Haunt

Chapter 6

6

With my head spinning and finally able to breathe without his hand on my throat, I stare up at Ravage with narrowed eyes. My hands fall to the table, gripping the edges of it as I shudder under him. His now-free hand goes to my stomach, fingers splaying against my pale skin.

“Poor little princess,” he coos. “One would think you’ve never been fucked within an inch of your life before. You act like you might not be looking forward to it.”

“I hate you.” The words are soft on my tongue, and I flinch when he lifts his other hand, only to pluck at his glove until the hand I’d cut is bare.

He hums in response, flexing his fingers as he studies the shallow cut that’s smeared blood across his skin. “I can tell. You’ve cut me twice, and I like to think I’m pretty quick on the uptake, pretty girl. I think I can change your mind, though.” He drops both hands to trail them up my thighs, causing me to shudder against the table. “At least let me try to get you to like me.” His words are soft and promising, and he shifts on my thighs to lean over me on his knees, hands braced on either side of my head. “Promise I’ll make you feel so good. Promise you’ll enjoy everything…even if it hurts.” He leans down, bending on his elbows like he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he nuzzles at my throat, his soft murmurs of approval barely audible over my harsh breaths.

I wonder if he’s realized that he’s given me a bit more wiggle room. I stay still, not wanting him to notice, and tilt my head back as if I’m giving him better access to my neck.

Remembering the knife, I run the memory through my head, making sure I know where he dropped it. I can’t turn my head to check, but I’m relatively sure that it’s on the floor to my left. Taking a breath, I count myself down silently, terrified that this is going to go extremely poorly.

I have a bad feeling if I fuck this up, I won’t get another chance for a while. Or ever. I suck in another breath, just as he lifts his head, and bring my knees up under him to kick upward as hard as I can, nailing him in the stomach.

He yelps in surprise and pain, reeling backward, and another kick sends him crashing to the floor behind the table. I scramble off the table as well, hitting the ground on my knees hard as I drag my leggings back up over my hips. The knife glitters in the light from a window as I lunge for it, Ravage’s yells of fury spurring me forward.

Somehow, I manage to grab it and stumble to my feet, whirling on him just as he lunges in my direction. The blade between us stops him short, however, and he jerks to a stop a few inches from the tip of the blade that I hold in one shaking hand.

“I can’t decide if I’m more irritated at being kicked in the stomach or turned on by how fucking feral you are, princess,” Ravage snorts, moving to prowl around me but not coming any closer.

“I’d be way too irritated by the kick to think about anything else,” I snap, never lowering the knife as I turn to keep him in front of me. “But that’s just me.”

“We can fix that. Just takes practice to learn to get through the pain.” He lifts his shirt with his gloved hand, revealing a very toned abdomen and muscles that clearly have a very intimate relationship with the gym. Or rather, some form of workout. He presses his bare fingers just over his right hip as I watch, pressing down slightly with a groan. “You sure did get me good.” He laughs ruefully. “But now I have to worry about you hurting me with that knife again.”

“You’re only worried I’ll end your fun early,” I snap, sneering at him in frustration and panic. “You’re going to kill me anyway, so don’t act so magnanimous and full of concern.”

“Such a big word for a terrified little girl.” Ravage drops his shirt and holds his hands up, as if in surrender. But I don’t believe him for a second. “And yeah, you caught me. I’ll probably kill you when I’m done. I would prefer not to spend the rest of my life in jail, thanks very much.”

Rolling my eyes, I shift my grip on the knife to hold it more firmly in my clammy fingers. “Pretty sure I said I’d keep my mouth shut if you let me go. Remember?”

His snort nearly cuts me off, and I can almost feel his disbelief. “Oh, please. Don’t lie to me or yourself. You were never going to stay quiet. Not without either a little help, a lot of convincing, or…” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Like I said. I wouldn’t look cute in prison-chic orange.”

He lunges forward suddenly, giving me almost no warning as his hands reach for me. But I’ve been expecting something, I drop to one knee, ignoring the pain from hitting the concrete floor as I duck under his reach. This time I shove him in the back, using his momentum so he keeps going straight into a pile of wood and metal on the floor. He lands with a crash that I’m sure my long dead grandmother can hear from beyond the grave, but I don’t stick around to see if I somehow, luckily, killed him.

I doubt any part of my night is going to go that smoothly.

He groans in the heap, proving me right, and I take off at a run across the room, finding another door and hitting it hard to shove it open. He’d said the only way out was through the lobby, but nothing in me believes him. Why wouldn’t he lie to me, after all, just so I don’t try for another escape from the warehouse?

Distantly I worry about running into one of the others, but that’s a problem for future me. Right now I focus on the new hallway I’m in, wondering why the hell there are so many fucking hallways in a warehouse.

Voices from the end of the hall send a bolt of panic through me, and I look around the space, finding a door close to me and praying it’s open. The knob turns in my grip, revealing a small storage closet that definitely isn’t my first choice, but I’ll take what I can get.

I step inside and close the door, backing up to the shelves on the wall. I feel objects shift behind me, and I move to get more comfortable with a quick, silent prayer that I don’t knock anything to the floor.

A door opens and closes, and a girl’s voice echoes along the walls of the hallway. Two people pass in front of my door, judging by their shadows that block out the light under the door for a second or two each. But they don’t stop. They don’t even slow down at my door.

It feels like they aren’t even looking for me.

“It gets easier,” a girl murmurs. “You’ll be okay. Next year you’ll be able to focus on…” Another door opens and closes, cutting off their conversation before I even know what it’s about.

But I wait until I’m sure there’s no one in the hallway, or as reasonably sure as I can be. Finally I reach out, moving toward the door, only to feel a tug on my hoodie that makes me choke on the breath I’d taken. I can barely turn to see, and when I do, I find I’m caught on a hook hanging from the shelf I’d backed up into. More than one, judging by just how tightly I’m stuck. I tug, saying a prayer for my soon to be ripped hoodie, and promise myself to find another one just like it after tonight. It’s not like I’ll ever be able to get the blood out of this one, anyway.

But it doesn’t rip. It doesn’t come free, either, no matter how hard I tug or how I move it. “What the fuck?” I hiss, yanking on it until I hear the slight tearing of fabric. Still, I don’t feel any slack. Not yet. I tug again, but I can’t get the fabric to tear, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to have to leave it here.

God, I really, really don’t want to try to escape this place in just my skull-patterned bra and leggings. That feels like a snuff film waiting to happen. On the other hand, twisting around isn’t doing it, and finally I decide I’ll have to wiggle out of it and unhook it when it’s off.

Or rip it, depending on how bad it is.

I’m just about to pull my arm free of my sleeve when a door creaks open again, making me freeze in place. I’m too afraid to make any noise, and I hold my breath to wait for whoever it is to leave the hallway so I can get myself free. Their footsteps get closer, and a shadow passes under the door, but they stop for a moment, blocking the light from the door.

Seconds tick by until finally their shadow disappears and their steps retreat again, quickly becoming inaudible.

“Thank God,” I mutter, sucking in a breath to calm my pulse. Once again, I reach for my sleeve, my fingers curled around the hem of it just as the door opens wide, light spilling into the dark closet.

Harrow stands there, studying me from behind the animal mask while I just stare back. His head tilts to the side, and he turns to glance down the hallway while my brain reboots from the shock of him just knowing I was here. Before I can even begin to come up with a plan, he steps into the room, snatches the knife off of the shelf I’d set it on, and closes the door behind him to plunge us into darkness once again.