing turns to heavy, choking gurgles.
“Good job.” I pat his arm. “I’d rate that an eight.”
Kayden looks affronted as he turns back to me. “An eight ?”
“Well,” I say, quite reasonably. “He’s not dead.”
“It’s actually incredibly difficult to kill someone through crushing their trachea,” Aiden points out drily. “Humans can sustain life breathing through a two-millimeter hole.”
“He’s not dead yet,” Kayden mutters. He still sounds irritated. “But he will be. Vagal inhibition.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
What inhibition?
“Nerve compression,” Aiden says smoothly. He looks as though he’s trying not to laugh. “A signal’s been cut between areas of his body. He’ll be dead in a few minutes.”
“Well, you learn something new every day.” I move away from Bruce’s twitching body. “Have you seen anyone else?”
Both of them shake their heads. Aiden frowns. “Can you hear that?”
“The ticking?” I turn to look over my shoulder when he nods. “I was following it when Bruce found me.”
Kayden swipes a hand over his face. It’s covered in cuts, and I open my mouth to ask.
Then I close it again, deciding that I probably don’t want to know. “Shall we?”
They flank me as we walk away from Bruce, back up the passage. As we move, the ticking becomes louder. “It sounds like a clock.”
More than one, in fact.
“Scary,” Kayden murmurs. “We get rats, spiders, moving walls and an electrified puddle, and you get clocks ?”
I stop to stare at him. “An electrified puddle?”
“It was bigger than a puddle.” Aiden rolls his eyes as he holds up his hands, showing me the cuts that look awfully similar to the ones on Kayden’s hands. “We had to climb the wall to go around it.”
I’m not about to complain that my experience has been quieter than theirs. “I did get Bruce, though.”
Kayden makes a sound that might be a growl of some sort in his chest.
The ticking grows louder, until it’s a cacophony surrounding us.
We turn into the next section, and all of us come to a halt.
Aiden whistles. “Somebody got a clock phobia?”
The whole passage is filled with… clocks .
Wall clocks, small and large, decorate the entire passageway, hanging from the walls. Barely an inch of green is visible. Even the ground is covered. Ahead of us, a grandfather clock chimes.
I examine the clocks closest to us, noticing one detail that stands out. “They’re all set to the same time.”
Six fifteen. “That time mean anything to you?”
The twins both shrug.
We start picking our way through the spread on the ground. Kayden kicks some out of the way, the tinkling sound of glass breaking filling the air. “The fuck is this about?”
“Maybe nothing,” Aiden suggests.
“No,” I murmur it, looking around. “It’s too precise. Too focused not to mean anything at all.”
It feels like… a message.
The clocks continue as we move through them. When I stop, holding up my hand, the twins instantly tense. Kayden turns, checking behind us. “What’s the matter?”
Brows kitting, I look around. “I can hear something. Talking?”
It sounds like… muttering . A low murmur, deeper than the high-pitched chimes and ticking.
Aiden is staring to our left. Voice strained, he glances over his shoulder at me. “Alyss.”
I follow his pointing finger.
The twins stay close to me as I shove my way through the clocks, dropping down to kneel next to him.
“Hatter?”
His golden skin is ashen and waxy as he rocks back and forth, his hands wrapped around his knees and drawn up against his chest. He doesn’t respond when I gently touch his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
“I don’t think he can,” Aiden keeps his voice low. Hatter’s eyes flicker wildly, bouncing around as if he’s watching a television show. He’s mumbling something under his breath, over and over again.
I lean in to listen, my heart twisting inside my chest.
I’m late. I’m late. I’m late.
He repeats it, over and over again, his eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. I glance back at the twins. “The clocks are for him.”
Something personal. Targeted.
I say his name again. Repeat it, softly, carefully. Touch his cheek, feeling the icy cold beneath my fingers.
But Hatter doesn’t respond to me at all.
Wherever he is… it’s nowhere good.
And in the distance, I hear something that makes my body go cold.
Gunshots.