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“Yes, you are. Who gets to die next? You have to pick, or I’m not letting you leave these woods tonight.”Aliveis implied, I’m sure. Even though he doesn’t say it. My heart flutters in my chest, and with the way his body is pressed to mine, I’d be surprised if he doesn’t feel it.
“I’m not picking,” I say more firmly. “You think I’m just going to name someone in this town for you tokill? Are you fucking crazy?”
“I think you’re going to give me the name of someone who hurt you and deserves to die,” he clarifies. “And I think you’re fooling yourself if you’re going to pretend you haven’t already thought of a name.”
He’s right.The realization is painful with its clarity, and I cut my gaze away, trying to turn my head to stare at the leaves instead of him. But he doesn’t let me. The man holds my jaw in his leather-gloved hand and makes me face him, though I stare at the black sky instead of the white mask.
I do have a name.
And that makes this so much worse.
“What’s their name?” he purrs so sweetly that I feel it in my bones. “Come on, Bailey. This isn’t difficult.” He presses the mask against my throat, as if he can actually feel the skin of my neck and shoulder against his own.
“I’m not doing this. You can just kill me.” My fingers tighten into fists and I twist my wrists, looking for a way out. “I’m not doing this.”
“Yes, you are.” I hate how certain he sounds. How sure of himself, and how sure ofmehe is.
“No.”
“And I’m not going to let this devolve into an argument. I’m notarguingwith you, Bailey, do you hear me?” Yeah, I hear him and the stupidly hot voice he’s using, though it’s barely more than a whisper.
“How do you know my name?” I ask instead, moving my legs to see what I’m working with. Not much, as he proves when he readjusts his weight to pin me more thoroughly, just to prove he can.
“Does it matter?”
“It sure as hell does if you’re actually trying to get me to name someone in this town for you tokill. And why are you doing this?” I jerk away from him just so I can stare at the mask, wishing I could grab it with my teeth and pull it off of his stupid face so I could glare at him, spit on him, or both.
Well, okay, I probably don’t have the guts to spit on the man with a knife who just offed Evan in a storage room.
FuckingEvan.
I don’t feel bad. I can’t, and that just makes this worse.
“One day, I’m sure you’ll be in my position.” He rolls his hips into mine and nearly makes me choke, in case I was unclear about what hispositionwas until this moment. “And then you can ask me all the questions in the world,Bailey.” I hate the way he says my name. Like he’s goading me with the knowledge of it. “But unfortunately, the odds aren’t in your favor tonight. So tell me who it’s going to be.”
“I could wait you out,” I reply, just because I can andI’m not giving him a name.
Especially the one that’s at the front of my mind,begging to fall from my lips like a stone.
“You aren’t that patient,” he chides, cradling my face in one hand easily. “And you’re cold.”
“You’re warm,” I quip. “It evens out.”
His head tilts at that, and I swear he’s studying me like he can’t figure out what my problem is. Though honestly, if he could, he would deserve a lot more money than my therapist gets. But whatever his thoughts are, he’s quiet as he looks at me, as he studies my face like I’ve stumped him.
For a few precious seconds, I’m sure that I’ve won. If he’s not going to stab me, then I’m not going to give him a name. He should leave before I do something menacing. Like figure out a way to bend my knee backward and kick him.
Then a scoff grabs my attention, and I realize instantly that it hasn’t come from the man above me.
“You should’ve known she wasn’t going to give up that easily.” A man strides out from behind the large oak tree, the same mask on his face and dressed in all black, though his hood is down. As I watch, he unsheathes a bloody knife from his belt and flips it up into the air, catching it by its hilt. “I told you to let me do it. You’re tooniceto her.” He sneers the word like an insult, and the man above me makes a grating noise of displeasure.
He says something then, too, but I don’t hear it in the whirring of my racing thoughts.
Because the man standing up has blood on his mask and he isn’t whispering.And I know that voice. But if I know his voice, then I know who’s on top of me as well.
“Fuck,” I whisper, drawing their attention down to me and interrupting whatever conversation they were having. “Are youfuckingkidding me? Now I really wish I could hit you.”
“What?” he asks, though now that I know who he is, the growl in his voice is obvious. I’ve heard it a thousand times before, and only my adrenaline and fear have kept me from figuring it out so far. And God, now that I know, the pieces of the puzzle won’t stop sliding into place.
