Primal

Chapter Twenty-One

Godfuckingdammit. Should’ve known there’d be a twist. Derek’s brought his emotional support slaughter-hog. A silent hillbilly pig demon with a taser kink.

We left four—maybe five—bodies in the security building. Left the monitors glitching on a looped snuff film. Left sanity behind in a puddle of someone else’s blood.

Now we’re being marched through a rusted door wedged between the generator shed and a wall of blackberry thorns. Staff-only emergency exit—guess that includes abductions with a side of tetanus.

Derek leads, his gun pressed to Kristy’s spine.

The sky’s finally cracked open too—first drops hitting like ice picks to my forehead. Perfect timing.

“The ground’s gonna be real cozy if you don’t pick it up, Cupcake.”

Kristy flinches at the nickname—her safe word, now a fucking punchline.

But she moves along, Wesley swaying beside her. His big frame jerks with every step—taser aftershocks—but he still tries to shield her, his zip-tied arms angled like a broken fence.

Kade and I come next, his weight dragging us both down. Blood from his wound soaks through my hoodie. Still breathing. Still with me. Barely.

I fumble for leverage—arms bound, strength shot—but I get us moving.

Because that thing’s stalking behind us, a robed specter with its grotesque snout.

Pigface. Nearly a head taller than me. Dead silent—which is somehow worse than any taunt. Every few steps, that damn taser clicks to life. Just waiting for an excuse.

“Left,” Derek chirps, gesturing toward the broken SECTOR 5 sign.

Kristy hesitates. “That’s not—”

“Move.” He taps the gun to the back of her head. “Before I bleed you out slow like Lana, then play tag with your fucking guts.”

She whimpers but doesn’t argue.

Kade’s grip tightens on me—fingers grave-cold. His breathing seems to be easing, if only a little. I’d take anything over the jagged sound from a few seconds ago.

I curl against him, trying to share what little warmth I have. Without the mask, he seems hollowed out. But his eyes stay sharp. I know that look. He’s thinking. Probably cataloging shadows, exits, weapons.

The knife. Must’ve left it in the control room. Without it, we’ve got nothing. The cameras are useless—especially when the only person watching is the one who wants us dead.

No one’s coming. We’re on our own. Just us, two killers, and whatever fresh hell Derek has planned.

Another raindrop hits my eyelid. Then another.

The doors yawn open, exhaling wet stone and copper. The Haunted Chapel. One more twisted location to add to the trauma reel.

Pigface’s boots crunch behind us—

—closer this time.

I swear to fuck, if it breathes down on me, I’m driving that goddamn snout straight through the back of its skull.

The doors slam shut behind us.

Cue the cackling and thunder—fake, prerecorded, straight out of a haunted hayride.

Then comes the voice. “Welcome, brave souls. Confess your sins here, and may they find you when the clock strikes twelve, and your blood boils in—”

Click.

Pigface shuts off the PA.

The silence that follows is worse. Just wet breathing. Soft gasps. The sound of bodies trying not to fall apart.

Candles gutter in rusted sconces, throwing jumpy shadows across pews—and fuck, they’re occupied. Derek’s ‘audience,’ so to speak.

Strapped to the front row is Mia, tactical gear shredded, one eye swollen. Gagged with duct tape. Her gaze tracks to us immediately. Even bound, she looks like she’s plotting seventeen different escape routes. And God, what I wouldn’t give to reset. Trade barbs with her instead of this shitshow.

The three college girls from our group. Two are wide-eyed and trembling in matching ‘Vixen Lingerie’ sets. The third is just … propped up between them, face half-shattered. Motionless.

Leatherface and Jason slump farther back, masks askew, zip-tied to each other like fucked-up conjoined twins. They both make a noise when Wesley limps past—Leatherface groaning something, Jason rolling his head to watch us through the hockey mask.

Then there’s Jessica. Four more bodies scattered across the pews. No Vanessa—thank fucking God. Guess it’s too much trouble to fetch her corpse down from that tree.

“Right on time,” Derek says. “Show kicks off at three. Get seated. Chop chop.”

Five players—the ones still breathing anyway—nine including us. Their faces shift as they watch the four of us shuffle toward the empty seats—terror, hope, then that hollow drop into defeat. Yeah. We’re just as fucked as they are.

Derek’s packing a gun, his knife, box cutter, a taser clipped to his belt, not to mention that fucking scythe—Wesley’s scythe—leaning against the altar.

Pigface is the wild card. That taser’s the only weapon I can see, but the way its robe hangs? There’s got to be more hidden underneath.

Two psychos. Six known weapons.

Nine targets.

How many of us can actually fight? Kristy and I can maybe make a run for it. Mia too, if she’s still got gas in the tank. But the guys can barely walk straight.

The zip-ties pinch deeper as I ease Kade onto a bench. Our eyes lock—‘Still here. Still with you.’

Before I can slump down beside him, Derek tuts, “Ah, ah. Other side.”

Pigface steers Kristy and me across the aisle. She’s shoved next to Mia. I get wedged between her and Jessica—that slit in her neck grinning wider than her mouth.

As if that’s not enough, Snout Freak places a party hat on Jessica’s head. Crooked. Cheerful.

Happy fucking Halloween.

“Chin up,” Derek says to the college girl. “Smile for the camera, sweetheart.”

Fuck. The cameras. Mounted on tripods, positioned at every angle like we’re about to film the world’s most fucked-up reality show.

“Relax,” Derek says, panning toward the lens. “We’re not live. Gotta save some magic for the director’s cut—tighten the screams, cut the boring bits.”

But the monitors are live-streaming. Shots of the forest, of players and hunters still out there. Clueless.

“Almost full house,” Derek says, surveying his collection.

“Want me to round up the others?” The voice that comes out of Pigface is a pitch-perfect Ghostface—same modulator, same smug steel as Derek’s.

“Nah. Let them wander. How many have you dropped so far, Dollface?”

I shoot Kristy a look. Dollface—really?

Pigface reaches into its robe and pulls out a chain of dog tags—clinking softly like morbid charms. Lets them dangle between its gloved fingers.

Derek whistles. “Three? Fuck, baby. You’re a natural.” He taps the party hat. “And you accessorize. Who knew gutting people came with flair?”

Pigface tilts its head—almost coy.

My skin crawls. I don’t care if they team up and murder every asshole on Earth, but if these two decide to multiply … just kill me already.

Derek ruffles the top of Pigface’s hood like it’s a fucking puppy. “Now, you get to pick our first act.”

Pigface strolls past the college girls, dragging a gloved finger along the pews.

Pauses at Kristy. Tilts its snout. Sniffs near her hair.

Then those black, beady eyes lock on me. Rot and iron floods my nose. I hold my breath.

Don’t move. Don’t blink.

The thing keeps staring.

Of course it’s me. Wrists bound, hoodie soaked in someone else’s blood. Sure—go ahead and tack first act victim onto my résumé.

Finally, it points at Mia. “Her.”

Derek nods approvingly then strides to the altar, humming to himself.

Pigface herds Mia down the aisle. Then it pulls something from behind the pulpit. Places it on Mia’s hair.

An antlered headdress. Same one the hostess was wearing earlier tonight.

My stomach drops as I exchange another look with Kristy. One more fucking body in the ground.

“Welcome to the finale, ladies.” Derek lifts the tablet. “Or should I say sluts? You paid to be hunted. Ravished. Used. Chasing some cheap thrill or hoping someone might fuck the guilt and shame out of you.”

He looks up. Calm. Inevitable.

“Either way, we deliver. You’ll get exactly what you asked for. Every kink. Every filthy little box you ticked. Tonight, we grant wishes. And we’re going to make your nightmares blush.”

My stomach twists. The waiver. Kristy and I checked almost everything, sure—but we had safe words. Fantasies with a reset button. Not this. Not real abduction. Not monster-snuff level murder.

Pigface straps Mia to a chair, its gloves lingering on the antlers—adjusting them like a crown.

Mia thrashes, screaming through her gag.

“Let’s see …” Derek taps his tablet. “Mia Ramirez. Twenty-seven. Works trauma in the ER. Likes her ass slapped, cunt stuffed, and everything in between. No limits. No safe word.”

Kristy shifts closer until her fingers almost brush the side of my thigh.

I swallow down a bitter taste—my own safe word stuck on loop in my brain.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious—

Yeah. A fuck ton of good it’ll do now.

“So, hunters, who’s feeling generous tonight?” Derek scans the room with a grin. “Which one of you wants to grant our girl, Mia, her every filthy little wish?”

Silence.

Derek sighs. “No volunteers? And here I thought chivalry wasn’t dead. Guess I’ll have to play matchmaker.”

He pivots then points lazily toward the benches. “You. Tall and quiet with the hockey mask. Don’t be shy, Jason. Come on up.”

The guy doesn’t move—radiating pure ‘Fuck no’ energy.

“Don’t make me beg, big guy. You were born for this.”

Pigface’s shadow swallows the benches as it approaches Jason. The guy turns his head slightly—enough to clock the snout. Blood-crusted gloves.

He makes a sound, somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

Pigface slices through the zip-tie anchoring his wrist.

Jason just sits there, shoulders hunched.

Pigface raises the taser, jerks its head toward the altar.

Jason obeys. A man walking to his own execution.

And none of us could help.

Derek claps once, mock-enthused. “See? Team spirit. Warms the heart.” He leans toward Kristy and me with a conspiratorial grin. “Nothing like a forced pairing to kick off the main event.”

“You leave Noah alone, you sick fuck,” Wesley grits out, struggling to sit upright.

Pigface backhands him so fast I barely see it move. Wesley takes it, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

Derek tsks. “Patience, Death. Your turn’s coming.”

The bastard returns to the front.

Mia struggles against her binds, nostrils flared.

Derek circles her chair. Drops into a crouch. “What’s that, princess? Got something to say?”

The gag tears loose—giving me a phantom sting around my mouth.

My eyes cut to Kade. His jaw is tight, eyes keen. His hands flex at his sides—not for me but against whatever comes next.

What a fucking night. From his teeth at my earlobe to all of us trapped here.

Mia sucks in air through her nose and lets fly—a perfect bloody loogie that splatters right between Ghostface’s eyeholes. “Fuck. You.”

Kristy’s breath hitches. The college girls stop sobbing. The one closest to me lifts her chin.

Mia throws her weight forward. Rams the antlers into Derek’s mask. One tine snaps clean off, skitters across the floor.

Wet cement in my lungs.

Derek stumbles back, one hand flying to his mask. The plastic’s cracked, revealing his real eye. His laugh starts like a rasping wheeze, building into something unhinged. Pure fucking delight.

“Oh, Mia,” he croons. The knife slides into his hand—no flourish. “Should’ve taken the gag.”

She hocks a second gob at him. “Go to hell.”

Derek drags a gloved thumb through the mess. Inches back as Pigface moves in.

The thing snatches the jagged prong off the floor and thrusts it—

The scream that follows tears through me.

Move. Look away. Do something.

Shouts erupt. Beside me. Behind me.

I’m stuck underwater. Bile rises up my throat.

Mia is still wailing, blood sheeting down her face.

Make it stop. God, make it stop.

Derek clucks his tongue, stepping in to adjust Pigface’s angle. “Twist,” he murmurs, guiding the motion. “There. Feel that give? That’s how you know you’ve done it right.”

A wet crunch. Mia’s back bows off the chair.

Then he replaces the antler in Pigface’s grip with his knife, guides the blade to Mia’s throat.

The cut isn’t clean. It’s a sawing motion.

My brain tries to lift me out of this—somewhere, anywhere else—but the sound pins me here. Real. Wet. Unending.

Mia gurgles. Blood slides down in thick ropes, soaking into her forest ranger top. Her mouth works—shaping words I can’t catch. Her remaining eye darts wildly before locking onto mine. Not scared. Furious.

Derek watches with his head cocked, the way I used to study goldfish at Pet Mart.

At last, Mia’s kicks slow to twitches.

Derek wipes the blade clean on her shoulder. Peels his mask off. Pigface hands him a new one.

“Gonna have to edit this out. Shame. We were doing great.”

Vomit blasts up my throat. Kristy retches beside me. Pigface tilts its head then plops party hats on the sobbing college girls.

“Fuck this shit.” Jason—Noah—is moving before the words die—stumbling, lurching, legs remembering they’re still alive.

My muscles snap tight. I whirl to Kristy. “Run.”

I’m on my feet before I think, zip-tied hands scraping the pew. If he makes it—if he gets help—if he—

Pigface darts after him. Noah’s almost to the doors when—

snap-hiss.

Taser prongs punch into his back. His body locks, spine bowing before he faceplants. A tooth skates across stone.

“Move, you fucks—” Wesley roars, surging up.

Kade’s already lunging—shoulder-checking Derek hard enough to knock a normal man into next week. But Derek just staggers, recovers—

The taser buries in Kade’s neck.

I feel it in my own nerves—that jolt, that seizing—before he collapses onto Noah’s twitching body.

“You bastards!” I wrench a splintered armrest and heave—it bounces off Derek’s thigh. He doesn’t even flinch. “You fucking bastards.”

Kade isn’t moving. Noah’s still convulsing.

I dive for the gun clipped to Derek’s belt. My zip-tied hands smack metal—so close—before he grabs a fistful of my hair and flings me sideways.

Then he sighs as if we were all just misbehaving.

“Jason, Jason, Jason.” He saunters toward the men, nudges Kade’s limp body aside with his boot. “You had to try, huh?”

His hand drifts to his hip. Pulls out the gun.

No. Not Kade. Not like this—

The barrel swings left—Noah. Swings right—Kade’s temple.

“Fuck you,” I wheeze. “Fuck you, you limp-dick waste of—”

bang.

Nonono.

My ears ring as I stagger toward Kade.

The thing about blood?

It pools fast.

My eyes follow the trail …

Noah.

A chunk of his scalp’s missing. The rest is just wet and pink and—

I must be staring. My vision’s gone glassy, and I can’t blink it clear.

“I’ll kill you,” Wesley yells. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Noah!” the other guy cries.

Pigface answers with its taser.

Kade. I nearly fall on top of him, pressing my cheek to his. The sound that escapes is half laugh, half sob.

His fingers twitch against my leg.

Alive. Trying. Still in the fight.

I ease him onto his back. “Kade …”

Get up. We need you. I need you.

Kristy scrambles over and drops beside us.

“Let’s not make this a group project.” Derek holsters the gun. “Now, who wants to go next?”