Page 134 of Sinners Reunion

On our way into this little campground, I remarked that one of the trees reminded me of the great creatures described in Tolkien’s novels. King and I share a love of the classics, and he knew exactly what I meant. Not many would these days.

Twigs snap again, a little closer this time. He’s trying to be sneaky, but I’ve already planned out my route. When he gets close enough, I’ll bolt down a game trail like a rabbit from its hiding place, and like the feral hound, he’ll pursue. After a merry chase, he’ll catch me and rip me limb from limb.

Leaves crunch, and that’s close enough.

With a giggle, I burst from my hiding place and take off down the narrow trail. Staying on this makes it easier for him to find me, but it also ensures I don’t go running headlong off a fucking cliff in this darkness. Woodland critters aren’t known for making trails off of cliffs, after all.

I glance behind me as my arms push brush and limbs out of my way. He’s so far back that I don’t need to run anymore. He’s little more than a dark shadow walking toward me. Actually, why the fuck is he walking? That’s almost creepier.

He keeps stalking toward me. I can’t see his face to know if he’s smiling or leering at me, and I think that sort of context might help my heart slow down. If he’s smiling, I’ll know this is just a game.

If he’s leering, though . . . I’m gonna fucking run.

“Come on, King!” I shout. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I said you could hunt me in the woods. I want a little more Ghostface and a little less Michael Myers.”

He’s close enough that I can see the rough silhouette of his head cock to the side, just like in Halloween. He’s mocking me.

Ass.

And he’s still walking.

Fine. We’ll have the slowest game of Fuck Me if You Can he’s ever played.

I turn and start walking. At this pace, he might catch up to me by next Wednesday.

When I turn to look back at him again, just to tell him how horny I no longer am, he’s not there. I have a clear line of sight through this section of trees, and I don’t see a shadow looming anywhere behind me.

The air takes on a heaviness, and I hold my breath.

Something doesn’t feel right. This isn’t like the last time we played.

“Squash casserole,” I say. “I thought I would enjoy this, but⁠—”

My heart stops. I feel the hand around my mouth before I hear the shuffle of leaves behind me. I’m unable to scream. I immediately know the skin is too soft, the smell isn’t right. Nothing about this touch feels safe or familiar or wanted.

I immediately know it’s not King.

I kick behind me, then drop my full weight to the forest floor. Blayne’s arms are strong, too strong, and he keeps his grip on me as we hit the earth. I mentally thank Sarah Lee for her delicious cheesecakes as my weight slams into him and knocks the breath from his lungs.

Unable to hold me while also contemplating his life choices, he releases his death grip and stares at the sky as his neck veins bulge.

I get to my feet and roll my eyes as I peer down at his writhing body. “I do not weigh that much. Stop being such a pussy.”

The last word is a grunt as I drive my sneaker into his side. I’m fucking pissed.

“I came all the way out here to have sexy time with my man, not so that you could finish what you tried to do back at the ranch when you fucking shot me.” I jump into the air and drive my foot into his ribcage again. “Guess what, motherfucker? I don’t die that easy.”

The retreat rules flash in my mind, and while I’m sure I’d be justified if I killed him right here, I’d rather not rock the boat when things are so tenuous for King. So instead of creating a problem, I’ll give King a gift. I’ll tell him how Blayne attacked me, and then he’ll get the joy of killing him.

I kick dirt into his eyes, and he screams.

“Shut the fuck up. You make me sick, and what you did to your fucking friend was disgusting.”

He utters a hoarse chuckle. “So you got the DNA back already? Is that why everyone’s been so cold?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

I go to kick more dirt at him, but his hand whips out and wraps around my ankle. It seems I’ve overstayed the living fuck out of my welcome, and he’s about to show me the door. Or in this case, the ground.