Kill Switch (Devil's Night 3)

After a moment, he answered behind me. “Polo.”

I spun around, and he grabbed for me, slipping his hands up my short skirt, but I pushed them back down again, touching his face.

“Close your eyes,” I told him, making sure his lids were closed. “Keep them closed and find me.”

“And if I find you?”

I grinned at his loaded tone and backed away, getting a head start.

“You won’t,” I teased, immediately finding a diversion in the path and slipping off to the left.

I moved slowly, careful of my steps and knocking into the plastic panels, which I assumed were clear, since it felt exactly like the funhouses I’d been in at carnivals when I was younger. He’d better not cheat. He could see me through the panels. I couldn’t see him.

Traipsing down a path, heel to toe in soft steps, I felt the wall end, and I turned right this time, slipping through the narrow opening.

I didn’t know if Damon was moving, but I heard his voice after a few moments. “Marco?” he called, and I heard his voice echo from off to the right.

“Polo,” I replied, trying not to laugh.

I crept along the path, darting into another lane and accidently hitting the toe of my shoe on a panel.

It made a noise, rocking between its screws, and I froze, putting my hand over my mouth.

Shit.

His heavy footsteps made the floors creak, but since this thing was on a trailer, the whole damn floor whined, so I couldn’t gauge where the hell he was coming from.

Until he said, “Marco?” And I gasped, hearing him right on the other side of the panel in front of me.

I winced, squeaking, “Polo.”

A slam hit the panels, and I jumped, knowing he knew exactly where I was and dashing away as fast as I could, not caring that I was loud and clumsy.

“Marcooooo?” he sing-songed, hitting the panels and taunting me as he got caught up in the hunt.

Jesus. Even blind, he was a lion.

“Polo,” I said quickly, slipping into another avenue, unable to control my giggling.

“Marcooooo,” he threatened from somewhere behind me.

Oh, my God. I stepped quickly, banging my hands all over the panels and searching for my way out, but I couldn’t find it.

Where is it?

“Marco!” he called again.

Where is it? Where is it? I searched, flailing my hands and patting the walls.

Finding an opening, I slid through, relief washing over me and finally answering, “Polo.”

But then he was there, snatching me up and wrapping his arms around me. I screamed.

“What’s my prize?” he teased in my ear.

I shook, caught between laughing and fighting to breathe.

“What do you want?” I shot back.