CHAPTER 16 ELODIE
ELODIE
I don’t know how many miles of woods surround Caden’s home, but it’s more than I could probably run.
This doesn’t bode well. My only shot is winning this incredulous bet that I absolutely don’t believe is legit.
Caden made it seem simple, but we both know it won’t be.
It won’t stop me from trying though. If The Hunt takes place in these woods, all I have to do is outrun him. And I could keep running.
I turned to peer out the back window as we drove down to the front gates.
I hadn’t seen the outside of the house yet.
It matched its interior. Built from black bricks, slate tile roof with two spire turrets on either side.
The front stoop is under a pointed arch; black timbre beams built in a decorative way around the archway.
The house is tall and dark, fitting for its owner.
It sticks out underneath the summer sun, the burning rays unable to penetrate the blackness of it.
An enormous shadow beneath a raging light.
Bob’s about ten treats down now, and his attention’s finally turned away from me towards his own window. He doesn’t seem so bad, but I’m not dumb enough to believe that giving him treats means he wouldn’t attack me if his stupid owner told him to.
Fiz had picked out a pair of shorts and a Sleep Token T-shirt during that horrible encounter in the bedroom that set my nerves on fire.
He just placed the clothes on the bed and left.
I was so sure he’d do something. We were alone, unsupervised.
Why didn’t he do anything? It set me on edge.
But, like he said, the fun hasn’t begun yet.
Caden’s clothes drown me, but I like the smell.
Hopefully, wherever we’re going includes some sort of clothes shop and I can ask Fiz to take me.
If I behave, I can swap his offer of an ice cream for one outfit that fits.
I don’t know why I couldn’t stay with Alfie today.
I’d be good for him; he makes me want to be good.
Fiz doesn’t talk to me the entire drive, he cranks the music up high.
The only song I know is “Angels and Demons” by Jxdn.
He’s not got bad taste in music. Neither has Caden, if I’m being honest. It’s been weird hearing music so casually again, to have melodies bless my ears after so many days filled with nothing but silence or the hissing caress of the darkness.
I’m just grateful to hear it, I’m not sure I’d care what music it is.
After a while, Fiz pulls into a retail park. He opens my door for me and flourishes his arm. “Princess.”
I ignore him and get out.
He’s dressed in all black today: baggy cargo trousers that hang loose on his hips and a black T-shirt that show off his decent-sized biceps.
His brown skin is smooth and shiny. I’m reluctantly drawn in whenever he shows some skin.
His veiny forearms are completely bare. I have a clear view of the cords of muscle without the shadows of ink hiding them.
No scars to mar the smoothness. I don’t get it.
Why he’s not painted like his friends. Why there’s not a single decoration on a body so marvellous.
I won’t ask him though. Like hell am I going to show a sliver of interest in him.
The sunlight catches Fiz’s curls as he moves, highlighting the brown hues in them, shimmering golds at the ends of the coils, his whole silhouette bathed in gold.
He leans into the car and brings out a black baseball cap, fitting it over his head, squashing down those curls to nestle at the nape of his neck.
Crisp trainers as white and polished as a set of veneers.
The same white gold chain lacing his neck.
In another life, I may have found this man irresistible.
The way his brown eyes sparkle with mischief, how those dimples appear when he smiles genuinely and make him look annoyingly adorable.
And whatever cologne he uses is absolutely mouth-watering.
However, as I stare at him now as he lets Bob out the car, I just want to punch him. How dare he be so beautiful but have wandering hands and such an obscene tongue. How dare he look so precious and be so vulgar beneath the flawless exterior.
There’s plenty of people around, the odds of one of them answering my scream for help have got to be high.
But I don’t. The image of Bob leaping up on me and clawing my eyes out as soon as I open my mouth is too vivid and gut-twisting to allow me to do it.
I have ten days, that’s it. If I can make it ten days, rein myself in, behave, and really give the opportunity to escape a go, I might get out unscathed.
Fiz’s arm comes around my shoulders, and he leads me towards the shops.
I wiggle away from his touch. “Don’t touch me.”
He doesn’t let me go, instead tucking me into his body. “Now, now, princess. United front here, don’t want to cause a scene.”
“Why? Because maybe someone will see I’m being held against my will and save me and get you arrested?”
Fiz just laughs and the menace of it rattles through me. “You think I’d bring you somewhere where they have no idea who I am? Bitch, please. You try anything here and you won’t just have me and Bobby to deal with.”
Fuck. I chew on my bottom lip.
His arm comes around my neck and pulls my face to his. His mouth comes close to my ear as he whispers, “Don’t be scared, princess. Like I said, if you’re a good girl, I’ll be very nice to you.” He releases me to drop his hand down to my ass and squeezes what little meat I have there.
I yelp and hop away but he grabs my hand and hauls me close to him.
“Don’t do that,” I hiss.
He just chuckles and leads me inside the massive DIY store. This is going to be hell.
He takes me down aisle after aisle, placing all sorts of ominous products in the trolley.
Ropes, a massive toolbox, packets of screws, things I don’t even know what the hell are.
This is the most walking I’ve done in weeks; my calves burn, my heels hurt, my knees shake.
I suppose it’s good. I’ve got less than two weeks to gain some sort of strength to give me even the slightest chance of winning the bet.
Fiz takes us to the back of the store and starts assessing the tools in front of us. On the other side, there are planks of flooring stacked up, so I take the opportunity to park myself and rest my burning muscles.
Bob comes over to me and I clench up, but he only inspects my legs, sniffing around and looks up at me with those big demon eyes.
“Fuck off,” I whisper.
He tilts his head at me in that curious way dogs do, and I instantly regret it. Like this, he doesn’t look like a murdering machine.
“Sorry, I’m just tired.”
Fiz turns around, a small axe in his hand. The handle’s thick, his large hand gripping it and tilting it side to side lazily, as if testing the weight of it. “Are you talking to Bob?”
“No.”
His lips curl up in a sinister smile. “You totally are.”
I fold my arms. “He’s a better conversationalist than you are.”
Fiz chuckles. “I’d be better if you actually spoke to me.”
I huff. “Last thing I wanna do.”
He steps towards me, the axe swinging at his side. My chest tightens at the image, at the fleeting wonder of how many people have seen this image right before they died.
Fiz reaches my outstretched feet, looks down at them, then steps forward, spreading his legs to mount mine, locking them between his.
Everything tenses as he works his way forward, squishing my thighs between his. He leers over me, all imposing and intimidating. “I thought fucking me would be the last thing you’d want to do.”
I keep my eyes down, not wanting to catch those leering dark brown eyes. I look across down the aisle, not a soul in sight. “Anything to do with you is the last thing I’d do.”
The axe comes forward in my periphery, and my eyes glance to the side to see where he’s putting it.
Fiz throws it in the air and catches the covered-blade side with effortless grace, handle pointing to my middle.
I push myself farther back on the planks of laminate slats, putting distance between us, but then my back crashes into the shelf behind me. I have nowhere to go.
Fiz closes the distance again, dropping the handle down to my thighs and running it along the crease.
Panic balloons inside me, sweat accumulating down my spine.
He slides his baseball cap around so it’s on backwards, then he leans forward, a hand resting on the shelf at my back.
He’s caged me in and my eyes spring to his, heart thundering in my chest.
“You ought to give me a chance, princess,” his voice is low and threatening, “I could make you feel so good. I’d love to hear you scream my name to the heavens.”
The axe pokes the top of my thighs and I flinch. “Fiz, stop.”
“Hmmm… wrong volume, but we can work on that. Maybe if I shoved this up your cunt, I’d get the cadence I’m looking for.” He presses the handle harder into my pussy and the friction sparks something deep inside me to life.
I still wince, grab hold of his forearm and force my voice to stay firm as I say, “That’s not going inside me. And neither are you.”
His chuckle heats the skin on my face. “Oh, honey, I don’t think you have a choice in the matter.”
I look down at it, the thickness of the rubber wrapped around it. “It won’t go in, anyway.”
He frowns and looks down at the axe pressing into my body. “This won’t fit?” His condescending laugh rumbles through me. “Oh, baby, if you think that won’t fit, then there’s no hope of me fitting.”
It’s an effort not to gape at him. If that handle is thinner than him… how thick is he? I shove away the question and snort. “You’re not going inside me. So we’ll never know.”
He leans in, using his nose to nudge my face to the side. I shiver, fighting every instinct to attack him, to scream, to get him away from me. Bob staring at us is motivation enough. I dread to think what he’d do if he saw me hit his owner.