Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
CORA
“You can scream as loud as you want,” he says, plunging the knife into my arm.
The pain is instant, white-hot, and blinding. I collapse onto the cold, wet ground, my hands sinking into the mud as my body trembles, filthy and shaking.
The blade stays lodged in my flesh, a burning anchor of agony. I bite down hard, trying to choke back the scream, but it rips from my throat anyway. Tears blur my vision, and a wave of dizziness crashes over me, the world tilting as darkness creeps at the edge of my mind.
“Arlo had a scrape like this once. Did he ever mention it to you? They thought it was a good idea to bring Lilith out here. What they didn’t expect was for that crazy bitch to make it out alive. But we won’t have that problem tonight, sweetheart.”
He pulls the knife from my flesh, and anger shoots through me at the use of that name. I knew I hated it for a reason. Rylas then picks up a mask just like the one I found in Arlo’s room and places it over my face. Then he taps the top of my head.
“Don’t remove it, or I’ll have to color your other arm red as well.” He smiles before he stands.
I can’t look to my right. Because what I see when I do makes me want to scream. And when I scream, he hurts me.
But despite that, I shoot a quick glance that way. Is she breathing? My eyes frantically scan her for blood or injuries. Her brown hair, which she was so sad about losing during her chemotherapy treatments, blends in with the dirt and decaying leaves as if she’s meant to be there.
She isn’t.
I hear Arlo’s voice getting closer, and part of me hopes he doesn’t find me.
What if the same thing happens to him?
But Rylas seems afraid of him. He keeps looking around as if he’s waiting for Arlo to sneak up and hurt him.
I hope he does.
I hope Arlo tears out his fucking eyes and feeds them to the birds.
“Do you think he’ll cry?” Rylas asks, his gaze darting around like a nervous animal.
When I don’t answer, he looks back at me.
“When you die, do you think he’ll cry?” he asks again.
“Let me tell you some things about your boy Arlo. He isn’t so good.
Actually, he is one of the worst of us, but he’s a master of disguise.
A boy who follows the rules, which surprises me considering how long he’s kept you around for. ”
I watch as he slides his hands in and out of his pockets as if it’s a nervous tic. The knife he impaled in my arm is gone, and I don’t see any sign of it.
He takes a few steps away before he comes back, like he can’t decide what he’s doing.
“Arlo almost killed a woman with his choking. He sure does like to choke women.” His tone is casual, as if we’re talking over dinner.
“It’s a running joke amongst the Society, though none of us actually know why he uses those beads that are always wrapped around his hand. Tell me, Cora, do you know why?”
I do know why.
But I would never share that with this fucking idiot.
When I came to, he had me over his shoulder, carrying me to this place.
He must have put me in his car and driven me out here, though I have no idea where “here” is.
All I know is that I’m cold—my skirt is doing little to keep me warm—my arm throbs, and every time I turn my head and catch sight of Delaney, something inside of me breaks.
I didn’t see her at first. When Rylas threw me to the ground, it knocked the wind out of me.
Then he proceeded to kick me in the ribs.
I was face down in the dirt, curled over to try to protect what I could of my body.
And I had the stupid thought that my white blouse would no longer be white.
Little did I know that was the least of my worries.
Not to say I wasn’t already worried.
I definitely was.
A man I know hates me has drugged me and brought me out to the woods. I can only assume it’s to kill me. He hasn’t said those words, but I know in my heart that’s precisely why I’m here.
“Fine, don’t tell me. Let me talk. I’m good at that.
” He smirks and then takes a seat in the mud in front of me.
I’m itching to remove the mask, but I don’t want to risk it or distract him from his manic monologue since it’s buying me some precious time.
“We cheat, we fuck, we kill.” He looks me dead in the eyes and smiles evilly.
“Rylas!” I hear Arlo call.
But Rylas ignores him as he continues talking to me.
“You see, we are part of a secret society, and no one outside of it is privy to anything that happens inside. Where we are right now,”—he waves a hand around—“is actually the place where we hunt,”—his eyes glint with madness as he adds—“people.” My fingers dig into the dirt at that bit of information.
“But don’t worry. I don’t plan to hunt you.
Because if they found out I told you, they would kill us both.
But I don’t plan for any of them to find out.
“You may have worked out why I’m telling you such secretive information… It’s because I’m going to send you and Arlo to the grave.” I gasp. “You can be with your friend too. I can bury you next to her. It’s the least I can do for her.”
He looks to where Delaney’s motionless body lies. I know she’s gone, but a small part of me hopes that she isn’t. There could be a chance she’s still alive, right? Even if she doesn’t seem to be breathing.
He moves over to her and touches the top of her head. And that’s when I notice he’s missing a finger. “She was such a beauty, wouldn’t you say?” When I remain quiet, his stern gaze finds mine. “Answer.”
“Y-Yes. Of course she’s a beauty.”
“If I weren’t married already, I would have married her.
I want you to know that.” He looks back at her and strokes her hair again.
“But I couldn’t have her.” He turns a hate-filled look my way.
“You made sure of that.” His hand grips her hair tightly.
“No one else was allowed.” He stands, adjusting his black pants as he scans our surroundings again.
“The mask really does glitter beautifully under the moonlight. I was going to be poetic and leave you with it on so that when Arlo found you, he would have to touch the mask to remove it. And then anytime he would hunt after that, he would be reminded of you. What do you think of that?” He smiles down at me, and I can tell his mind is lost in some crazy place.
“Close your eyes.”
I hear the words, but they don’t come from Rylas’s mouth. Rylas spins around, swinging, followed by the sound of a deep grunt. And I watch in horror as the men wrestle for dominance.
“Are your eyes closed, Cora?” Arlo asks.
“No.”
“Close them,” he says with authority.
I do as I’m told, but when I hear another grunt, I open them again.
Arlo has Rylas pinned to the ground.
I get on my hands and knees and quickly crawl over to Delaney’s still form.
When I touch her, my first thought is why is she so cold?
I look around for something to warm her up with, but there’s nothing.
Sitting up on my knees, I undo my shirt and pull it off, then lay it over her back before I gently touch her head.
“Delaney, please wake up.” I brush her hair to the side so I can see her face, and when it comes into view, I scream. Her eyes are open, but she isn’t looking at me. It’s as if she’s frozen in a moment, unable to move. “Delaney, wake up. Please, wake up.”
Hands settle on my shoulders, and I brush them off as I continue to shake her.
“Cora, I need you to move.”
“No, what if she—”
“Let me check her, please.”
I nod once and then crawl backward in the mud. I’m cold, and my teeth are chattering, but I can’t stop it. I watch as Arlo gently turns her over and then checks her for a pulse. But there is none, no matter how hard I wish there were.
I turn my head away, and that’s when I see Rylas lying on the ground, still alive but barely so.
Unfair, really. Managing to stand, I reach for the nearest thing I can grab, which just so happens to be a stick, and stumble over to him.
There’s a knife protruding from his neck, and the beads that Arlo once used to strangle me during sex are wrapped tightly around his throat, cutting off his air.
I also notice he’s missing another digit, this time the index finger.
He’s wailing, his hand hovering as if he wants to touch the knife, but then he catches sight of his hands, and he hollers even louder despite the beads wrapped around his neck.
“Did she cry?” I grit out.
His gaze finds mine. “Help me,” he gargles, but the beads are wrapped tight. I once liked those beads, and now I love them as I watch the life drain from this bastard.
“Did she cry?” I ask again, and when he doesn’t answer, I kick him in the side—the same thing he did to me. “Did. She. Fucking. Cry?”
“Yes. Yes, she cried,” he screams.
And before I can stop myself or even think, I lift the stick and start belting him in the face with it. He raises his fucked-up hand to shield himself from the blows, but I keep beating him.
This asshole has to feel what Delaney felt.
He has to know that his life is worth less than hers.
She was so much more.
I repeatedly kick and hit him.
I can’t stop.
Blood flows from his neck even more now, and his hand lies limp next to him.
“Die, you son of a bitch.” I kick him hard just as two arms wrap around me. But it’s not the arms I know. These are unfamiliar.
“Arlo, come and get her.” Looking over my shoulder, I see it’s Boston. “Calm down,” he says, and those words make me angrier immediately.
I turn back and kick that lifeless piece of shit again for good measure.