Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 55

55

Pull the Plug - VOILA

I watch them run into the corn, and the most profound sense of loneliness washes over me. I see the love those two look at each other with. Well, it’s not love. It’s a fucked up mix of possession, protectiveness, hate, and loyalty.

And I want it.

And if that doesn’t scare the living piss out of me, I don’t know what will. Fucking hell, get me into a therapist. Right fucking now. Because I’m feeling left out of a murderous duo.

Despite myself, I find my feet following them. I’m gliding on my tiptoes, and I shuck my shoes off and keep going. I feel the earth under my toes, just like I wanted to do when I first came to this maze.

I should go. I absolutely should go. Run and not look back. They won’t want me. They have each other. That’s why they needed me all along, right?

But I’m still running over the earth, following them. I cut out of the maze into the rows of uncut corn. The dry leaves are whispering in the hot wind, and I smell the acidic dirt.

I hear shouts and veer toward them.

I’ll run. I will. I just need to see this last one out.

For my papa’s sake.

There’s a scream close by, and I slow, peeking around. There are no lights in this part of the field, but my eyes have adjusted.

There’s a crash of corn and a bloodcurdling scream. It’s followed by a gleeful laugh. It’s Riley.

“What’s my name, little pincushion?”

“I found him first.”

There’s another scream, and I inch closer. I see them then. Manson and Riley stand around a man on the ground. He’s gripping his side, heaving for breath.

Riley kicks him. “I asked you a question.”

“Riley,” the man pants.

I see the flash of her teeth as she grins. “Wooow. Better than Sooners.”

I watch as Manson and Riley stalk around him like predators. They look completely in their element—powerful, unfeeling, and dangerous.

Even though I know them, it makes a shiver run down my spine. Which makes my pussy wet.

The man tries to crawl away, and Manson steps quietly on his hand, making him moan. “My wife was talking to you. It’s rude to walk away.”

Riley’s grin widens as she stares down at the man. “You’re pretty bad at hide and seek, fuckhead. Which is ironic ‘cause it was your idea to play.”

He moans, and she jerks her hand down toward him. I notice the flash of a blade as she pulls it back toward her. She stabbed him.

She looks so wild like this. So powerful and…free. And I fucking love it. It makes my stomach do flip-flops. I realize with a start that she looks like everything I wanted when I was a kid. Both of them do. Someone to protect me. Someone to be the confidence I needed.

Suddenly, Riley looks up. She looks around her like she’s looking for something. Her dark eyes pierce the corn.

My body tenses. I should run. I should go now before she catches me.

But against all reason, I don’t.

Riley’s gaze locks with mine. Instantly, the lines on her face relax.

Manson drives a kick into the man’s ribs as he tries to run. “Where’s Rachel?”

The energy in Riley’s gaze is electric. I feel the connection run up and down my arms, making goosebumps run over my skin. Eye contact has always been hard. Scary. But with Riley? It’s fireworks. Still scary, but there’s a thrill to it.

Riley holds my gaze as she smirks. “I’m sure she’s around.”

Manson glances up, right at me. Slowly, his mouth quirks up in an evil smile.

Manson and Riley go back and forth, taking turns toying with the man. They work seamlessly as a team, working to maneuver him between them and stringing him along. I know they could kill him quickly, but they don’t.

My throat tightens. I can’t take my eyes away. It’s like a beautiful ballet. Their bodies are lithe and powerful. They both make my stomach do flips. Even Riley. Especially Riley.

So maybe I’m a little gay. Or maybe a lot gay. I’m not sure it even matters anymore.

As I watch them torture a man, my chest tightens as multiple emotions swim through me. I struggle with myself for a minute. It’s not the torture that’s confusing. Suddenly, it hits me that it’s sadness I’m feeling.

I never got to get my justice. It was ripped from me in the most undramatic, slow way possible. I always used to tell myself I didn’t care. That at least he was gone, and that’s all that mattered. But maybe I do care.

I care enough that Riley getting her justice makes my throat tighten in something that’s a mix of sad but mostly something happy.

I swallow down the tears.

The man stops moving after a while. I know he isn’t dead yet ‘cause they’ve now begun a competition to see who can wake him up.

That’s when I know I need to go. It’ll be over soon, and then they won’t be distracted. I need to be gone. They won’t bother much to chase me down. They know I won’t say a word. I know what they’re capable of. Fuck, Manson knows where my mom lives.

But beyond that, I wouldn’t say a word anyway. It’s gotta be Stockholm, but I get it. I really get it. Riley’s just hurt, and Manson tries to protect her. She doesn’t deserve to be in jail. I don’t want her to be in jail. Either of them.

I take a step back, and my chest tightens. The dirt digs between my toes, grounding me.

I take a deep breath. I can do this.

I turn, and I run.

The only place I have to go is back to my house. I find my shoes at the edge of the maze and run. It’s a long way back to town, but I don’t want to steal their car and give them another reason to chase after me. So, I run until someone picks me up and drives me back home.

Every second I’m gone, my body feels tight. I feel tight. When I make it back to my house, my front door isn’t locked, and when I open it, I find pieces of the door jamb on the floor. It must have been from when they took me the first time.

I shut it behind me, even though it’s meaningless. Dawn is just starting to poke through, casting meager light into the house. My Halloween decor is still up, and all it makes me think about is Riley.

No. Fuck. Bad. I have to forget her. Forget either of them existed and go back to being me.

My throat is tight again. I’m both extremely wired and bone-achingly exhausted. I check my bedside table, finding just two sleeping pills left in my bottle. I’m about to take them when my eyes lock on the mouse skull sitting on the table.

I stop. My eyes well up with tears, and this time, some of them spill over.

No! Fuck, no.

I pop the last two pills in my mouth and fall into bed, trying my best to keep the rest of the sobs locked in. I got what I wanted. Right? I’m alive, and I’m home. Everything I could have ever wanted. Right?

It’s quiet in here. So quiet. There’s no passion, no battle of wills, no nothing. That used to be a comforting thing. But now, all I feel is empty and unsettled.

This isn’t right. I can’t possibly want two serial killers. It’s just the Stockholm. I’ll get over it in what…a day? A week? A few weeks?

It feels like an eternity. I toss on my bed, suddenly bitter. How dare they do this to me?

How fucking dare they? I slip into a fitful sleep.