Malum: Part 1 (The Elite King's Club 4)

About twenty minutes later, we’re pulling up to a high gated house. There’s old brick lining the perfectly manicured grass. Brantley winds his window down, leaning out the window slightly and looking directly into a camera. Nate’s hand is on my thigh and in my attempt to ignore that, I wriggle in his lap. He clenches his grip and his lips come to the back of my neck.

“You’re making me testy, Tillie. I’ve been fucking light on you when it comes to this world, but that’s all about to change. When tonight is over? You’ll be running from me.”

Unable to entertain his idea, I ignore him. Brantley throws my shirt at me. “You might need this.”

Two minutes later, shirt now back on, we’re still driving down the long gravel driveway. The road begins to narrow, the trees caving in on us. Goosebumps break over my flesh. Getting driven into the unknown is sobering. Brantley’s car finally comes to a stop, the heavy rumbling of his engine beneath us and the headlights illuminating the masses of trees in front. In my clouded thoughts, I internally question what tonight is actually about, but before I can think too much into it, Nate’s lips touch the back of my neck again, his smile pressing against my flesh.

“Remember how Madison used to bitch about the games we played?”

I chew on my bottom lip. “Yeah.” My eyes fly to Bishop, who is watching me carefully.

Nate chuckles, his hand sprawling out over my tummy as he swings the door open with his other. “Well, now you’re the object. Run.” He shoves me out the door, and I swing around to glare at him.

“You brought me out here, wearing that, to play a game? No, Nate. I’m not Madison!”

Nate gets out of the car, and I hear the rest of the doors shut in the background. “Nah, that’s not why. But since you’re here, let’s play, baby. Ten.”

“Fuck you.”

He smirks. “Always so feisty. Eight.”

“You missed nine.” I roll my eyes. I’m feeling bold from all the alcohol I definitely should not have consumed.

“Two.”

My eyes snap to his.

His darken. “Run, princess.”

In my daze, I find myself looking over the artistic skull painted onto his face with perfect sharp precision, totally forgetting what he had just said. Only for a second, because a blood-curdling scream ripples out from somewhere behind me, and it shocks my feet into moving. Before I know it, I’m jogging through an unfamiliar forest with sweat dripping down my temple. My legs ache in protest, my feet throb from being inside my thigh-high boots, and my head spins from moving so fast, but realization slams into me like an unexpected wave of truth, threatening to pull me down and drag me out to sea. There is always a reason to their madness. Why am I here?

“No! No! NO!” That same scream reverberates through the air and every single hair on my skin stands to life.

What the fuck is going on.

I stop, swiping the sweat from my forehead. How did I get from drinking, to here, running through a damn forest, away from the most dangerous guys ever, with the screams of someone playing in the background. Is it playing?

Spinning around, I try to take a second to take in my surroundings. Everything is silent, with nothing but the heavy inhales of me sucking in air. Did they even chase me? Or was that a game to them too? Madison said that they liked to play games and actually compared them to The Riddler, but I’m feeling a little more like I’m in the middle of a Saw movie. All that’s missing is Billy the Puppet to roll up in here on his little trike.

“Help! Please!”

That voice isn’t going anywhere, so I decide to follow it. Running in the direction of where it was coming from. My white shorts will be ruined by the end of the night. Gripping onto the bark of a tree, my movements slow as I catch flickers of burnt orange raging in the air. A bonfire. My gaze shifts to the side where there’s a girl locked in a cage, her arms wrapped around her knees as she rocks back and forth like a caged animal. She has a dirty rag tied around her eyes and her hands and feet are tied together with rope. I can see from here that where the rope has rubbed against her skin has blistered as if she’s been like that for some time. My eyes drop to the floor of the cage where urine stains leak over the edges. I take a step forward but stop. I was too busy looking at her that I missed what was going on around her. My eyes go to the men standing around the fire. They’re all dressed in hooded robes, thrown over their faces. I count them. I get to nine when my stomach feels like it’s going to roll over. One of the guys that is directly opposite me, standing on the other side of the fire slowly lifts his head, not enough that I can see, but enough that I can make out the Dia los Muertos face paint. He smirks, his eyes coming to mine but his head remaining hunched over. My hand flies to my mouth in shock. Am I really shocked, though?