Page 121 of Cruel Pleasures
Something deep inside me snaps.
The dissonant scream that rings through the air sounds nothing like me. It’s rough and rubbed raw, thickened by sheer, unparalleled rage.
Anger at the situation I’ve been placed in. That the people I hoped I could depend on have abandoned me. That I’ve been so foolish to let these things happen to me.
I grip the hatchet tight, adrenaline surging through me, and I rush toward him.
The moment spins on its head. I’m no longer myself, existing outside of my body. Suddenly, I’m a spectator on the sidelines, watching as I take a wild swing at the man’s arm. He’s wielding a knife he’s brandished to attack me with.
I hit him first. My hatchet connects with his wrist. His carpal bones are no match for my blade. The knife drops from his hand. His wrist splits open, his hand flopping sideways from nearly being hacked off.
He screams from the pain, but I’m far from done with him. The hatchet comes down on him again, landing in his shoulder. It takes some muscle to wrest it out of him, and then I go for a third swing.
We fall together in a heap. He lands under me. I’m on top, bringing the hatchet down so many times, I lose count.
At some point, he dies. The only sounds he produces are obscene. Sounds of his flesh and insides squelching as I hack away.
I’m shaking when I finally stop, bathed in blood. Slowly, in a dazed state, I rise up on my feet, the hatchet limp at my sides.
Elsewhere in the dark maze, other screams echo. Other players grunt and roar as they face off and eliminate each other from the game. There’s even a few shrill cackles that fill the brisk night air. Probably from wardens and Midnight Society members participating in the killings.
Cold sweat slicks my skin as I begin wandering the maze like a lost orphan. No clue where I’m headed or who I might come across, I’m still coming down from the fit I’ve had.
For who knows how long, I travel among the shadows and hedge walls like this. Once again vulnerable, dazed and numbed, unsure how to move forward.
It’s when I turn down another passage that I’m confronted with something I never imagined. The passage leads to what appears to be an exit. Hurst Manor looms in the far background, the lights from the many windows shining.
In the way of that exit stands a man unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before.
He’s… huge.
The largest man I’ve ever set eyes on, waiting in the dark, clutching a scythe. Easily over six feet. Closer to seven feet tall if not more.
But that’s not the most peculiar thing about him. The shadows that shroud around him can’t disguise what’s the muscled body of a man and head of a bull.
A minotaur.
Mask or not, the sight’s unreal.
He starts toward me, first at a walk, then a run.
I’m already whipping around and taking off before even giving it a thought. Any exhaustion and numbness cease to exist. I grit my teeth and grab the skirt of my ballgown, pumping my legs faster than I ever have. The maze presents turn after turn, passage after passage that I take in an attempt to escape him.
I run so far, I’m dizzy by the time I begin slowing down.
Arms wrap around me from behind and yank me into a groove tucked out of the way. A hand clamps over my mouth to silence my scream. I’m shoved up against the hedge wall and find myself pinned back by a masked man.
One that immediately feels familiar.
Archer lifts his warden mask to show me his face. Somehow, even in a twisted situation like this, he’s grinning.
I shove at his chest. “Don’t fucking do that!”
“I’ve been looking for you, minxy. Have you learned your lesson yet?”
“My lesson? And what lesson would that be? Fuck you or be chased down by psychotic killers in a dark maze?”
He thinks a second, then laughs. “That about sums it up, yes.”
