Page 73 of Trapped With You

His hand shot out to grab me. I dodged it in time and clocked a solid punch to his throat, causing him to grunt and land sideways.

In a trice, he came for me again with renewed vigour.

But I quickly stood up despite the protesting ache in my body. I was going to nail this motherfucker in the nuts. Some lowlife Initiator playing a shitty prank didn’t scare me.

“You asshole!” I grabbed his shoulders and kneed him in the groin area, narrowly missing his bulge. Lucky bastard still stumbled away from me, winded by my hit. “Who are you—what’s your fucking problem?”

“You,” he seethed, coming forth once more to rip the dare from my hand. “This isn’t over, you spoiled cunt.”

The stranger ran away, towards the entrance leading into the tunnels.

But not before I caught sight of a veryfamiliarskull tattoo on his hand and a platinum watch with a sapphire encrusted bezel.

I froze, an odd sensation crawling over me like a hundred tiny ants.

I had seen that exact tattoo and watch twice in my life.

I would never forget it.

A memory of a man with sandy brown hair, soulless eyes, demanding attitude, clammy hands, and those same markers pitched from the deep recesses of my mind. It was months old but now felt fresh and palpable like a noose around my throat.

He’s dead, Ella.

Cade made sure of it.

You were there.

Was I hallucinating?

The soreness radiating through my body from that fall was all the confirmation I needed. This was reality and I most certainly saw what I saw.

Too distracted and disoriented, I noticed belatedly that Cade was descending the stairs, shovel in one hand and flashlight in the other.

A quick glance at him and it was clear that he was stillbasking in the fury of my parting shot. He looked far from my soft-heartedqueridoand more like Montardor’s fixer. Stiff broad shoulders, inscrutable mien, and gangster gait as he advanced my way.

“I heard you screaming the house down,” he said dryly. “Just like old times.”

No flicker of worry was sketched in the lines of his face. I’d truly pissed him off if he was acting this unaffected. For a split second, I wondered how he’d feel if he knew a man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask attacked me.

Though I squandered that thought as fast as it came.

I didn’t want him to show his care for me. I wanted impassiveness so we could power through Initiation Night and finally go our separate ways.

“Unfortunately for you, you’ll never hear me screaming again,” I piped up with a sickeningly sweet tone. “Just like old times.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, baby.”

My mouth gaped, my viper tongue ready with a riposte. But I swallowed it down along with the feeling of agitation surging in my person. Cade wouldn’t get a single fiery reaction out of me. It’s what he wanted. I refused to give in.

Instead, I spun around and winced at the throb in my ankle. “Whatever. Let’s get out of here. There should be a door in the foyer that leads outside.”

My ex-boyfriend and I often visited St. Victoria’s woodlands, mostly when we were high and wanted to stargaze at night. Not our finest moments, but at least we knew the territory like the back of our hands. Getting to the cemetery would be a breeze.

Cade didn’t reply, choosing to marinate in the strained silence as we walked to the main door. It just so happened to be left ajar and propped open by a wooden doorstopper. Probably due to other students having dares in Balthazar Building.

I instantly thought back to the encounter I had with the angry, insulting Initiator and my aggravation returned tenfold. It was so disturbing and unexpected. Sabotaging other teams was quite common during Initiation Night. But we were never supposed to take it to a physically-harming level. That was grounds for punishment.

I fine-combed through all the hockey players—current and alumni—and yet couldn’t decipher who the stranger was. Nor did I recall seeing anyone withthatspecific mask.