Page 36 of Wicked Games (Silvercrest U #1)

Not moving from my place near the door, I scan the room, zeroing in on everyone’s legs. None of the guys have his tattoo. Satisfied that he’s not here, I carefully make my way into the next common area, which is a meeting room.

More of the same is going on, only instead of couches, several raised platforms that look like small stages are scattered around the space.

There’s also more light in here since several of the pot lights are glowing their usual white instead of purple, and it feels like I’m under a spotlight as I check out the room.

A few couples and groups are doing their thing on the stages, but there are far fewer people in here, and I’m able to scan for Killian’s tattoo without having to move out of the shadows or away from the walls.

I don’t see him, and I slip out of the room to keep looking.

The next few rooms are exactly the same as the first one I went into, but they’re more crowded the closer I get to the center of the building.

It’s harder to blend in now, and it feels like there’s a giant neon sign over my head that says I’m not supposed to be here.

I keep my head up and my strides confident as I walk past clusters of people and cut through small groups that are taking up the entire hallway, keeping my eye out for Killian’s tattoo and checking every dark-haired guy I pass to see if it’s him.

The main lobby is lit up the same as the rest of the floor, but it looks like there are actual black lights in the few pot lights that are on, and my clothes light up like a beacon as soon as I step into the space.

Feeling exposed, I hurry across the lobby and slip through the door that leads to the left wing of the floor.

This side has a much different vibe than the other, and instead of purple lights, everything is red, like a dark room. Even the music is different, and notes of an instrumental metalcore song flow through the speakers, giving the space a Gothic feel with a hint of something dangerous.

This side isn’t as crowded as the other, and I figure out why as soon as I walk into the first common room and see that the couches have been removed and in their place are a few medical exam tables, a Saint Andrew’s cross, two pommel horses, and several platforms with different types of hand and foot cuffs against the walls.

Most of them are occupied, and my chest goes hot under my shirt as I look around for Killian’s tattoo.

I thought I was into some kinky stuff because I like being bossed around and having my stepbrother choke me out, but I’ve got nothing on the people enjoying this room.

When I don’t see him, I breathe a sigh of relief and slip back out into the hallway.

I’m just about to go into the next room when someone grabs my shoulders and shoves me against the wall.

I’m so shocked I don’t have a chance to do more than get my arms up as I stumble into the wall face-first. Luckily I’m able to catch myself on my hands, and my chest takes the brunt of the impact.

It’s hard enough to knock some of the wind out of me, and I’m left breathless and gasping as my attacker pins me against the wall with his body.

My first thought is that it’s Killian, but even through my disorientation and fear, I instinctively know it isn’t him. The body feels different, and the scent that envelops me is heavy and dark, with sharp notes of wood and musk and a sickly-sweet undertone that smells a bit like rotting fruit.

My heart drops into my stomach. That’s not Killian’s cologne.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s happening when my attacker drags me down the hall and stops in front of one of the only rooms with a door on it. I try to pull out of his grasp, but he keeps hold of me as he pushes the door open and throws me inside.

I stumble into the room, my arms flailing as I try to stay on my feet.

My attacker is back on me in only seconds and shoves me against the wall.

This time I’m able to brace properly, and I avoid bouncing my head off the drywall, but I can’t stop the air from rushing out of my lungs as I get partially winded for the second time in a matter of seconds as my chest once again takes the brunt of the impact.

I gulp in a few gasping breaths as my attacker spins me around and slams me against the wall.

“Don’t even think about moving,” he growls and jams his forearm against my chest. His voice is familiar, but I can’t place who they are.

A knee presses against my dick, and I go limp against the wall. I can handle getting the wind knocked out of me, but having my dick and balls crushed isn’t something I can bounce back from.

My attacker isn’t that much bigger than me, and like most people I saw wandering around, he’s shirtless and wearing a pair of white linen pants that are slung low on his hips.

His mask looks like something a hockey goalie would wear, only it ends just above his mouth instead of covering his entire face.

It’s too dark to see what color his eyes are, and the mask covers enough that I don’t recognize him from just his mouth. My eyes fall to the sigil-like tattoo on his left pec, and I commit it to memory in case I actually live through whatever is about to happen.

My biggest worry when I left my room tonight was that Killian would catch me breaking his rules or that someone in the house would realize I’m not supposed to be here and I’d get in trouble.

It never occurred to me that whoever is trying to kill me would have an invite.

My attacker leans more heavily against me, and I drag in a gasping breath as I assess my chances of escaping.

The room is usually used for small gatherings like committee meetings or study groups, but all of the furniture has been taken out of it, and there’s nothing in the empty space I can use as a weapon or to try and get away.

My attacker might be close to my size, but he’s strong, and I doubt I can shove him off me without getting my dick crushed.

I’m still weighing my options when he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a small square compartment that looks like it was taken out of a pill caddy.

Using the back of his hand, he knocks my mask off. It falls to the floor, and he shifts his knee and jams it into my stomach hard enough to force the air from my lungs again.

I draw in several gasping breaths as he pops the pill case open and jams his knee harder into my stomach. The added pressure makes it impossible to pull in another breath.

My mouth falls open as panic sets in, and I’m so disoriented I can’t even fight as he puts the pill case against my lip and tips the contents into my mouth.

Two pills land on my tongue. He covers my mouth and nose, cutting off my ability to breathe.

“Swallow,” he growls and releases some of the pressure against my stomach. Reflexively, I grab at his arms and try to pull him off me.

He just leans against me harder, and all I manage to do is scratch his arms a few times.

I try to shift the pills to the inside of my cheek, but I’m moving on instinct now, and instead of getting them out of the way, I reflexively swallow them.

“Did you swallow them?” he demands in that same growly voice.

I nod as best I can.

He pulls his hand off my mouth. “Open and show me.”

I don’t fight and open my mouth, sticking out my tongue.

“Lift it.”

I do, and he ducks down as he makes sure that I really swallowed the pills.

Seemingly satisfied, he lets go of me and steps back.

I slide down the wall as my legs give out. My chest and stomach ache, and my lungs feel like they can’t fully expand. I’m able to breathe, though, and I spend the next few seconds gasping and gulping down air as he stands over me like some sort of sentry.

“Don’t even think about puking them up,” he says in that same growly voice.

“What did you give me?” I croak as the reality of the situation finally hits.

I just got drugged, and I have no idea what I took. Is this the guy who’s trying to kill me? Is his plan to make me overdose so no one suspects I was attacked, that I’m just a dumbass doing more than I can handle?

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He crosses his arms and glances at the door.

Is he going to leave me here to overdose alone? Or is he going to watch to make sure it actually takes this time?

My heart rate speeds up, and there’s a weird pressure in my head, but it doesn’t feel like it’s from a drug reaction, more like an aftereffect of what just happened and the rush of adrenaline leaving my body all at once.

What the fuck am I supposed to do? Even if I could get away from him, who would I tell?

I can’t even find my own damn stepbrother.

How am I going to find someone who’ll not only believe me, but will be sober enough to help?

And even if I manage to get help, I have no idea what I took or how much time I even have.

Most drugs take a minimum of twenty minutes to kick in, but some take hours.

Covertly, I inch my hand closer to my pocket.

I have my phone on me. I won’t be able to send a text or make a call with him here, but maybe I can do that shaking thing Killian told me about and send an SOS to his and the twins’ phones.

I know at least Killian has his on him, but what are the odds that he’ll pause whatever the fuck he’s doing to not just check his phone but to come save my dumb ass after I disobeyed him?

And it’s not like I can rely on the twins for help.

They’re probably just as fucked up and having fun like Killian.

Why would they give a shit that I fucked up and got myself drugged?

“Get up.” He kicks my foot and I wince.

I struggle to my feet, a sense of determination falling over me.

It’s not like I’ve never had to deal with anything alone before. I don’t need Killian or the twins or anyone to come save me. I’ll either save myself, or I’ll die, and right now, it’s hard to remember why that’s a bad thing.