“You look good in a crown,” he murmured, so quietly the kids couldn’t hear.
I rolled my eyes, clutching the folded clue card. “Thanks.”
“Max doesn’t realize how good he has it,” he continued. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I sucked in a breath, becoming uncomfortable.
“Sorry if that was too forward,” he said, stopping right in front of me.
“It’s okay, Rhett, but I’m married, and this conversation is inappropriate.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. But know”—he stepped forward, closing the gap between us—“when he fucks up, there are others out here waiting for their shot. You have a full lineup.”
He smiled, angled his flashlight low, and jogged to catch up with the group. I furrowed my brow at his comment. Full lineup? What did he mean?
My heart was racing as I followed the trail, which split in two. I turned right, hearing their voices echo through the trees, but as I moved forward, their voices grew fainter and fainter. I realized I’d taken a wrong turn.
“Wait… guys?” I called, picking up my pace. The rasp of leaves catching in the wind was the only sound that kept me company, along with the quickening of my heart rate.
My flashlight flickered, the light barely cutting through the trees. Every trunk looked the same. Every shadow bent toward me like dark arms outstretched.
I heard giggling, but it was faint, too far away. I followed the sound anyway.
The sounds intensified as I rounded the corner. And then I stopped.
My entire body felt as if it were being swallowed by quicksand. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t function. My brain went blank as I watched what was happening in front of me. I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes, desperate to erase the image.
Heather was shoving a tall, dark-haired boy against a tree.
Max.
She was plastered against him, fingers knotted in his hair as she yanked his face toward hers. His head wrenched away at the last second, her mouth crashing against his cheek instead of his lips. His hands weren’t pulling her closer. They were on her shoulders, shoving, trying to force space between them. He looked… drunk. Sluggish. Like his body wasn’t listening to what his hands were trying to do.
“Stop,” he murmured. His voice was slurred, dazed. “I l…lov…love my wife.”
“What the fuck?! What the fuck!! Oh my God, Max. Whatis going on?” The scream ripped out of me. It almost didn’t sound like me at all.
He pulled back from Heather and met my gaze, but his eyes were unfocused. His pupils were blown wide. He looked intoxicated, unnatural, like a ghost inhabiting his body.
He remained silent. There was no remorse, no tears, no flinching. He wasn’t exhibiting any of his natural cues when he was in trouble. He just stared at me like he had no idea who I was while my screams shook the air. Then, he covered his ears with both hands and squeezed his eyes shut, like the sound of my pain was too much for him to bear.
“Mackenzie?” he whispered, his voice slurred and empty, like he didn’t even know what he’d done or how he’d gotten there. “Run.”
I stood there, shaking, my sobs punched back into my chest, about ready to run, until a new sound sliced through the clearing. Hooves scraping against wood.
Trembling, I turned toward the noise, my heart pounding against my ribs.
A man wearing a deer head stood in the gap between two trees. Antlers shimmered silver in the moonlight, grotesque and surreal. Broad shoulders. That lazy, confident stance. Even under the mask, I knew. He shuffled his feet from left to right, and he flicked his fingers at his side.
A habit I knew so well.
Jackson.
My lungs locked. I opened my mouth to scream, but Heather turned and smirked.
“Hey, baby.”
The deer-headed man slowly tilted his head as he acknowledged her, then pulled out a long hatchet. The sharp blade caught the moonlight.
