by James Tate
I let out one, long breath, trying to calm my nerves before shifting to my knees and peering over the control booth. I needed to see which direction he'd gone.
For a second, I couldn't see anyone, and the back of my neck prickled like he was going to be standing right behind me. But then I spotted movement over near my favorite attraction—the goddamn fun house.
By my guess, he—and I was pretty sure he was a he—was taller than six feet and had a broad, muscular build across the shoulders. He was dressed all in black with a hood pulled up and a full black ski mask over his face. Nothing about him struck me as familiar, but that was hardly surprising given the lengths he'd gone to to conceal his identity.
When I was sure he'd gone deeper into the park, I made my move.
Clambering back to my feet, I jumped over the operation booth’s barrier and sprinted at top speed back to the entrance. I had no plans beyond getting the hell out of the park. Maybe I could go back to the wrecked G-Wagen. Surely someone would come along and find it sooner or later. Even if I just stood on the road and flagged someone down I’d be better off. Anything had to be better than hanging around the Laughing Clown waiting to be made into a skin suit.
Skin suits frequently featured in my nightmares.
The lights came into sight, and hope soared inside me, but something crashed heavily in the direction I'd come from. I startled and whirled around on instinct. My nerves totally frayed as I tried to see what had just happened, but I found nothing amiss. Bats flapped frantically out of the big top, so I could only assume something had fallen over—or been pushed—inside there.
Chest heaving and heart pounding, I started running again.
Right into a black-clad man and a deadly sharp blade.
So sharp, in fact, that I didn't even register the pain until he pulled it out of my stomach and held it up to the light. I gasped, pain rendering me speechless as I clasped my hands to the wound on my abdomen. But my gaze remained glued to the blade. That blade that now dripped with my blood... but would have been a pretty, red steel even while clean.
I knew that blade.
It was Archer's.
"No," I whimpered, my heart squeezing painfully as my blood dripped from that distinctive red butterfly blade and onto the dark concrete. "No, no, no, not you."
Not waiting around to check if they were playing a prank—the freely bleeding stab wound in my stomach had cleared that right up—I took off running again.
He grabbed for me, but narrowly missed as I ducked under his arm and took off into the darkness of the park once more. Tears stung my eyes again, dissolving my mascara and making it hard to see, but my desire to live was strong. Keeping one hand on my wound, I swiped the other over my face and carried on.
I needed to hide. Hiding was my only chance. There was no way I could outrun him now. Or them? Were they all in on this? It would explain how he'd got in front of me so fast.
My stomach rolled, bile rising in my throat as betrayal burned through me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break down and cry and feel goddamn sorry for myself and all the crappy breaks I'd been dealt in life. But those were luxuries reserved for the living—something I might not be much longer if I didn't fucking hide.
My bare feet pounded the hard ground, but I barely felt it. The wound in my side radiated agonizing pain in a way that made me lightheaded and nauseous, and cold sweat was forming on my skin. I knew the signs of shock all too well, but I couldn't give in. I couldn't give up. I'd fought too damn hard to give in now.
I made a beeline for the pavilion, my pink hair streaming behind me as I ran. There was no time to worry about what a target it made me, though. I was more concerned with the blood trail I was inevitably leaving.
Just as I approached the pavilion, a black-clad figure jumped out from behind a hut full of moldy stuffed animals. He grabbed my arm in a bruising grip, and I shrieked.
I swung at him, using my blood-coated fist to punch him in the face with every ounce of fear and rage boiling inside me.
A masculine shout erupted from him. He dropped my arm to clutch at his face and I was gone. Once inside the pavilion, I slowed my pace. It was a hell of a lot darker inside, and I didn't want to trip over something and break an ankle. Ducking behind a thick black drape, I took a moment to pause and lean against the wall. My chest heaved as my breath came in gasps, and my head was swimming. Fuck hiding, I needed a hospital. I pressed my hand back over the wound in my side and prayed Archer’s knife hadn't hit anything important. It couldn't have, right? Otherwise I wouldn't still be functioning.
Medical professional, I was not. I added that to my mental list of useful things to study if I ever made it out of the damn Laughing Clown alive.
When no footsteps followed me inside the pavilion, I silently continued on. I made my way through the stacked-up chairs and tables—this had once served as a dining area—and slipped out the kitchen exit.
From there, I could see the west gate of the park. Maybe if I could make it that far... They surely couldn't have every exit covered. Even if they did, I had to try.
There was no time for me to hesitate. If I stayed put, I'd likely bleed to death before they found me and killed me, so I sucked a deep breath and bolted.
My feet were damn near silent on the hard concrete, and I’d made it halfway to the gate when a shadow moved under the moonlight near the fence. A scream tried to escape, but I clamped my lips shut and pasted myself to the wall of a toilet block. The shadows covered me, for the most part, and I just had to hope it was enough.
I'd barely been there half a minute when a warm hand grabbed my wrist, yanking me backward into the restrooms while another hand sealed over my lips, stifling the noise of my screams.
"Shhh," a familiar voice hissed in my ear. "MK, shush; stop screaming. It's me. It's Kody."
Tension wracked my body and fear clouded my brain. He was in on it.
"I'm going to let you go, okay?" he whispered directly into my ear, his grip on me all too reminiscent of the first time we'd met. What the fuck was he playing at? Was this all one, big hilarious game to them? Because I wasn't laughing.
Far from it.
"Holy shit," he exclaimed in a hushed whisper as he let me go, "Baby, you're bleeding. Where are you hurt?"
I shook my head, my own terror holding my speechless. My hand still covered my side, but it was slippery with blood and my head was becoming increasingly hazy. Still, I backed away from Kody, watching him for any sign of a weapon.
"Babe, why are you looking at me like that? You're hurt! We need to get you help." He seemed so genuinely concerned it fucking broke me. How could he do this? Wasn't it exciting enough to stalk and stab a girl anymore? They needed to play with my emotions too?
"S-stay away," I managed to grit out, holding my free hand out like I could possibly ward off an attack from a guy Kody's size. "Stay away fr-from m-me, Kody."
His eyes widened, and his lips parted in shock. I guess he hadn't realized I was onto them. Stupid Archer should have used a more nondescript blade, then maybe I would have fallen for this innocent, caring act.
"MK, babe, I'm really worried. We need to get you help." He was speaking to me in low, hushed tones, but I wasn't listening. Stumbling over the lip of the restroom, I turned and found Steele standing some thirty feet away. Close to the exit gate where I'd just seen a black-clad killer.
"No," I sobbed, my heart officially in shreds. "No, this can't be happening. This can't..." I broke off with a gut-wrenching sob, falling to my knees as the strength in my legs gave out. The world was spinning faster than if I were on a Tilt-A-Whirl for real, and the last thing I saw as my head hit the concrete was Archer's gorgeous blue eyes as he crouched beside me.
“Don’t worry, Princess. We’ve got you now.”
LIAR
To be continued in
LIAR
Madison Kate #2
Coming July 3rd, 2020
Books2read.com/madisonkate2
A le
tter from the author (raw and unedited)
Hey reader! If you’ve made it this far, you probably just finished the first book in Madison Kate’s story.
So firstly, thanks for reading! You rock my world. Seriously.
Secondly, uh, I feel like it’s probably the author's duty of care to do a quick health check here. You okay? That ending was a bit mean, huh? I’d like to take this opportunity to blame that rude cliff-hanger entirely on my co-author who… ah shit. I didn’t have a co-author on this. Well then, ahem, I guess I’m to blame here.
Uh… sorry? If it helps at all, I’m working on a super strict quick release schedule for this series so you won’t have to wait 6 million years to see what happens next!
Anyway, moving on. HATE is my first solo release in almost eight months. That seemed totally insane to me when I worked it out the other day! I asked myself, what the fuck have I been doing in that time? Then a friend gently reminded me that I put out 4 co-written books, co-hosted BABE (a pretty epic book signing event in Sydney, if I do say so myself), I kept my babies alive that whole time (winner), but most importantly… my mum died.
It’s been six weeks today, as I write this, and it’s still at the stage where it doesn’t totally seem real. I’m still struggling to fully comprehend the fact that she’s not just overseas like she has been most of my adult life. It’s no longer a matter of going a few weeks without talking, but always having her there when I needed to talk, or send pics of my kids, or check in and hear about her new hobbies or adventures. She’s gone, and I can’t do any of those things, but I’m still finding it hard to make myself understand that. Except now. Now, as I finish writing my first solo book that she hasn’t read… it feels real.
My mum was the first person who ever read my work. She had no idea what “reverse harem” was, but went to the internet to educate herself. She never judged me for the messed up shit I wrote. She never questioned why I felt such a burning need to pour myself into words when I had a four-month old baby at home. She just avidly supported me, asked questions about plot and characters, gave me subtle reminders not to make everyone too perfect, and quietly chose her favourites in all the countless book boyfriends I’ve written since that first book.
So, today it hit me. This book is the first book my mum hasn't read. She doesn't know the characters or the world or any of it. And that fucking kills me. I don't know if this would have passed her inspection. I don't know if she would have chosen a favourite or if she might have made me go and change any scenes or interactions. I don't know anything that she might have said in this awkward stage between finishing a book and releasing it into the world. So I'm just crossing my fingers and hoping with my whole broken heart that this book, and these characters, live up to her standards.
I've always written my books with the goal in mind that I want my mum to love each one more than the last. I wanted her to always see me improving and evolving as an author, and to make her proud of her law school drop out turned bartender daughter. She's not here to offer me that validation anymore but I've already come so far, that now I have you! My readers. So, while this new series release is bitter-sweet for me, I hope you enjoyed it. Madison Kate and her boys have been consuming my brain lately and it's a relief to finally be able to share them with you.
I'm leaking profusely from the eyeballs now, so I'm going to go put on an orange dress that I hate but mum loved, and get red wine drunk in the marigold garden.
This book, like all my books past and present, is for you, mum. I love you and I'll never forget all you've done for me.
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