Page 118 of Cruel Pleasures

When they finally let go of me, it’s unexpected. I drop to the ground and land on my knees, bundled up in the skirt of my ball gown. The bag’s ripped from over my head, and I’m left staring up at a landmark of Hurst Manor I’m more than a little familiar with: the massive hedge maze that fans out larger than a football field.

I’m a mere ten feet away from the entrance, which, in the night’s pitch-dark setting, looks like a black hole that’ll transport me straight to hell.

As I expected, I’m not alone. The other six players are standing nearby. They’ve been arranged in a line, each clutching a weapon. Things like a pickaxe and hammer.

“Wait,” I cough out. “You can’t expect me to?—”

“Here,” says the warden closest to me. He shoves a machete into my hand. “Stand.”

He grips me under my arm and yanks up ’til I’m wobbling on my feet.

A whistle is blown and player two rushes through the entrance to the maze. The cold air frosts out of me as I gape at the maze entrance and wait for what’ll happen next. When a minute’s gone by, the whistle blows again and another player throws themself into the maze. Then another and another ’til minutes have passed and no one else remains.

Except for me.

The warden who pulled me to my feet shoves me toward the entrance.

“You’re next, player twenty-five.”

“No,” I breathe. I’m shivering and dazed, so lost as to what the hell’s going on.

How am I supposed to defend myself against people who have spent the last few rounds murdering each other with ease? I’ll be stuck in an endless maze with them dressed in heels and a ball gown and nothing to defend myself with except for a machete I barely know how to hold…

They’re sending me off to my death.

Glancing back at the manor, I see the double doors fly open, and the society members spill out, buzzing with excitement. The few who are participating in hunting us down clutch their own weapons. They can’t wait for the chance to eliminate a player themselves.

“Please,” I mutter. “You can’t fucking do this! It’s inhumane. Ryu, is that you? Please!”

The man gives no reaction. He remains as stoic and resolute as ever and gives me another nudge toward the entrance. If he is Ryu underneath the helmet he wears, any feelings he’s had for me are long gone.

He doesn’t care if I live or die.

Archer showed the same level of indifference. He’d walked away as I was being sentenced to this…

My heart aches in the seconds leading up to the next squeak of the whistle. It’s the crushing realization that I’ve pushed away two men who may have been unsettling, with unorthodox methods of expressing themselves, but two men I had felt protected by. I had formed a connection with, however unstable and confusing that connection was.

I pushed them away.

I ruined everything.

Now, I’m about to die alone. All because I couldn’t admit I needed someone. Because I was too fucking stubborn to rely on the men I should’ve.

The whistle blows. I’m shoved through the entrance of the maze. I almost fall trying to catch myself. Immediately, darkness descends on me as I’m surrounded by nothing but the eight foot tall hedges that tower over me. My heels stick in the grass for every cautious step forward I try to take. I kick them off and decide to go barefoot.

A scream rings through the air. Someone’s being attacked somewhere in this maze.

I listen with a pounding heart, afraid to move a muscle. If I stay still, if I stay here where I am, will they forget about me? Will I somehow manage to survive?

For the first minute or two inside the maze, it feels like a potential strategy. Then the thump of fast-approaching footsteps sounds in the dark, seemingly growing nearer, and I react on instinct. I scurry out of the main passageway and into a side pocket, hoping to hide away.

The angry footsteps grow louder. The person they belong to is rushing closer, seeking out someone. They’re coming for me.

I clap a hand over my mouth to mute my heavy breathing and stand as still as I can. The machete I’ve been given hangs limply at my side, though I know I’ll use it if I have to. It’s just so damn hard to think.

Impossible to stay calm given the demented situation.

The sick feeling in my stomach has me questioning if I’ll spew any second. The freezing December cold numbs my bare skin. The ball gown couldn’t be less opportune for maneuvering like I’ll need to be able to.