Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Daphne
Igave up counting our footsteps somewhere around one hundred.
I have bigger problems than math.
We finally stopped, and a hand slapped tape over my mouth.
Initiations weren’t only about proving our resilience. They were entertainment for a bunch of rich, psychotic men with too much power.
I raised my chin and squared my shoulders.
No panicking. No crying. No giving them a damn thing.
I’d have my mental breakdown when this was over.
The Sons could terrorize me, but they couldn’t kill me.
The only deaths in Fawn Initiation history had been suicides.
Someone jerked my wrists behind my back and bound them tight.
Another reached for my ankles, and I tried to kick them.
Bad idea.
They caught my leg, then lifted me like a piece of cargo. Boots crunched over dirt as they carried me away.
Minutes passed before they abruptly came to a halt.
A faint click cut through the air.
They started swinging me.
One. Two. Three times.
By the fourth swing, I was convinced they were using me as a human jump rope. I squeezed my eyes shut when they threw me.
I crashed onto a hard surface, pain exploding through my shoulder and hip.
Something slammed shut above my head.
A car trunk.
So far, this matched how Blair’s Initiation had started.
Kidnapped from my bed. Check.
Dragged outside. Check.
Tied up like cargo. Check.
Stuffed into a trunk like a mob victim. Check.
Blair had left out the part where the trunk smelled like a morgue.
The vehicle tore off.
One sharp turn slammed me into a metal wall. Another sent me rolling across the trunk.
Then came the brake checks.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
They weren’t going anywhere.
They were trying to make me sick.
It worked.
Bile surged up my throat. I gagged as vomit filled my mouth, some of it seeping under the tape. Panic hit me harder than the nausea.
I couldn’t spit.
Couldn’t wipe my mouth.
Could barely fucking breathe.
“Stop!” I screamed into the tape.
Another hard turn threw me into the wall.
Everything suddenly went still.
I counted to ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
The car didn’t move. Neither did I.
I was too busy trying not to choke on the vomit trapped under the tape.
When the trunk finally popped open, cold night air flooded the cramped space.
“Here, Fawny, Fawny,” a cruel voice sang.
Oh, definitely fuck this guy.
I didn’t move, didn’t mutter a word, didn’t fight against the restraints.
They pulled me from the trunk and dumped me onto the dirt. My shoulder hit first, then my cheek.
Groaning, I fought to push myself off my side.
“On your fucking knees,” that same voice demanded.
“Kind of fucking hard,” I muttered into the tape. “Prick-ass bastard.”
Someone jerked me upright by the zip ties, the plastic biting into my raw wrists. A cold steel-toed boot slid under my chin and forced my head back.
I heard someone crouch in front of me. I still couldn’t see anything, but I could feel them everywhere.
Watching. Waiting. Plotting.
Someone ripped the tape from my mouth, taking what felt like the top layer of my lips with it.
I spat into the dirt, desperate to get that disgusting taste out of my mouth, then did it again because once wasn’t enough.
It didn’t help. The bitter aftertaste still clung to my tongue.
Someone shifted behind me, and a familiar hint of cinnamon slipped through the disgusting mixture of dirt, sweat, and my own vomit.
Brooks.
“Up!”
Instead of being a fucking gentleman and letting me stand on my own, he fisted my hair and pulled me to my feet. My back slammed against his chest.
I forced my shaky breaths into a rhythm.
In through my nose. One, two, three, four.
Out through my mouth. One, two, three, four.
Repeat.
You know what to do here, Daphne.
Just like Blair told you.
Don’t be scared. Be smart.
This was the part where they’d chased and terrorized Blair through the woods.
“You’re too calm for my liking,” Brooks snarled in my ear, no longer bothering to disguise his voice. He sliced through the zip ties around my wrists before slowly untying the blindfold.
My eyes adjusted, and all I saw was an endless stretch of trees swaying in the wind.
Perfect.
Just like Blair had said.
I’d worn my running shoes for this exact reason.
Brooks must’ve read my mind. He looked down. Straight at my sneakers.
Oh no.
I was sure most Fawns they kidnapped didn’t wear sneakers to bed.
He gripped the back of my neck to force my face up to his mask. “No one outsmarts the Sons.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied with as much innocence as I could fake.
“Lucky for you, we changed the rules. Tonight isn’t a simple hunt, Princess.”
I clenched my jaw. “What is it then?”
Brooks let out a low, amused laugh. “Anyone want to explain the rules?”
More Night Sons emerged from the shadows. They’d replaced their skull masks with ones that lit up. Neon lights made different facial expressions on them.
“Hard pass,” one shouted.
“Make her problem-solve,” another added.
“I doubt she can outrun my Mustang,” another yelled. “I can’t wait to watch her try, though.”
Outrun his Mustang?
What the actual fuck?
There’d been no fucking Mustangs in Blair’s Hunt. Or my mom’s.
An engine revved somewhere in the dark. Headlights exploded through the clearing, forcing me to shield my eyes.
Ah, that’s the Mustang he was referring to.
Two G-Wagons rolled in next. Then a fucking motorcycle.
Jesus Christ.
This wasn’t a hunt.
It was vehicle manslaughter.
Exhaust burned my lungs as the engines roared around me.
“We’ll give you a ten-second head start,” Brooks whispered in my ear. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Brooks released me and disappeared into the shadows.
“Ten!”
I spun in a desperate circle.
Vehicles. Masked Sons. Trees.
Every possible escape route had something blocking it.
So much for a head start.
“Eight!” Brooks screamed into the night.
Which is worse—getting hit by a Son or a car?
I had seconds to come up with a plan.
Think, Daphne. Think.
The Mustang was the smallest weapon in their arsenal, and there was just enough space between it and the tree line for me to squeeze through.
I bolted toward it.
The Son guarding the Mustang reached inside the car and pulled out a megaphone.
“Four seconds!” he yelled through the static.
My sneakers tore through the loose dirt as I cut hard to the right.
“Three!”
I pushed harder.
“Two! Dos! Deux! Dva!”
There was no way I could outrun horsepower.
I veered toward the nearest tree, grabbed a low-hanging branch, and hoisted myself up. Rough bark scraped my bare skin, but a few splinters were better than becoming a speed bump.
I climbed higher and wrapped myself around the trunk.
Let’s see if any of you lazy assholes can climb a tree.
The vehicles started circling below me like starved animals.
“Welcome to the Jungle” blasted through the woods.
One of the G-Wagons rammed the tree.
The whole tree bucked under me hard enough to almost throw me off. My grip slipped, nails scraping over the bark before I caught myself.
“Stop ruining Mother Nature!” I screeched.
They just turned up the music.
The second G-Wagon screeched to a stop under me.
A masked Son leaned halfway out the window.
My grip faltered when I saw what he was holding.
A bow.
Oh, fuck me.
“Haven’t used this in a while,” he called. “Let’s see if I still have perfect aim!”
This is most definitely a damn hunt.
He aimed through the branches and drew the string back.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The arrow flew.
I threw myself around the opposite side of the trunk just as it sliced past me.
“Crap!” My sneaker slipped on a slick patch of moss, then there was nothing under my foot.
I dropped. Bark shredded my palms as I caught a branch on the way down. My shoulder nearly ripped from its socket when my full weight slammed against it.
A cry tore out of me as I hung there, panting, with my legs swinging several feet above the ground.
A masked Son leaning against the Mustang stood directly under me.
The fucker waved.
I hate these people.
A chainsaw roared to life.
Every hair on my body stood up.
I slowly looked down.
Oh, come the fuck on.
The Son by the Mustang lifted the chainsaw and started toward me. I scrambled for another branch, but the next one was too far for me to reach.
The Leatherface wannabe stopped at the tree.
I was low enough that he could’ve easily grabbed my ankle and ripped me down. He didn’t. That was too tame for them.
He pressed the roaring blade into the trunk. Wood chips exploded everywhere as the chain chewed through the rough bark.
Just perfect.
Robin Hood on one side.
Leatherface on the other.
I reached for the higher branch again.
Leatherface grabbed my ankle before I could get it.
“Get the fuck off me!” I kicked wildly at him, but he yanked me down from the tree.
I slammed into the dirt hard.
Before I could even suck in a breath, the roaring chainsaw came straight at my face. I screamed and squeezed my eyes shut.
When nothing happened, I cracked them back open.
He plunged the blade into the dirt inches from my head.
I rolled onto my stomach, scrambled to my feet, and ran.
Leatherface ripped the chainsaw free from the ground and followed me at that slasher-movie pace where the killer walked but somehow always caught up.
I tore through the trees. An arrow split the bark directly in front of my face. I jumped back with a shriek.
Their maniacal laughter followed me through the woods.
So glad they’re having fun.
The motorcycle reached me first. It clipped my side hard enough to throw me into the brush. Branches scratched at my face as I crashed into the leaves.
I barely managed to shove myself upright when the bike circled back.
The chainsaw came next.
Another arrow.
Headlights flashed between the trees.
They weren’t just chasing me. They were herding me.
I took off again, following the only path they’d left open. Through the darkness, a massive chain-link fence appeared with a blinding spotlight above it. Razor-sharp coils of barbed wire covered the top.
I threw myself at the fence.
My arms shook as I climbed.
My body begged me to stop.
To give up.
To give them what they wanted.
No way in hell.
I kept climbing until I reached the top.
Leatherface stepped to the fence at the same time and slammed the chainsaw against the links. The metal vibrated in my hands.
I threw myself over the barbed wire, screaming as the sharp points sliced through my arms. Thank God I’d worn sweatpants.
The second I cleared the top, my arms gave out. I crashed onto the other side.
It took me a few agonizing seconds before I managed to lift my face from the dirt.
A small table sat a few feet away under a solar lantern.
I crawled toward it and dragged myself upright against the edge. My knees instantly gave out.
My tiara was in the center of the table.
An engine roared to life behind me.
I turned to see the Mustang crashing through the fence and speeding straight at me. I snatched the note on the table with my name across the front.
Smash the tiara, or get run over.
I stared at my tiara.
A hammer rested beside it.
The Mustang was so close.
Its headlights swallowed me.
I grabbed the hammer.
“Fuck you!” I screamed while slamming it down onto one of my most precious possessions.
Gold crunched. Stones scattered across the table.
Tears blurred my vision as I kept swinging.
Again. Again. Again.
Until nothing remained but mangled pieces.
They weren’t testing me.
They were breaking me.
The Mustang screeched to a stop, its headlights still burning into me.
The hammer slipped from my fingers.
I folded over the ruined pieces and sobbed.
Someone grabbed me from behind.
I caught one last glimpse of the destroyed tiara before a sharp sting bit into my neck.
Then everything went black.