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I crept silently towards the kitchen, watching as the girl before me opened and closed cupboards, slamming them in her frustration. In truth, she was doing a piss poor job of looking properly - she didn't even remove any of the pots to look inside them.
Or perhaps I had simply been around those who struggled for longer than I cared to admit because in a household where valuables were scarce and money was thin, you'd almost always find any sort of savings either in a cookie jar of some sort, some old pots that were rarely used, or the freezer.
I watched from the doorway where the shadows seemed to warp and blend, giving me some semblance of cover. She was manic in her search, her dark hair swinging into her face, obscuring her eyes periodically. Two large glass doors sat between the pantry cupboard and a countertop. I tracked her movements as she opened those doors - watched as she scanned the contents of the fridge before she finally stepped inside.
Because a manor of this caliber needed a walk-in-fridge. I listened carefully for the stairs - for any floorboards creaking that may alert me to the fact that Kylie was on the move, but only silence sung out. And then I moved, slowly, quietly, until my fingers could graze the polished glass doors of the fridge. The girl spun as if sensing me there. Large chocolate brown eyes set in a pretty heart-shaped face widened in surprise. Before she could exclaim in shock, I swung the door shut, watching the airlock seal engage as I trapped her with the perishable goods. She screamed. I knew she did because her mouth opened and closed a few times, her face riddled with anger and indignant betrayal. But behind the thick glass of the fridge, I heard nothing. Next, her fists came down on the glass, shaking the goods beside her in all her fury, and yet the glass itself did not budge. It made me wonder if this wasn’t the first time someone had used the fridge to lock someone in - to get rid of an inconvenience.
I stood there for a minute more than I should have before pushing off. The girl had nothing I needed, and locked in the fridge, she would be one less problem to worry about. I lifted the coffee can and checked the cookie jar on my way out - because old habits and all that.
It didn’t take long for me to retrace my steps until I stood at the helm of the stairs, looking up to where I knew the necklace must be hidden. I pressed my foot on the wooden paneling of the first step - tentatively at first, before applying my full pressure. Wholly aware of how little time I truly had to make it up the stairs, I exercised the same method on each panel, resulting in no groaning floorboards, but the process was slow going. By the time I finally made it up the stairs, my body ached in places it shouldn’t from all the core holding I had to do to ensure that I didn’t apply too much pressure on the wrong part of the board. Adrenaline surged through my system, my heart pumping faster than it usually did, and still I forced myself to stay stationary and listen.
It was quiet up here, far quieter than it should be with two girls searching for the same diamond collar. Unless they were working together? The thought alone seemed unlikely.
The wallpaper up here was a dark maroon color with the gold fleur-de-lis printed on it. It made the entire floor feel ominous, somehow, as if we were really in the horror version of The Truman Show.
It was quiet up here, until it wasn’t.
A door slammed further down the hall, and something about the ferocity in the movement had me creeping towards the sounds with my back against the wall. But then the door slammed again. And again. And while I couldn’t be certain, it sounded like the same door.
I was on them before I could truly fathom what I was seeing. The amount of blood may have been shocking for me if I hadn’t moonlighted for The Warden, but it was still somewhat unexpected from a woman who so desperately wanted to be a Society wife. It was a pity, really, because she really would have been the better choice for their ranks.
Kylie had managed to pin the girl in the doorframe, but pinning her and hindering her movements wasn’t enough, her need to decimate her competition was visceral. She opened the door methodically, only to slam it against the girl, ensuring the edge of the door smacked into her head each time. The girl was already dead, or if not dead, so close to it that you couldn’t tell the difference. A wide gash opened up on her forehead, the edge of the door frame sliding neatly into her skull with each slamming movement, courtesy of Kylie. She was so well lodged into the wooden carving of the door that I couldn’t tell where her forehead ended and the doorframe began. Rivulets of blood ran down her cheek and neck, dripping into a dark stain on the carpets below.
That was one of the first mistakes they had made when setting this game into motion - you never conducted a murder where there were carpets. That amount of blood was almost impossible to clean.
Kylie seemed to sense my presence through intuition alone, or perhaps it was animal instinct. Because in this moment, we were nothing but animals. I held firm, allowed her gaze to rake over me - to take in my stance and appearance. And in turn, I allowed my own gaze to take her in. She was covered in the splatter of the girl's blood, almost high on the consequences of it all. But that wasn’t what intrigued me, for there - clutched in her hand, was the diamond collar.
I stifled my grin, instead, replacing my expression with one of shock - horror, really, because how could she do this?
And then I turned tail and ran. I aimed for the stairs, counting on the bloodlust pumping through her to make her a little less careful. I was quicker than she was and almost needed to slow my steps so that we would crest the top of the stairs together. It was almost too easy - the way she charged at me in a rage, her teeth bared, her mannerisms utterly feral. I feigned terror, and when she was on me, I swung my body the way that The Warden had taught me, my hand sliding against her wrist, tangling in the collar that was clutched in her grip, and as soon as her back was towards the staircase, I lifted the heel of my shoe and pushed my boot deep into her stomach. Her gaze flared as she gasped out a strange whooshing sound.
I watched in satisfaction as she tumbled down the stairs whilst I stood victorious at the top, diamond collar in tow. On the eighth landing, her body ricocheted, her neck crunching against the banister. I left her lying there, her eyes open wide, unblinking, as I walked past her and into the foyer to claim my position.
Of course, I arrived appearing disheveled and shocked, mumbling that it was a mistake - I hadn't meant to hurt her. And those Society fools bought every word.
Chapter Twelve : Fridays Are For Fucking
Mack
IavoidedMarissaforthe duration of the week. It couldn’t be helped because if I saw her in our suite again I would fuck her. The way she had arched up into me, offering herself in the most basic way, was something I could write fucking sonnets about.
I didn’t know who she was other than the fact that Iwantedher. And The Society paired us together, so as far as I was concerned - no harm, no foul. Only, as much as I was avoiding her, she had been avoiding me, too, and I wasn’t certain it was for the same reasons.
It was the first official Friday in this place - the first Friday after surviving a week of their bullshit classes. And after a week, I knew that I liked Ajax and his band of merry nitwits even less than I did when I arrived here. Still, there was an energy that belonged solely to Friday that was undeniable, and even while I sat pretty under The Society’s thumb, it coursed through my veins. If I was at home, I would be throwing darts or shooting pool to start the night out. Here I was, forced to settle for the smell of stale tobacco as my boots pressed against Joe’s floor. The familiarity of the smell was the only thing I took comfort in. Of course, I had called home - had checked in with both my ma and pops, but under The Society’s surveillance, it was difficult to have a conversation beyond yes and no answers. They knew where I was - that I wassafe, and in turn, I knew about them.
I seated myself at the bar, the first of our party to arrive, and if I closed my eyes and allowed the sounds of Joe’s to wash over me, I could almost pretend that I was back home, gearing up for a night on the town. I threw back a shot of whiskey, and then another, knowing full well that it would do nothing to give me the buzz I craved. When you grew up on the stuff, it stopped having an effect on you. In truth, though, it wasn’t a buzz I craved - it was release - it was oblivion - it was a pretty little blonde that kept her own secrets. The longer I was away from her, the more I seemed to crave her, and even as I sat here at the bar, ready for a game of cards and who knew what else, she was all I could fucking think about.
It wasn’t simply that sheconsumedme, it was that I was obsessed. As if I were circling someone who I had assumed was a little deer until I finally realized I was staring at the female version of myself. She was just as vicious - equally as feral, only all of that hostility was packaged in the blonde bombshell persona she had going on. I wanted to sink into her, fuck her until we were both spent and panting and fucking broken. I wanted her to ride my cock until I couldn’tthink- couldn’tworry- couldn’tremember. Because my family had made a bum deal, one that we would be paying off for centuries if I didn’t fix our predicament while I was here.
Raquel arrived first, ordering champagne as seemed to be her forte. Next was Aria, who couldn’t look more out of place than she did dressed in her designer gear at Joe’s.
Raquel was all fire and snark, and she seemed to hate Ajax and Joshua as much as I did. I didn’t know her story, but damaged goods recognized damaged goods, and she was hefting around all kinds of trauma. The two women I now found myself running with were so far removed from the boys back home, and if I had any interest in either of them, the friendship might not have worked, but they didnothingfor me. They weren’t rough enough - raw enough. They were too polished - toopracticedfor my liking, which made playing cards with them an easy feat. And I had to give it to them, the two girls were funny. Every now and then Raquel passed a comment about The Society or alluded to me and my upbringing in a way that gave me pause, wondering if she knew who my family really was. But then just as quickly as she voiced her opinion, so the topic was changed with the smoothness and skill that couldn’t be anythingbutSociety-engineered.
The stakes were never high when we played cards, but they werefun. The rule was that each of us had to throw in something we already owned - no money and nothing we could buy. My mother - bless her fucking heart - had packed a brand new pair of crocs in my luggage. When I had questioned her about them on the phone, she had argued that I needed to bepreparedfor any assignment that The Society would throw at me, and while I appreciated the sentiment, there wasn’t a scenario in hell that would see me wearing those fucking shoes. So, naturally I had wagered them in our card game - somethingowned.
It was as if there was a magnetism between us that seemed to draw my gaze to hers even when I wasn’t seeking her out. Because there she was - in the seedy version of a bar on The Society’s grounds. She looked far too pretty and far too innocent for The Society’s games, but then I supposed that was all part of her front.
Dressed in a pretty, pale yellow dress that showed a hint of her cleavage with ribbons for straps. It made me want to tug those ribbons loose simply to see if the dress would fall off of her entirely. The dress in question fell to her thighs, flaring at her hips in a way that seemed to highlight her hourglass figure, and I wanted nothing more than to drag her into a bathroom stall. But she’d probably stab me for that, and there must have been something wrong with me because, fuck, if I didn’t find that a turn on.
