69
TWILL
Twill fell.
She grabbed for the bars. Her fingers brushed metal, missed, and found nothing more but air.
She hit the concrete hard, this slap that reverberated through every inch of her body.
When her head hit, it didn’t strike the concrete, but instead smacked against something softer.
In stunned silence, Twill reached up and realized it was one of Langdon’s shoes, no longer on his foot.
He had taken them off.
She was attempting to sit up when he slammed into her. He half jumped, half fell, and came down hard on her legs, pinning her to the ground. “There you are!”
Twill thought of the hairpin, but it was no longer in her hand; she’d dropped it.
He grabbed for her neck, got his hands around her throat, and squeezed. “I’ll make it fast. Just hold still. Let yourself go. It will be easier for you. I swear.”
Twill tried to shout, to scream, but she had no air. Nothing but a muffled gasp slipped from her lips. She twisted her hips, tried to buck him off.
Langdon squeezed harder, the balls of his thumbs digging deep into her flesh. “Stop squirming, dammit!”
Through bird shit and filth, her fingertips slipped across the concrete. She brushed against his shoe, grabbed it, and slammed it into his head.
Stunned, his grip on her neck loosened. Twill bucked again, put every ounce of strength she could tap into it, then curled her fingers into a fist and punched him in the balls.
Although she couldn’t make out his face, the high-pitched yelp that left his lips told her she hit her mark.
She bucked again, and this time, he fell to the side.
When Twill rolled out from under him, she grazed the metal chain, grabbed it, and got to her knees.
Through the murky blackness, she spotted the faint outline of Langdon’s head and pounced.
She twisted the chain around his neck and yanked it tight.
Langdon let out a startled gasp.
Twill pulled harder.
She pressed her palm against his chest and used his own body as leverage.
Langdon managed to get his fingers under the chain. He jerked hard, enough to draw in a sharp breath, enough for a single word to rush from his mouth on a breath of tainted air.
“Longhorn!”
It wasn’t loud, not much more than a gasp, but someone heard. Someone was listening.
Bright lights clicked on all around with an audible clunk! Like a breaker being flipped. Harsh white light so bright, Twill had no choice but to pinch her eyes shut.
Langdon brought his knee up and kicked out at her, caught her stomach, and Twill was thrown backward. She cracked against the metal bars. Langdon shuffled in the opposite direction like a crab scurrying across the floor until his back was against the opposite side of the cage.
Twill caught vague outlines of his movement through squinted eyes; the lights were so bright.
Langdon sucked in another ragged breath, and this time, he yelled it. “Longhorn!”
There was no reply, only the flutter of the birds above.
Twill looked up, and when she saw the top of the cage, a sense of defeat washed over her.
She’d climbed nearly all the way up, but it wouldn’t have mattered—the cage had a barred ceiling.
It was riddled with twigs and branches and at least a dozen bird nests.
More crows than she could count filled the empty spaces, their tiny black feet grasping the metal.
They shuffled around in angry frustration.
Bright lights burned from above, attached to a metal ceiling about five feet higher than the cage itself.
As Twill’s eyes adjusted to the intense blazing light, she looked back down, taking in every inch of the enclosure and what little she could see beyond.
Lights mounted on tripods surrounded the cage, placed about every four feet.
Staggered between those lights were large video cameras.
Not the kind you’d find at the local electronics store, but the kind you might find in a television studio.
Big, bulky things that probably weighed fifty pounds.
Two on each side. Eight in total. There was one more up top, hanging from the roof of the building, looking down into the cage from above.
There were these hinged walls beyond that, from floor to ceiling.
Moveable walls surrounded the cage, cameras, and lights from all sides.
“Longhorn . . .” Langdon muttered again, rubbing at his neck.
Twill glared at him. “What the fuck is Longhorn?”
He licked his chapped lips. “It’s a safe word.” He looked around the cage, his eyes settling on the camera above Twill’s left shoulder. “Did you hear me? Longhorn! I’m done! Get me out of here!”
Twill didn’t understand. A safe word?
A loud pop! came from a speaker somewhere in the room, then the same voice she had heard on the phone boomed from all around.
“I’m afraid you’ve been outbid by a gentleman in Crimea. He has taken control of the experience. The rules of play stand. Only one of you will be permitted to exit. Continue game.”
Langdon’s face twisted. “Continue . . . ? What? You can’t do that!”
Twill tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Her eyes narrowed as she looked across the cage at Langdon. “You paid for this? This is some kind of twisted fantasy you wanted to act out?”
He vigorously shook his head. “I didn’t pay for this.
I paid to be locked in a cage with you, but not some fight to the death.
We were supposed to work together to find a way out.
That’s all. I didn’t agree to the rest.” He looked back at the camera.
“Hear me? I didn’t agree to your bullshit!
I’ll sue the shit out of you when I get out of here! ”
This made even less sense than what Twill initially believed. “Why would you want to be locked in a cage with me?”
He looked at her like she was the crazy one. “Why? It’s like a real-life escape room. It’s only a rush if you believe it’s real.”
“You just tried to kill me—that felt pretty real.”
He raised his voice again. “Because these fuckers changed the rules! You dying is one thing, but nobody gave them permission to hurt me.” His voice went louder. “I’ve got shareholders to answer to! You pieces of shit!”
The speaker came to life again. “Madison Poppy. You have received a sponsor. Should you kill Langdon Weir, you will receive one hundred thousand dollars and be released.”
Langdon didn’t miss a beat. He looked right at her, stone-cold serious. “I’ll double whatever number they put on the table if you get me out of here.”
Twill didn’t want any part of whatever rich person bullshit this was. Money or no money, she wanted out. She gestured around the cage. “Is this what happened to my friends? They got killed as part of some game?”
“I don’t know anything about your friends.”
“Is this Guyon?”
This seemed to confuse him. “You know about Guyon?”
“Is that what this is?”
He shook his head. “Guyon is tomorrow. This is something they do . . . before.”
“What, like some kind of pregame?”
He licked his lips. “Something like that, yeah.” He nodded at one of the cameras. “It’s televised to everyone who will be bidding at Guyon. They grab some homeless person and—”
“Stop,” Twill cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it.” She jerked her thumb toward the locked cage door. “Do you really know how to pick that, or was that bullshit too?”