Page 25 of Cruel Pleasures

I laugh and recline in the leather chair like I’m about to binge watch my favorite TV show. In a way, I am.

Toying with Imani Makune is going to be what gets me through these next two weeks.

7. Imani

The End - JPOLND

The unnerving reality of my situation doesn’t sink in until I return to the privacy of my bedroom. I’m in deep shit.

Real deep shit.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself, pacing the length of the sizable room. My fingers rake through my short bob-cut hair and stare at the walls in hope I’m dreaming. I haven’t really been foolish enough to infiltrate the island getaway for a secret society I knew next to nothing about.

When seconds pass and I don’t wake up, I scream out of frustration and kick at the bedpost as hard as I can. A second later, I’m howling for a whole different reason—in a face-off between wood and a human foot, wood typically wins.

Pain explodes in my big toe. I limp backward and slip off my heels. Now not only am I frustrated, I’m wincing from pain.

I drop onto the bed, my eyes on the coffered ceiling.

“Calm down,” I whisper. “Just… stop being emotional. You can figure this out. You’ve been in tougher spots.”

But it’s not so easy to quiet the panic when it’s rising up inside me like a dark tidal wave. It’s impossible after the revelation the Hostess knows exactly who I am, which means the entire club must be aware too… right?

Here I was, under the assumption the club members would never notice. They’re so self-obsessed, they’d never pick up on the minor differences between Sasha Newton and me. She’s been missing for years and was never a prominent member to begin with.

We look enough alike to be related.

Talia Weinberg had assumed I’d had a nose job. Does that mean she was lying or was she excluded from the truth?

The Hostess could be the only person who knows. I’m a decent read on people. No one else gave me any indication…

I shift focus from who does and doesn’t know and concentrate on strategy. I’ll simply have to change my plan. If my cover’s blown, my best bet is to get the hell out of here at the first opportunity.

I get up from the bed and wander over to the wide window overlooking the grounds. I’m on the northern side of the property, affording me a view of the lush gardens and the intricate maze made up of grass hedges. Even at a glance, I can see security prowling. They patrol the area in the dark, lit only by the occasional lamp post.

This place is likely rigged with cameras. They’d know if I were to walk out the front door (or any door, for that matter). I’ll have to be more creative.

The giant iron gates pose another issue. That’s without beginning to consider what I’d do once off the property. With the town closed up for the season and no flights off the isle, what would I do even if I made it off this estate?

“Shit,” I cuss for the tenth time in minutes.

I lose myself staring out the window at the sea of darkness. My thoughts wander away from me, unraveling into panicked territory all over again. The longer I peer out at the sweeping shadows and tiny flickers of light, the edgier I feel.

The hackles on the back of my neck rise up. I peer so long, I begin to wonder if anyone is peering back. If the blanket of darkness is hiding someone. If they’re yet another unknown variable I’m failing to see right in front of my face.

The feeling I’m not alone creeps up my spine. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the empty room corner to corner as if I’ll discover a monster hiding in plain sight. Sighing when nothing meets my gaze, I decide it’s officially time for bed. Sleep will refresh my brain. It’ll clear my head by the time I wake up.

But just in case, I push the dresser in front of the door. I draw the curtains tight over the windows and tuck my canister of pepper spray under the pillow next to mine, easily within reach.

Twenty minutes later, my face is naked and my hair’s wrapped up. I’m in a t-shirt and panties ready for bed. Sliding under the covers, I stretch my arm out to flick off the light.

Then I think better of it. The lights stay on.

At least ’til I know more about what I’m dealing with at this place…

The morning sun blinds me. I yank the duvet up over my head and fumble for my phone that doesn’t have connection. Another pleasant surprise I discovered last night. No cellular data or wifi anywhere at Hurst Manor. The clock on my iPhone is just about the only thing that does still work.

Six minutes after eight.