Page 123 of Cruel Pleasures

From the moment Rook told me about the Hostess’s plan for the remaining seven players, I knew what to expect. The seventh player was going to be Imani. I prowled in the shadows the entire evening waiting to see if my suspicions were correct.

The masquerade ball began with the society members indulging in the splendor of their own riches, dancing and laughing to the occasion. Imani walked among them, and though she had her alias, and her natural charm got her far, she was still an outsider.

She still stuck out and earned my unblinking attention.

I was dressed in the warden uniform. One of several standing watch over the ballroom as the night wore on. As soon as the Hostess took the stage that the evening was going to unfold in the way I suspected.

The more important question was, did I go along with what was happening, or would I reveal my allegiance was not with the club after all?

I come across Imani in the southwest courtyard. Desperate gasps for air leave her as she clings to the hatchet as if it’s her most crucial lifeline. Fresh blood drips from the dull blade, telling me she’s used it recently enough. Her ball gown’s torn and blades of grass rest tangled in her chin-length hair.

Judging by her wide, almost spacey eyes and the way her mouth hangs open, she’s in a state of deep shock. Her arms are shaking as I swiftly approach.

At first, she doesn’t seem to recognize me. Though how could she considering the warden uniform I wear? The police-gear-style helmet covers my face. There’s no other indication of who I am. She struggles to raise the hatchet, so spent from the night’s ordeal that it’s like she’s about to pass out any second.

I wrench it from her hold and link our fingers together with my other hand. A brief second of hesitation passes where she almost tugs herself free, then thinks better of it. She must sense who I am. That, or she’s given up any pretense of protecting herself.

Without a word spoken between us, I begin pulling her along. We move through the courtyard like a single entity, quick and efficient. Unseen to the naked eye unless the person is observant in scouring the dark.

The stone archway looms above us as we dash for the closest entrance into the manor. Imani’s breath is no less shallow, coming out in sucking noises. She’s come to grip my hand almost to the point of pain. I’ve become her new lifeline instead of the machete.

It raises the question: just what did she face in the maze?

When the Hostess announced she was the mysterious player remaining—she was player twenty-five—I quickly formulated a plan. As a warden overseeing the event, I would ensure her survival. I would find an underhanded way to eliminate many of the others and then clear the path for her victory.

The plan had seemed doable initially. Throwing the bag over Imani’s head and dragging her to the hedge maze was necessary.

It was all for show.

I had ensured I was the one to do it. I was the warden closest to the maze entrance when the whistle blew and she was shoved into the black void. Every second that passed became torturous as the screams of others haunted the night air and I had to wait to go after her. I had to make it look convincing when around others like Rook.

And the Hostess—she was surely watching.

By the time I did enter, planning to locate Imani and then take out the others where necessary, she was gone. She was nowhere to be found in the massive maze that easily spanned two acres.

In the almost hour-long timeframe between losing her and finding her dazed and quivering in the courtyard, she’s clearly been through a lot.

My lips press together. Where the hell has Hurst been? Has he truly let her face tonight’s hell on her own?

I might’ve vowed Imani would find out the hard way, but the moment I learned what the Hostess had planned, that went out the window. I wasn’t going to let her be hunted down like prey by these people. These insipid people shouldn’t get to lay a single finger on her.

Hurst and I should be agreement about that.

Imani’s fortunate she’s as tempting as she is. She’s lucky she’s done what no one else except Asami could ever do and gained my attention to the point of irrationality. She’ll survive the night. I’ll do anything to ensure that she does.

I let go of her hand as we come up on the west side of the manor. Stepping ahead of her, I dig out the ring of keys I have that opens almost every door in this castle-like home. Someone’s locked the entryways. Possibly due to the barbaric level of violence going on outside.

It’s as I have my back turned that Imani screams.

Nolan’s appeared from the other end of the passageway. By how he swaggers over, grinning broadly, swinging a spiked mace, I’d guess he’s had a few too many alcoholic beverages. He hasn’t bothered taking off his mask or changing out of his tuxedo from the masquerade. The blood splatter staining the front seems to be a fashion statement on his part.

He’s decided to take the Hostess up on her offer for the club members to participate in the games. For them to have the chance to participate like the wardens do and hunt down the players.

“What do we have here?” Nolan calls. “Is that Sasha Newton I see? Trying to make another daring escape?”

He staggers closer, giving the spiked mace another careless spin. If he’d swing any more precariously, he’d knock himself in the face with the medieval era weapon. A fact that seems lost on him as he heads toward Imani.

“Stand down,” I order. I turn from the door I’m attempting to unlock and hold out my hand to signal he stop.