Page 23 of No Way Back
His eyes are Bambie-wide as he clutches the wall behind him like it’ll save him while Camila just stands there, ax in hand, covered in blood.
She’s the perfect vision of horror.
And she’s going to be mine until our last days.
“I-it was you, wasn’t it?” Kyle asks, body still pancaked flat against the wall, as if he’s trying to somehow become one with it. “Last year, in the corn maze. You’re the one who killed Noah.”
“And his little dog, too!” Camila’s impression is perfect, her sense of humor impossible not to love.
Loving everything about her is too easy.
She steps toward him, but there’s nowhere else for him to go. His eyes dart from her to me, and I know exactly what he’s thinking: he’s trying to gauge whether or not he can plow through her before I cut him down.
I hit the throttle, revving the chainsaw in warning.
He dies the minute he lays a hand on her.
He’ll die anyway, but at least here, we have some ground rules.
“Y-you’re insane. We’re in a prison!” he cries out.
Then, she lunges for him, ax still in hand. He tries to dodge her, but she hits him in the back before he can get past her, the blade of the ax slicing the side of his waist and sending him down.
He screeches, holding his side as he scrambles back into his little corner.
“S-stop, Camila!” Demanding, as if he has any authority over her.
My thumb itches for the throttle; I’m only waiting on her to give me the go. She snarls, biting at the air, amused at herself when she gets him to soil his pants by waving the ax too close to his dick.
“Gross. Why do they always piss themselves?” She turns back to me. “Remind me to Google that when we get home.”
“It’s the increased cortisol levels from stress,” I explain to her. “It causes involuntary muscle contractions in the pelvic floor.”
She sighs. “God, you’re so hot.”
“Y-you can’t do this, Mila.” He throws his hands out in front of her and waves them.
She chops at him with the ax, barely missing when he pulls back with frightened eyes. Her laughter is contagious.
“I think he’s right,” I tell her. “You can’t do this.” She spins on her heels, lifting the mask up for just a brief second to show me her confused expression. “It’s going to take too long if you do it with the ax.”
“Mmm. Grab him.” It’s all the command I need.
I lower the chainsaw, and in a few strides, I’m in front of him, a good four inches taller and far larger than this stringy ex-frat boy. He lunges to try to hit me, but I catch his fist in my palm, turning his hand backward and feeling the break too easily.
“Ah!” His scream is a pathetic wail, and he hits me with his one good hand while the other hangs limply in the wrong direction. “Fuck!” He blows snot bubbles from his nose, the tears running down freely.
I throw my fist into his face, stunning him long enough to pick him up. “What do you want to do with him?”
She’s walking through the dungeon with the flashlight in hand, thumbing through all the torture devices set out for the haunted tour. “It’s a shame we don’t have time to play.” There’s nothing but amusement in her tone.
I chuckle under my breath. “I think we played plenty, Darkling.”
With a pout, she turns on her heels, stopping in front of shackles. “Fine. Lock his wrists here.”
Kyle stops moaning from pain to shout protests, hitting my back with his elbows. I toss him to the concrete floor on his back, sending my boot into his ribs. His blood sprays out with a cough as he wheezes, clutching his stomach.
I lower to a squat in front of him.
