Page 10

Briar

“Whoa, hey, relax.” The mask muffles his voice, and he pulls it off with his free hand to reveal Liam Bastian’s face. His smile looks almost friendly. “Sorry if I scared you. Just having a little fun with the whole Hunt theme.”

“What do you want?” I try to sound confident, but I sound breathless and weak.

“Nothing bad,” he says, releasing my arm but staying close. “Just saw you slip away from the party. Thought you might need company.” His tone is casual now, like we’re just two people who ran into each other. “I brought this for the party,” he adds, gesturing at the mask. “Pretty authentic, right?”

“I’m fine.” I straighten, trying to look stronger than I feel. “I just needed some air.”

“In the maze? At night?” He takes another step closer. I can smell alcohol on him. Way too strong, meaning he’s been doing more than only drinking. “ That seems dangerous for someone in your... condition.”

The way he says “condition” makes my skin crawl. Like I’m dirty somehow because of it. I also hate that clearly the people of the island are talking about me. Everyone seems to know of my “condition”.

“I’m heading back now.” I try to move past him, but he shifts, blocking my path completely. “Excuse me.”

He shoots his hand out and grabs my arm just above the elbow. “Don’t be in such a hurry. The party’s not going anywhere.”

I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. “Let go of me.”

“Or what?” His smile widens, showing too many teeth like a predator. “You’ll run? We both know you can’t get very far. Not with those fucked-up lungs of yours.”

Fear turns my blood to ice. This isn’t merely some drunk guy being creepy. This is deliberate. Planned.

“People know I’m out here. They’ll come looking for me.”

He laughs. “No, they won’t. Everyone’s too wasted to notice you’re gone. And I saw how Damiano and Flint were watching you. But your two guard dogs are busy fucking each other somewhere else in this maze. I saw them go in earlier. ”

So I was right about Damiano and Flint, but that doesn’t help me now.

I try again to wrench my arm free. This time, he releases me, but only to slam me hard against the hedge wall. The branches stab into my back through my thin dress. Before I can recover, he’s pressed against me, one hand gripping my throat, the other fumbling with the hem of my dress.

“I wanted to play a little Hunt game since I first saw you at the dock,” he growls, his breath hot and sour against my face. “All fragile and breakable looking. The whistle, the chase, the catch. That’s why I brought the mask. You’d make perfect prey.”

Panic floods my system, and I struggle against him, but he’s too strong, too solid. His hand tightens around my throat, enough to make spots dance at the edges of my vision.

“Stop fighting,” he says, managing to get my button undone. “Prey always says no at first. But we both know girls like you don’t get a lot of action.”

He slides his hand under my dress, rough and invasive. I try to scream, but his grip on my throat tightens, cutting it off. Tears spring to my eyes, partly from lack of oxygen, partly from rage and helplessness.

No. Not helpless. Not ever again.

I bring my knee up hard between his legs. It doesn’t connect as solidly as I’d hoped, but it’s enough to make him loosen his grip and curse.

“Fucking cunt! ”

I try to run, but he recovers quickly, grabbing my hair and yanking me back so hard strands rip from my scalp. The pain explodes through my head, disorienting me. Before I can react, he slams me face-first into the hedge.

Something cracks in my nose, and hot blood gushes down my face, filling my mouth with copper. He spins me around again, and this time when he pins me, he holds my wrists above my head with one of his hands.

“Now you’ll get it rough,” he spits, using his free hand to push my dress up over my hips. “Could’ve been fun if you’d played along.”

I twist my body, trying to knee him again, to find some leverage, but he’s got me completely immobilized. His weight crushes me against the hedge, branches scratching my exposed skin, drawing blood in dozens of tiny cuts.

He moves his hand between my legs again, fingers bruising, invasive, cruel. I feel something vile inside me, a sharp pain that makes me scream out despite the hand now clamped over my mouth.

“Shut your mouth,” he hisses. “No one’s coming to save you.”

I bite down on his hand as hard as I can and take the moment to scream again. He jerks back with a yell, and I use the moment to slam my forehead against his nose. It’s a move my dad’s security guy taught me years ago. Never thought I’d actually have to use it .

Blood sprays from Liam’s nose, but the blow costs me, too. My vision swims, darkness creeping in from the edges. But the pain in his face has loosened his grip enough for me to squirm partway free.

He recovers faster than I can escape, grabbing me by the shoulders and throwing me to the ground. The impact knocks every bit of air from my shitty lungs. I try to crawl away, but he’s on top of me in an instant, flipping me onto my back, his weight pinning me to the cold gravel.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he snarls, blood dripping from his nose onto my face. “But not before I get what I came for.”

His hands are at his belt now, unfastening it with quick, practiced movements. I thrash beneath him, but each movement costs me oxygen I don’t have. Black spots float across my vision. My strength is fading fast.

Using my hand, I desperately search the gravel around me for anything I can use. My fingers close around something solid, a decorative garden stake that’s come loose from the path. About eight inches long, metal, with a sharp point for planting.

Liam doesn’t notice, too focused on getting his pants open. “Stop fighting,” he says with a grunt. “You’ll like it once I’m inside you.”

“Fuck you,” I gasp, gathering the last of my strength.

When he leans down, positioning himself between my legs, I bring the stake up with every ounce of force I can muster, aiming for his shoulder to disable him.

But he shifts at the last second, and the stake plunges into his neck instead.

There’s a moment of perfect stillness. His eyes widen, shock replacing the lust and anger. Then the blood comes, so much fucking blood, pulsing out in rhythmic spurts that coat my hands, my chest, my face.

So. Much. Blood.

It’s hot against my cold skin, almost burning, and the metallic smell fills my nose instantly, making me gag.

The stake must have hit a major blood vessel in his neck. Each heartbeat forces a fresh jet of crimson through the wound, spraying in an arc that catches the dim light. His white shirt turns dark in seconds, saturated and clinging to his chest.

He makes this wet, choking sound, hands grabbing at his neck, trying to pull out the stake.

But the movement only seems to make it worse.

Blood bubbles from his mouth now too, seeping between his teeth and dribbling down his chin.

His eyes lock with mine, filled with disbelief and rage and then, slowly, fear.

He knows he’s dying.

Dying…

I push him off me, scrambling backward until my spine hits the hedge wall.

My hands slip in his blood, leaving smeared red handprints on the gravel.

He collapses face-first, then rolls onto his back, body convulsing violently.

His heels drum against the ground, sending gravel flying.

A terrible gurgling comes from his throat as he tries to breathe through the blood.

His hands still clutch uselessly at his neck, fingers slippery and failing to get purchase on the stake, leaving streaks across his skin with each attempt.

Piss soaks through his pants as his body loses control.

The convulsions grow more frantic, then gradually weaker, his back arching one final time before he goes limp.

One last wet, rattling breath escapes his lungs.

I should do something. Call someone. Try to help him. But I can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t even catch my breath.

The convulsions slow, then stop. His eyes stare at nothing, reflecting the faint, distant lights from the house.

He’s dead. I killed him.

The thought hits me like a physical blow to the chest, making me double over. I retch, bringing up nothing but bile. My whole body shakes uncontrollably. I pull my dress down with numb, blood-slicked fingers.

What the fuck do I do now? Call the police? My father? Run?

Before I can decide, voices reach me through the fog. Familiar voices.

“...swear I heard something this way.”

“Probably just drunk party people getting lost. ”

“It was definitely a scream. I’m sure of it.”

Damiano and Flint. Coming closer.

I should call out to them. Ask for help. But my voice won’t work. All that comes out is this broken noise, half sob and half moan.

It’s enough. The footsteps quicken then they’re there, appearing around the corner like they’ve materialized from the fog itself.

They both freeze when they see me, covered in blood, shaking against the hedge. Then their eyes move to Liam’s body, the stake still protruding from his neck, the blood pooling beneath him, almost black in the dim light.

“Holy fuck,” Flint breathes. He takes a step back, running his hand through his hair. “Is that... shit, that’s Liam Bastian.”

Damiano’s face goes dangerously still. “Viktor’s brother.”

The name hangs in the air between them. Even in my shocked state, I can see the color drain from Flint’s face.

“This is bad,” Flint says. “This is really fucking bad.”

Damiano moves first, kneeling beside me, careful not to touch me. “Briar. Are you hurt? Is any of this blood yours?”

I try to answer, but all that comes out is a strangled laugh that turns into tears. Words tumble out between sobs .

“He followed me... he tried to... I couldn’t breathe... he was going to...”

“Shh.” Damiano’s presence is steady, calming. “You don’t have to explain. We can see what happened.”