Would you?
A small voice I haven’t heard in years taunts me. Fuck. No. No, I fucking wouldn’t. Not in a public place, not with witnesses. But the voice telling me this is stupid is overridden by the voice telling me the fucker’s brain needs to be bashed until it’s a liquid mass pooled by my feet,
The darkness in me bubbles with excitement at the thought of the blood I’m going to spill. It’s fucked up how much I enjoy hurting and killing people. The twisted maze in my brain is jumbled unless I can hurt something. Anything.
“Get your hands off her.”
The blond guy adjusts the lapels of his suit in some sort of rich preppy boy nonsense. “I’m not sure you know who I am, but you should watch your tone. There are a lot of eligible young ladies here.” He turns to the little mouse. “She’s already spoken for.”
The fucker doesn’t get it. I could buy and sell him without blinking. These rich fuckers think wearing expensive clothes and having names attached to some dead motherfucker gives them power. He has shit. Power is when you don’t give a fuck. This asshole gives so many fucks that he reeks with it. It’s all an image for these trust fund idiots. They want to look dignified when in reality, they’re lower than fucking vermin. He’s never come across a fucker like me. I’ll bash his brains for all his little blue-blood friends to see and not give two shits about what any of them think of me.
My fingers move across the lapel of his suit. Expensive Italian wool, the best of the best. “I don’t give a fuck who you are. I’ll kill your ass in this room by pulling out your heart and feasting on it, and not one of your rich asshole friends will do anything to stop me.”
To emphasize my point, I move my hand down until I grip his wrist. I tilt it back, smiling when his bones snap, and he wails like the little bitch he is. “Just like I predicted. Not one of these fuckers will come to your rescue.”
Still holding on to his wrist, I move my hand between his jacket and white dress shirt, remove the wallet from the inside pocket, and pull out his driver’s license. “Run off before I have to take things a little further.”
“Can I-I have my driver’s license?” he stammers.
My hand shakes with the visible tremors of his body.“Nah, this is mine.” He’s shorter than me, but most people are. At six feet six inches, I always tower over people. I bend down and whisper in his ear. “Make sure you sleep with one eye open.”
I place the driver’s license in my pocket and smile as he scampers off, nursing his broken wrist.
The alarm buzzes for the prey, and the little mouse rises. She wipes her hands on her pretty dress like she’s trying to remove imaginary wrinkles or a stain.
“I’ll be seeing you, Little Mouse. Make sure you don’t let anyone else touch you because out there, you’ll get the animal.” I smirk as she swallows, eyes wide, skin turning pink. “I can’t wait to see that blush all along your skin as I rip this pretty dress off and fuck you hard against a tree.”
She casts her eyes down, focusing on the gold flecks on the marble floor. “Are you taking part in the hunt?”
I touch the delicate skin under her chin with my index finger, raising it so she’s forced to look at me. My eyes trail down her body, smiling at the idea of marking her pretty flesh before meeting her dark eyes. “I’ll be taking part in hunting you.”
ChapterFour
Bree
“I’ll be taking part in hunting you.”
The gravel in his voice and the heat in his touch send electric currents surging through my body. The intensity of his eyes has me clenching my thighs and needing a change of panties. He’s a big man. He towers over my five feet four-inch height.
When the whistle blows for the prey, I don’t bother responding to his comment. I scamper off with the deep sound of his laughter following me. He’s got a nice laugh. It’s not menacing like his appearance. It’s oddly jovial, like a mall Santa’s. A guy who can laugh like that can’t be all bad, right?
The blond guy's name was Ted. A pompous jerk who wouldn’t take my “no, thank you” to his advances. Every time his hot breath landed on my flesh, I wanted to tuck my tail between my legs and run. I’ve been around men like him before, entitled, arrogant, and convinced they can have whatever they want. I came here to get off, not to get fucked while my vag was dry like the Sahara. Ted is the kind of guy who would stick his dick in a dry vagina and then make his delusional mind believe he’s a good lover. He’d probably only last a second too. He gave off one-minute-man energy. But the masked man, he was something else.
Yes, Jason Voorhees energy.
He looks dangerous and not in the “bad boy riding a motorcycle” way, but the “he might chop up bodies and hide them in the cellar” way. Yet even knowing the guy is something strange, I’m drawn to his gritty voice and piercing blue eyes. Those eyes. They can’t be normal. Wolves don’t even have eyes that blue.
But the devil does.
I line up in formation with twenty or so other women. Our eyes are locked on the prison gladiator-type gate in front of us facing the forest beyond. It’s a bit dramatic, but I suppose the club wants to set the mood.
A crackling, static sound comes from the loudspeakers above. “Prey,” a deep, ominous voice announces. “It is time to begin.” The creaking sound of the metal gates is jarring as they rise, exposing the lush wilderness beyond. “Run far, run fast, run like your life depends on it.” A pause for effect. “Because it might.”
The tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention, and goose flesh pricks along my skin. My feet make haste over the unleveled slopes and valleys on the ground. There are rock formations ahead of me, pebbled along the lush green grass. Trees complete the landscape, high, looming, and majestic.
Fresh air moves into my lungs as I focus on my breathing. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, but there’s a rush, a boost of adrenaline flowing in my veins, a most intoxicating drug I want to be lost in forever.
I haven’t been running long, but the concept of running fromsomethingmakes me feel like I’ve been running for hours. This is a funny game to want to play. I chase to be caught, yet I still run. A sense of danger builds within me. Theoretically, this is a safe situation. The danger is not the running itself but the chase. The anticipation of what will happen once I’m finally caught. This could be a complete bust, a lackluster experience, a waste of time, or it could be what I’ve been searching for. It all depends on the predator who catches me in his grasp.