Page 120 of Dance With A Devil

Wyck

Several hours deep, the party’s bones are starting to show, music still thumping, bodies swaying slower, sweat drying on skin that forgot it belonged to anything human. It’s well past midnight. I’ve had enough.

I want my girl. But first, we feed the dark.

I motion to the DJ. Music cuts like a vein.

“Gather ‘round,” I shout, voice slick with something sinister. “The night’s almost over. Almost.” Groans ripple through the crowd like dying things, and it makes me grin. These little sheep forget what cliff they’re standing on.

“Relax,” I say, eyes sweeping the drunk, the masked, the curious. “You know we never leave without spilling a little something.”

Now they’re listening.

“We’ve got one last game. But it’s not for the faint of heart.”

Karter stalks forward from the shadows, dragging chains behind him, metal clinks echoing over dead grass. Behind him, Onyx and Wells shove six figures into the light. Heads bagged in foam pig masks, blood crusted along the seams. Bound wrists. Bare feet. Filthy. Shaking.

The crowd goes still.

“These men crossed The Devils of Cliffside,” I growl, stepping forward. “And usually, that means a shallow grave. But tonight, you get to hunt them.”

Gasps. Cheers. Sick laughter.

“But only if you’re ready to bleed with them.”

Karter slams a fist into the table beside him. Dozens of Ghostface masks spill across it like spilled teeth.

“Take a mask. Become the hunter,” he commands. “Because these pigs are the prey.”

“How far can we go?” someone yells.

“Good question.” I grin like sin. “The field is sealed, ropes, signs, motion sensors. You’ll know where the line is. They won’t. Let them run blind. Let them think they’ve found safety.”

“But make no mistake,” Onyx purrs. “They won’t.”

“This is real,” I say. “No paintballs. No rubber knives. You bring them back bruised and bloody. Or not at all.”

The crowd's wild now, but I raise a hand.

“One rule,” I bark. “No women. Not for this.”

Instant outrage. “Are you fucking serious?”

“That’s sexist!”

“We’re not weak!”

“Save it,” I snap. “We know you can gut these assholes with your teeth, buttheydon’t play by the rules. These men would slit your throat to breathe another second. So do us a favor and accept the gift waiting inside.”

It works. The girls drift back toward the house, some pissed, some grinning, most just curious about what the Devils have waiting behind closed doors.

Once the last one's gone, I turn to the pigs.

“You get ten seconds,” I hiss. “Ten. Run. Pray. Beg. It doesn’t matter, you won’t survive the night.”

Karter steps in, voice low and sharp. “Run.”

They bolt.