Hunting Adeline: Part 1 – Chapter 14

That’s such a good girl, little mouse. Open that pretty mouth and taste me…

You’ve been naughty, mouse. You like it when I punish you, don’t you?

I could eat you for days, and it would never be enough…

Fuck, baby, I’m so fucking addicted…

I jolt awake, and for one beautiful second, I thought I was back in Parsons Manor with Zade. Images of mismatched eyes and a wicked smirk clog my headspace, but the sudden movement lances sharp needles of pain throughout my skull. The memories dissipate, Zade’s deep tenor fading as the dull throb that radiates from between my legs feels like a curse that was cast by an evil witch—a curse that won’t let me forget.

Bright sunlight pierces through the dusty curtains, and it almost feels mocking. I squint my eyes, the migraine worsening as I train my tired eyes on the dirty window.

It’s cold outside, but it doesn’t look like we’ll be plagued by the usual rainy forecast today.

The phantom in the sky really is a devil. Why else would She make such a gruesome day so bright and sunny?

Today is the Culling, and already the house seems to be filling up with chatter.

To make matters worse, my body doesn’t feel nearly as broken as I thought it would. My soul? Completely shattered. But at least I can fart without feeling like I’m going to pass out, right?

Wrong. If I could hardly move, it might’ve provided me with an excuse to not participate in the Culling.

Despite the beating my body took three days ago from my punishment for failing the practice test, my wounds are healing, so lying to her about my physical well-being when the other girls will still have to take part… It makes me feel like a coward.

So, thank you, God, for the small blessings in life and for allowing me to see another day and pass gas properly. A-fucking-men, bitch.

Phoebe, Bethany, and Gloria were raped alongside me. Jillian kept her head down when she walked past us, but Sydney blatantly laughed in our faces, and all I wanted to do was grab her hair and drag her down on that dirty ground next to us. It was her fault I was on that floor to begin with, naked men crowding around me, and already injured from her stunt with Francesca.

All I could think about as we were passed around from man to man was how much I hated her. Hated her superiority and hated her for sabotaging me.

It was the only thing that got me through touches from dirty fingers and violent invasions from men that weren’t my shadow.

Afterward, Rio carried me up to my bed, my legs physically unable to support me from the abuse my body endured. He couldn’t look at me. Not when he did nothing while men stole from me, and then he picked up that broken girl and carried her to bed—only because Francesca demanded it of him.

But he did speak to me. He told me about a mythical being rumored to terrorize Puerto Rico. He told me when he was young, he was playing with his baby sister when he swears that he saw it. A creature that was there one moment and gone the next.

I don’t know why he told me that story. Maybe to distract me, but I suppose it worked. He gave me a monster that didn’t feel real instead of focusing on the monsters that are.

“Get up.” The sharp slap that follows the harsh words startles me, and I yelp from both the surprise and pain. I hadn’t even heard her come in, despite her loud-ass heels. She must’ve gotten new ones already.

I look up to find Francesca staring down at me, a frown marring her bright pink lips. She looks disappointed in me, and I hate how small that makes me feel.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. What am I supposed to do? Apologize?

After she assaulted me with her broken heel and I was gang-banged by Rocco’s friends, she couldn’t bear looking at me for a full day. Yesterday, I had finally broken through and managed to convince her that Sydney was the one to destroy her things.

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t even appear remorseful. But she did lock Sydney in an old cellar on the property for the entire day, and I’m almost ashamed to admit how much it soothed my soul to hear her screaming to be let out. Already, I’m changing, and the old Addie is unrecognizable.

I’ve never wanted to hurt someone until now. Never felt the urge to grab a knife and rip someone’s throat open ear to ear.

I’m vibrating with it, but Sydney isn’t the only one on the receiving end. I’m pissed at every single person in this house, save for the other innocent girls.

Especially with Francesca, and every man who stole a piece of my soul that night. A piece I don’t even think Zade will ever be able to get back for me.

There will always be pockets missing where my innocence used to reside.

“Get ready in the beauty room. Our guests will be here soon.” Her eyes flicker down my body snidely. “Look presentable,” she tacks on, the words digging into my skin like a needle, before turning and walking out, her clicking heels echoing against the hardwood floor.

Grinding my teeth, it takes monumental effort not to fucking scream. From rage, pain, and just pure frustration.

Instead, I force my battered body into movement, slip out of the lumpy bed and pad my way towards the beauty room.

Men’s voices drift from below, and the sound sends my heart flying to my throat. I work to swallow as I meet Phoebe at the threshold.

The second our eyes meet, both of us look away. Incapable of connecting over something that we both suffered through. Shame. Embarrassment. Sorrow. All are at the forefront as we walk into the room.

Bethany and Gloria are picking through the clothes on a rack Francesca must’ve set out for us. Instead of revealing outfits, warm clothing hangs from the metal rod. Guess it wouldn’t be ideal for five girls to run for their life with a thong riding up their ass and tassels hanging from their nipples in freezing weather.

Jillian is sitting at a vanity and putting on concealer in hopes of covering up the dark circles rimming the underside of her eyes. Briefly, we make eye contact, but her gaze flickers away immediately. I haven’t seen her since our punishment—apparently, she’s been sick and has missed out on the last couple of lessons.

A swarm of angry bees rises up my throat, and I can’t stop the uncontrollable bitterness from taking hold, seizing my heartstrings, and turning it into a puppet of mass destruction.

Did she sleep that night? Hearing three girls scream in pain and begging for them to stop? Begging and begging and begging.

Please.

Pleaaase, stop!

Please, I’m begging you!

Please… please… please…

Has she grown tired of the word? Does it sound funny to her now? When a word is said so many times, it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore. It sounds like gibberish—a sound comprised of pitch and tones that hold no real meaning. A construct that humans have formed to communicate their wants and needs. But what do words fucking matter when no one listens?

Her eyes meet mine again, a glossy sheen over the surface of them. And there it is. Shame. Embarrassment. Sorrow.

She made it out unscathed, and it looks like survivor’s guilt has been gnawing at her insides for the past few days.

I deflate, berating myself for taking my anger out on someone who doesn’t deserve it. Jillian is just trying to survive like the rest of us. None of this is her fault.

Then, Sydney walks in, all high and mighty, and my unwarranted anger towards Jillian redirects itself towards the person who actually deserves it. She acts as if she didn’t spend an entire day screaming in a cellar.

Biting my tongue, I walk over to the vanity next to Jillian, my movements mechanical. My bones feel like rusty hinges as I reach for a bright pink sponge and concealer. It’s going to take mounds of it to hide the distress, but I settle with a few dollops to start.

My hand trembles as I apply chemicals to my face that are meant to hide my pain. Bethany and Phoebe talk quietly in the background, whispers full of fear and comfort.

Bad, bad girls.

I consider listening in on their conversation, but I’m distracted when Sydney starts tearing off her clothes until she’s naked. Jillian and I have a clear view of her through our vanity mirrors. We both pause, hands suspended in the air as we stare at the unhinged girl behind us, now picking through the clothes on the rack.

Bethany and Phoebe’s whispers taper off, and soon the entire room is disturbingly enraptured by her.

I can’t help but watch her as she hums, takes a shirt off the rack, and observes it as if she’s a regular girl shopping in a fancy boutique. Entirely unbothered by the eyes burning into her exposed skin.

Forcing my attention away, I glance at Jillian. She’s now staring hard at herself, most likely trying to avoid Sydney’s naked form reflected in the mirror.

“You have any advice?” I ask, my voice weak and hoarse from all the screaming.

I watch her freeze from the corner of my eye. She collects herself and then resumes blending her concealer, clearing her throat.

“Cover your tracks,” she says quietly, her Russian accent prominent. She has a beautiful voice, and Rocco’s friends thinks so, too. “And run only when necessary. It isn’t about how far you can get; it’s about making sure they never find you. You can run for hours, and you’ll always lead them right to you.”

“They can’t get you if they don’t know where you are,” I mutter aloud. The words come out raspy and broken, but I don’t bother trying to repeat myself. “What about the traps?”

“I counted the distance between them the best I could. They’re about thirty feet apart, roughly. They’re uniform, so the hunters know how to avoid them.”

I roll my lip between my teeth. “Thank you for helping me.”

She glances at me. “Don’t mention it.”

Literally, or we’ll both be in trouble.

We descend into silence after that. She doesn’t offer any consolation, but it’s not something I would ever want from her. From anyone.

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re all dressed in jeans and long-sleeved shirts. They’ll do virtually nothing to protect us from the elements, and certainly not any metal arrowheads plunging into our bodies at a breakneck speed. But considering we’ll be running on adrenaline, it’s enough to keep our bodies warm.

Francesca’s heels resonate as she climbs the steps, and my system floods with panic, whatever control I was grasping onto slipping. So easily, like my fingers are covered in grease.

“You girls ready?” Her voice is like a punch to the kidneys. I glance at her through the mirror, her eyes perusing each of us, clicking her tongue when she must deem us presentable enough.

“Let’s go. Time to eat, and then we will go over lessons on how to act properly tonight. When night falls, the Culling will begin, and if you pass, you will be required to mingle with our guests afterward.”

Panicked glances are exchanged. Even surprise flashes across Sydney’s gaze.

Bethany raises a trembling hand, requesting permission to speak.

“Are you saying that we have to do the Culling… in the dark?” she asks hesitantly.

Francesca raises an eyebrow. “That’s what I said.”

Then, she turns and walks out, the expectation to follow clear. Slowly, we trail after her, but not before we look at each other with the same panicked expression.

We’re fucked. We’re all fucked.

Single file, ladies. We must be in a uniform line to greet your potential rapists. Make a good impression, and they may be nice when they rape you.

Bursts of loud laughter and deep voices tighten my throat. It feels as if my heart is making an escape attempt, breaking through its gilded cage and clawing its way out of captivity.

Jesus, I think I’m going to pass out.

My legs wobble and my hand catches the railing, clutching it so tightly, my knuckles are bleached white. It’s the only thing keeping me from pitching forward.

“Get it together,” Jillian whispers harshly from behind me.

“Says the girl who wasn’t punished for this three days ago,” I snap back.

She quietens. That was rude of me. But fuck, there’s not a manual on how to rewire my brain to be unafraid and calm. I’m nearly hyperventilating by the time we reach the landing and make our way into the living room where the hunters await.

These men don’t belong here.

This house is run-down, and it doesn’t matter how clean or tidy it is, it still looks like trash. And there are five men standing in the middle of it, wearing Armani suits, diamond-encrusted Rolex watches, and submerged in a shroud of expensive cologne that costs more than my car note.

Their conversation dies as they turn to us, and I realize the different colors in their eyes look the same when they’re all lifeless.

“Francesca,” one calls, drawing out her name with affection. “You’ve got yourself a beautiful lot here.”

The man has short, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and a deep tan to complement his toned body. He looks like he spends his days lounging on his yacht, most likely shacked up with a supermodel in a skimpy red bikini, who’s blissfully unaware of her sugar daddy’s taste for hunting innocent women for sport.

Lucky her.

His eyes slide to mine and lock, his grin growing as the other three men grunt their agreement. I’m supposed to appear meek and submissive, but it takes me too many seconds to drop my stare to the glossy wooden floor. Courtesy of yours truly. We had to make this place look presentable, and adding a coat of oil apparently accomplishes that feat.

Feeling the burn of his stare caressing my tender skin, I’m now confident that I was too slow. A spark of adrenaline ignites in my blood, worsening my nausea. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know he’s going to be the one hunting me today.

“The one with the orange hair, does her pussy match, or did she ruin it by dyeing it that color?” another asks, and I have to clench my teeth and bite back a response. Phoebe trembles beside me as Francesca affirms something incredibly personal, her voice even and pleasant.

Nasty bitch.

“I like that one,” he states. My gaze flickers to him, noting his bushy black brows, tiny eyes, and potbelly. “Her hair will look beautiful wrapped around my fist when she’s sucking my cock.”

A knot forms in my throat, and I take a risk by hooking my pinky around hers and squeezing briefly. We’re crowded into each other tightly enough that the quick action goes unnoticed.

“Of course, Ben,” Francesca responds pleasantly. The man, Ben, practically foams at the mouth while his cold eyes heat with wickedness. One thing we have in common at this moment—nefarious, evil things are running through both of our minds.

“And I think I want her,” the blond man pipes in, nodding at me. His searing gaze hasn’t lifted, causing sweat to pour down my spine and vomit to travel up to my throat.

“You’re sure, Xavier?” Francesca questions. “She’s not eligible, yet. Still has a lot of healing to do.” My heart bottoms out when I realize he’s the important man she told us about—Xavier Delano. And of fucking course, he’s targeting me.

God? Why do I always attract the big, bad wolves?

He licks his lips, a crooked grin forming. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I’m confident I’ll get a taste of her soon. Whether it’s tonight… or another time.”

I feel my face bleach of color, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to keep from blowing chunks all over his snakeskin Armani shoes. He would definitely blend in with the place then.

The remaining men choose their targets, and soon, Francesca is leading us out of the door and back toward the deep woods. Crickets chatter, and the biting wind ravages our brittle statures. If we weren’t so tense, we’d bend like rubber beneath the strong gusts.

A massive bonfire rages directly behind the house, dozens of people crowded around it, bundled in warm clothing and drinks in hand. There are also several large TVs placed sporadically around. According to Francesca, the hunters will wear body cams, providing entertainment and viewing pleasure for the other guests.

My breathing escalates as I face the endless trees, shadows flickering from the fire behind us. The scent of fear emanates from the six of us as we line up, and I break out into a cold sweat. My boots sink into the mud, suctioning my feet deeply into the frigid earth. Part of me desperately wishes it was tar instead, granting me the fortune of getting stuck here.

Already, I’m plagued with memories of sprinting through these woods and coming so close to victory, only for Sydney to appear behind a tree, lips curled into an evil smile and reeking of malevolence.

What if she does it again? I think I’ll kill her if she does. Rip the arrow out of my body myself and stab it into her instead.

Behind us, the men ready their crossbows, the clanging of metal as they load arrows into them grinding against my frayed nerves. Risking a glance behind me, my eyes round when I see headgear settled over their eyes.

Night vision goggles.

Fuckers. Everything about this stupid fucking game is rigged.

“All right, ladies,” Francesca starts. “Let’s go over the rules briefly. You will be given a ten-minute head start. You are required to stay within the maze walls. If caught going outside of them, it will result in immediate death. They will shoot to kill, not shoot to maim. At the end of the maze, there is an open area. If you reach this location, you are immediately deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. If you are still within the maze but have not been shot, and the allotted hour depletes, you are also deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. Is that understood?”

None of us speak, and our lack of protest is answer enough.

“How’s it said from The Hunger Games, may the odds be ever in your favor?” a male cuts in, and it sounds like Xavier.

A round of laughter follows the bad joke, but before my lack of self-control can get me in trouble, he calls out, “Run!”

We take off, sprinting through the woods carefully, wary of traps. Strings will be tightened between two objects at foot level, and if tripped, we’ll be strung up, easy for the picking. Walls of branches are piled high on either side of us, makeshift barriers to confine us in a maze. Not only is it redirecting our focus onto getting out rather than staying hidden, but it’s also meant to disorient us and incite panic.

And fuck, does it work.

I bring myself to a halt and rush behind a trunk, my heart pounding rapidly. The walls of the maze are spread out, allowing plenty of trees in between.

There’s no point in covering my tracks up until this point; it’s from here on out that will matter. I tear through leaves and twigs, searching for a branch. My fingers are already red and stiff from the cold, but I hardly feel it with the adrenaline coursing through my system.

In the dead of night, it takes too long to find a suitable branch with leaves on it, brittle as they are, and even longer to accomplish what I’m doing.

After Jillian’s advice, I racked my brain for all the ways to cover my tracks without having to consistently stop and sweep them away as I run. I settled on fashioning a sweeper to my back, using a belt I stole from the beauty room to keep it in place.

She said gaining distance isn’t as important, but I want to accomplish both. Get as far away as I can and do so without a trace. I suppose one good thing is coming from this, and that’s learning how exactly I’m going to escape when the time comes.

I grab onto the branch with leaves, poise it on my lower back, and use the satin belt to anchor it to me, tying the fabric in several tight knots. And then I start speed-walking, swiveling my head back and forth to both keep from kissing a tree, and ensuring the branch is doing its job.

It’s too dark to tell for sure, but it appears as if it is, and that’s good enough for me.

So I take off, counting my steps and lifting my branch carefully over the wire when I reach them. My pace is quick but steady, holding on to the belt tightly for extra security with one hand and keeping the other in front of me, preventing me from running into anything nature has to offer.

I dart from one tree to another, keeping myself concealed at all times. Several minutes later, I reach a dead end, and from the corner of my eye, I see a flash of dark orange to my left. Phoebe.

Of course, she doesn’t know how to cover her tracks as she runs. And as dangerous as she is to be around right now, I refuse to keep my mouth shut and allow another woman to fail.

“Phoebe!” I call out, keeping my voice as quiet as possible.

She skids and turns to me, breathing heavily. I can’t see much of her features, but I imagine her face matches mine. Panicked, and eyes dilated with fear.

“Cover your tracks. You’re leading them right to you,” I tell her in a whisper-shout, and then I take off in the opposite direction. I don’t know if she’ll listen, although I do know that it might be too late. She’s led them this far, and to ensure my own survival, I need to get the hell away from her.

The branch dragging behind me is loud, so I force myself to slow, counting my thirty steps and keeping an eye out for any wires. I’m nearly gasping for breath, willing my heart rate to calm. I should’ve put enough distance between the two of us by now.

So, when I turn to see Phoebe running after me, I fucking spazz.

“What are you doing?!” I exclaim, attempting to keep my voice down, only causing it to break from the pitch.

“Please, let me stay with you,” she pleads, no branch in her hands to cover her tracks. She didn’t even bother to try.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, no! You’re going to get me killed,” I snap, chest pumping as my eyes pinball, searching for any movement in the darkness. I’m almost positive our ten-minute head start has passed. They have night vision goggles—we don’t. Which means they could be anywhere.

Her pale hand clutches my arm and pulls me close, her nails digging in. Now that I can see her clearly, she looks crazed.

“Please, I can’t let them do that to me again. Let me come with you, please!”

I try to wrangle my hand from her, but her grip tightens, and she refuses to let go.

“I’m not letting you go! I’m coming with you.”

Shit. This is what I fucking get for not being like Sydney and gladly watching others fail.

‘Okay, fuck. You can come, just let me go,’ I hiss, finally freeing my arm from her desperate clutches. Making a split-second decision, I run back the way we came about twenty feet, swivel my branch to my front and start brushing away her tracks, walking backwards until I reach her once more.

‘Stay in front of me, and run as fast as you can,’ I demand. ‘And don’t do anything to get us killed. Not more than you already have.’

She winces from my harsh words, but I feel no remorse. I’m pissed off that my kindness has most likely just earned me an arrow in the back, and even more angry that I can’t find it in me to knock her ass out and leave her behind.

It would benefit me, however, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It’s the whole reason I called out to her in the first place. She’s young, desperate, and terrified and I’m putting on a good show of looking like I know what I’m doing. Of course, she’s going to latch onto me.

Thankfully, Phoebe listens this time, keeping in front of me as we sprint. My branch is behind me again, clearing our tracks. Sweat coats nearly every inch of my skin, trickling down my forehead and spine, irritating the stitches in my skin. Clouds puff from my mouth, and I have an insane moment of panic when I wonder if my bad breath will leave a scent trail.

Several times we get turned around, and I swear we’ve passed the same fucking tree three times now. I’m growing frustrated and tired, so I skid to a stop and urge Phoebe to find a large tree to hide behind. I find one several feet southwest of her that provides a clear view of the space between both trees.

I’m heaving, desperate for oxygen, and on the verge of puking. I need to catch my breath, and I’m growing paranoid that even if they can’t see our footprints, they’ll be able to hear us.

‘Stay quiet,’ I whisper, even though I’m struggling to accomplish that myself. My body doesn’t care about keeping silent. All it’s only focused on is greedily sucking in precious air, no matter the cost.

I split my focus on catching my breath and listening for any footsteps. An owl hoots and a cold yet soft breeze flows through the forest. Such a stark contrast to the dark and dangerous situation. It feels like there should be Michael Myers music playing in the background.

A rustle from a nearby brush nearly sends my heart flying out of my throat, but then a bunny emerges and sprints off. Just as I wrangle the muscle back down where it belongs, a voice calls out.

‘Fiiirecraacker.’

Fuck. I don’t know if it was a good guess, or if my branch failed to conceal both sets of footprints, but Phoebe’s pursuer caught up to us. Round eyes clash with mine, and I know that my irises are dilated with fear just as much as hers are.

‘What do we do?’ she mouths silently, and I shake my head, at a loss. I don’t know what we fucking do. I’ve no idea where he is exactly, but if even an elbow pops out from behind a tree, he’ll be able to spot it immediately.

Does it count if I’m hit with someone else’s arrow? I’m sure I’ll still be punished, even if I wasn’t the intended target.

‘Fiiiiirecrackeeer,’ Ben calls out again. I risk a glance around the tree trunk and see a shadow move about twenty feet behind us.

Fuck. Way too close.

If we stay silent, we might get lucky, and he’ll wander off in another direction. He might think we’ve gone down a different trail and allow us to put distance between one another. But right now, the slightest sound, and he could hone in on us. It’s not safe for either of us to even breathe.

Not that I can fucking breathe anyway.

Phoebe covers her nose and mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut, tears crowding past her lashes and glinting in the moonlight. If she’s not already, she’s going to start having a panic attack. And in my experience, those are rarely silent.

I put my shaking finger to my lips, a tear of my own breaking free. My vision blurs as I face the very real possibility that I might get hit with an arrow, and then later be brutally raped for it. Again.

But she can’t hold on, and a small whimper slips past her hand. My heart stalls, and almost in slow motion, I hear several footsteps taken in our direction.

“Was that you, firecracker?” he says in a hushed tone as if he’s whispering right into our ears.

Shit, Addie, think. What would Zade do?

He’d be a fucking hero; that’s what he’d do. Zade isn’t interested in saving himself, only everyone else. So, what would he want me to do?

Save myself. He’d want me to save myself. But the Culling wasn’t designed for the prey to safely get away.

Before I can decide, Phoebe’s eyes widen into round discs, and she seems to shy away, her body beginning to emerge from the other side. Slowly, she raises a shaking hand and points behind me.

My heart drops, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed. My brain once again divides into two, one half panicking because she’s no longer concealed, and the other half frozen in terror because there’s somebody fucking behind me.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s Xavier. He’s found me.

Leaves crunch and a twig snaps to my right. My head whips in that direction, and I scarcely see the shine of a crossbow glinting under the moonbeams.

And then time speeds up, slapping me in the face as two arrows barrel towards us at once. One from Ben, and the other from behind me.

The air whistles and my body moves purely on instinct, ducking low and veering off toward the tree to the left of me. The arrow flies between my tree and the one I’m aiming for, and a thunk stops me in my tracks. Mere inches separate the tip of the arrow now impaled in the bark, and my face.

My eyes blow wide, and I yelp. I look up and notice the first shot towards Phoebe also failed. We won’t get that lucky again. And we only have about seventeen seconds to get away.

…three, four, five…

“Phoebe, run!”

Both of us scramble, dirt and leaves kicking up beneath our boots as we take off, our legs pumping and tearing through the foliage.

“Jump!” I screech, my mind scrambling to keep up with our steps. Scarcely, I lift the branch attached to me, and the both of us jump over the tripwire, coming incredibly close to snagging it.

Our pounding footsteps ruminate through the forest floor. There’s no hiding now. There’s only escaping a silver arrowhead. The paths we take are strategic only in the sense of losing them, rather than trying to find our way out.

We clear a few more traps, and after several minutes, I hear Phoebe’s footfalls coming to a sudden stop. I skid, turning to see her bent at the waist, panting so hard, she’s nearly choking. Her face is as bright as her hair, and her eyes seem to cross.

“I can’t keep running,” she chokes out, and then gags. “I can’t.”

‘No, no, you can do it! Come on, Phoebe, you got this.”

She shakes her head again, and I can’t help but take a step back when I see a shadow dart to the side about ten yards away or so. A scream tears from my throat when the arrow goes flying, piercing Phoebe straight in the back of the shoulder.

She falls face first, an agonized wail following suit. Groaning, she manages to pick herself up and charge past me. Confused, I chase after her, then come skidding to a halt again when she steps over the tripwire, collapses to the ground, and grabs onto the string.

‘Addie, fucking go!’ she screams, her voice breaking from the force. My face contorts and tears spill over my eyelids, both from denial and guilt. But an arrow cutting through time and space has me diving ahead, another arrow coming within scant inches from my head.

My hands grapple at the cold ground to propel me forward, nearly face-planting again in my pursuit to get back on my feet.

Run, little mouse. They’re coming for you.

I make it about fifteen feet before a loud cracking noise echoes in the brittle wind. Gasping, I turn my head in time to see a rope snap around Ben’s ankle, sending him flying straight up into the air. His crossbow drops from his hands, thudding to the ground next to Phoebe.

My mouth drops, a shocked laugh tinkling out as Ben’s shouts of fury fill the air, wiggling like a worm on a hook as he swings from above. Even from hundreds of feet away, you can hear the gasps of shock and outrage from the house.

Phoebe must’ve waited until Ben approached her and then released the wire right when he was in the crosshairs of it.

‘Let me down right now!’ Ben shouts, and though the shadows conceal his face, I know it’s cherry red. ‘I will fucking kill you for this.’

And he will. I know it.

Phoebe knows it, too.

Our eyes clash for a moment, and then her gaze slowly drops to the crossbow.

“Phoebe…” I warn.

“I’m dead, anyways,” she rasps, grabbing the crossbow in her hands, and stumbling through reloading it. Glancing around nervously, I tuck myself behind a tree, wary of another arrow flying my way. I need to run—like ten seconds ago, but I can’t pull myself away.

“Don’t do it, little girl,” Xavier calls out from the depths of the trees. I bristle, warring with the need to run and stay by Phoebe’s side. Neither of us can see him, but his attention seems to be focused on the girl loading a dangerous weapon with the desire to kill on her fingertips.

‘Help! Fucking help me!’ Ben screams, wriggling fiercely but getting nowhere. He’s suspended above a deadly angel, and her arrow will show no mercy to the wicked.

‘God fucking dammit, Xavier, GET HER! GET HER—’

She ignores them both, takes aim, and right when she pulls the trigger, another arrow is zipping through the air and plunging into her other shoulder.

She cries out, the scream echoing, but her own arrow strikes true, embedding directly into the top of Ben’s skull and killing him instantly, the rest of his sentence silenced by a metal arrowhead.

Covering my mouth, I watch as blood pours down like a waterfall directly on top of her, but she’s too busy laughing maniacally to notice.

Once more, she meets my wide stare. So many words rise to the tip of my tongue, none of them sufficient. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and all I want to do is tell her how proud I am. How fucking admirable and brave she is. We both know she’s not going to make it through the night, but this was her choice.

“Go,” she mouths. With one last lingering look, I take off, hoping she can see everything I couldn’t say in my eyes.

‘You can run, little girl. But you can’t escape me,” Xavier shouts, his threat following me as I sprint through the maze. Phoebe’s distraction provided me with the head start I needed to get away.

Determination takes hold, and I kick my legs as hard as I can. I continue to weave through the maze, holding my breath as another whistle pierces the air, and an arrow embeds in a trunk only a foot away.

These men may be skilled in hunting, but what they don’t know is that I’ve been hunted by a far scarier man. I was a mouse caught in a trap before, scared, and helpless as I was taken between the teeth of an apex predator.

But I’m not their little mouse, and they are not Zade.

And I will never succumb to them.