Page 99 of Smut Lovers

Chapter Five

Let the Games Begin

A s part of the process, the production team brought in each contestant to meet with a lawyer and sign papers—including a liability waiver.

The venue, the actors, and any other person associated with The Society, were not responsible in the event of injury or death.

The contestant assumed all risks. It seemed frivolous, but after the dinner they experienced, it felt purposefully orchestrated.

The blonde turned to Ava and spoke, as though speaking specifically to her. “You were selected for a reason.”

Ava stood watching the scene unfold, as though it were a horror movie and not reality, as her heart threatened to pound out of her chest, in time with the pounds on the door.

The female twin clawed at the wood, until her fingertips left bloody streaks behind, reminding Ava of what had happened at her apartment.

Yes, she felt extremely scared, but she didn’t express her terror like the other contestants, leading her to question whether she was broken in a way they weren’t.

Maybe witnessing her dead mother scarred her essence with darkness, desensitizing her to death.

When she was adopted, she took her foster mother’s last name, Sims, but that was a matter of public record.

Maybe The Society had researched her before choosing her to be a participant.

And if that was the case, who knows what else they found?

Secrets were best laid to rest, but the blonde continued watching Ava’s every move. She felt the woman’s eyes on the back of her head continuously, calculating her actions.

“And then there were five. Please step away from the door. The doors and windows will not reopen until sunrise. If you try to escape, there will be consequences. This is your only warning.”

The brother pulled his sister away and crossed the foyer, sitting her on the steps of the split staircase.

He took the white pocket square from his red breast pocket and dabbed her face with it.

Never having had siblings, their bond seemed sweet.

Ava ached for Vince’s strength and fortitude, but she was a survivor and could make it on her own.

“We will play a game of hide and seek. We will eliminate the first person we find. Scurry little mice. You have one minute before our five attendants head out.”

The stylist appeared behind her and whispered into her ear, “There are no marked out-of-bounds or forbidden areas. When the gong sounds, head up the stairs to the left. Make two left turns and continue, until you reach the fork. Take the right fork to the East Wing. The third door on the left leads into the mistress’s quarters.

She has a ceiling-high wardrobe with a false panel.

The gong will sound once they find the first contestant.

There is no penalty to anyone else who leaves their spot or is found afterward.

Those who stay hidden until the second gong sounds will receive a prize.

You only have to remain hidden for an hour. Believe me, you want that prize, Ava.”

His hot breath tickled her skin, as he conveyed his warning.

He gave her this information without prompting, leaving her to wonder whose side he was on.

She continued to feel as though she were being led into a trap and needed to keep her faculties.

But the stylist’s forewarning about dinner had been correct, so she repeated his directions in her head.

“Who is the mistress?” she asked.

“You already know,” he hissed and stepped away.

Those words resonated within her soul. She lifted her gaze, to the ice-blue eyes of the woman, whose air of aristocracy mixed with sensuality, leaving no doubt about her status of mistress. Ava found herself unable to escape the woman’s allure, until she exited the room.

Bong!

The gong sounded at the top of the hour and they took off in different directions. The only two faster than her up the stairs were the twins. When the staircase split, they veered right as Ava took the left.

The eyes on the portraits, lining the first corridor, followed her as she made the first left. Her feet thudded on the runner as she picked up speed. The walls breathed and pressed closer to her, threatening to catch her.

Her pace slowed significantly as she made the next left and found herself surrounded by darkness.

The air was so thick it was suffocating, leaving doubt about the directions.

She took two cautious steps backward, but felt herself being propelled forward, as though the darkness formed an invisible barrier behind her.

Instead of allowing fear to paralyze her, she pushed onward, holding her arms out, to feel along the walls for obstacles.

The shadows guided her, but her feet felt heavier with every step.

Gravity pushed upon her shoulders, weighing her down.

Just when she stumbled over an invisible block, the darkness lifted.

She blinked against the intrusive light, as she took a deep breath, finally able to breathe easily.

She expected to have reached the forked hallway, however; it stretched as far as her eye could see.

Looking back over her shoulder, the corridor was no longer dark.

It was open and bright, without a single lurking shadow.

She was being led for a reason she didn’t yet understand, but there was no doubt it was at the mistress’s volition.

The heavy oak door creaked uneasily on its hinges, as Ava pushed it open, entering the mistress’s suite. Compared to the rest of the house, which was surprisingly modern, the suite was more stereotypical of what she expected a manor to look like.

The focal point of the bedroom was a four-poster bed, with linens obstructing the view.

Heavy curtains were drawn, leaving only the fireplace to provide lighting.

The chandelier held candles, not light bulbs, and she watched each one light magically.

Shadows danced on the wall, creating an eerie atmosphere.

The floor-to-ceiling wardrobe menacingly overlooked the rest of the furniture.

A frigid chill ran down Ava’s spine, as she touched the knob, causing goosebumps to rise along her arm.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, since that initial hallway.

Casting a glance over her shoulder, she opened the wardrobe, and the heavy smell of camphor mixed with dampness hit her.

It was even stronger when she inhaled again.

The smell reminded her of her grandmother’s attic, keeping the moths away.

She carefully examined each panel with her fingertips to identify the fake one. If she got caught, the only person she could blame would be her stylist. She cursed herself for listening to him, as she felt trapped, like a rat.

Bong!