Page 117 of Cruel Pleasures
“My darling, you already have been. Every moment you’ve been under this roof, you’ve been playing this game. You bet on yourself, did you not? The night of the opening ceremony, you wrote down number twenty-five.”
“That wasn’t a real vote. I wrote that down because there was no real player who was twenty-five!”
“Yes, there was,” she says brightly, as though amused. “You.”
“I want out! I WANT OUT!”
I move to run toward the staircase that led me up the stage only to discover a masked warden waits for me. The other end of the stage is no less guarded. I’m surrounded by the Hostess, her henchmen, and the rest of the club members.
If I was panicked before, I’m plunged deep into mortal terror now. My breaths sputter out of me as my gaze swings wildly around the room as if hoping I’ll discover some loophole of an exit that hasn’t been closed off.
As if I’ll learn someone out there is about to save me.
Ryu is nowhere to be found. For all I know, he could be one of the masked wardens waiting to apprehend me.
I find Archer at the back of the ballroom. Our gazes link for a brief second before he turns and walks out of the room.
My stomach drops and everything around me feels like it’s spinning at warp speed. The Hostess said I didn’t understand the gravity of what I was doing the moment I came to the Isle of Hurst. Truer words that have never weighed on me more than in this moment as it sinks in I’m truly alone.
Lyra’s gone. I’m surrounded by demented club members that have developed bloodthirsty gleams in their eyes at the news they’re allowed to hunt the players. At my side is the woman who commands everything, relishing in silent triumph at how brilliantly she’s outsmarted me. And the two men who could’ve helped, who were willing to protect me, are nowhere to be found because I was too stubborn to let them.
I’m on my own.
The panic manifests in an explosion of energy. I let go of any pretenses and throw myself off the stage. The crowd releases a collective gasp as I dive into them. Only a few attempt to help break my fall.
But I don’t give a damn.
I’m beyond any rationalizing. Beyond reasoning with. I’ve reverted back to the same state I was in night one, where I’d run off in a desperate frenzy. Once I’m back on my feet, I push and shove and force my way through the crowd.
Many of the members are still digesting everything the Hostess said, too startled to stop me. My hands fist into the skirt of my ball gown and I race toward the door. Left and right shoulders colliding with the shoulders of others; I don’t care how rough I have to be.
I’m getting out of this room and off this fucking property.
Right now.
Even if I have to throw myself into the waters off the private beach. Even if I have to find a way to climb the wrought-iron gates that trap everyone in the manor.
All things considered, I make it pretty far.
I’m several feet from the door when the wardens finally catch up. I’m distantly aware that the Hostess has yelled at them, her voice echoing over the mic. They descend on me before I comprehend it’s happening. Four of them form a blockade around me ’til I have nowhere else to go.
I’m boxed in. My damp, panic-stricken face reflects in the shiny black surface that makes up their helmet-style masks.
It’s the last thing I see as one of them wraps their arms around my middle in a suffocating bear hug and another tosses a bag over my head.
“NOOOO!” I scream. “NOOOO! LET ME GO! TAKE THIS OFF!”
My throat quivers, I scream so loud. I scream so hard and so frantically, it feels like my voice will give out any moment. An ache has started up in warning though I don’t give a single fuck. It only makes me scream louder.
“HELP! SOMEONE FUCKING HELP!”
I’m handled roughly. Manhandled by the wardens who wrench me off my feet and carry me away. The bag ensures I see nothing but darkness. I inhale nothing but the limited air in such an enclosed space.
They don’t put me down. They take me through the manor—I can sense we’re traveling through rooms and down halls—and then the night’s cold air whips against my bare neck and shoulders.
We’re outside.
The grass crunches under their boots. The wind soughs, and somewhere off in the distance, I can hear others. We’ve moving toward them.
