“Good girl, princess,” he says, releasing the tight grip on my hair and caressing my face with his free hand. He pulls me to my feet, reeling me in flush with his body. He nudges my hip with his erection, and I suck in a gasp as heat floods my core. Movement in the background is only noise as I peer into Saint’s eyes. “Do you know where we are, princess?” he asks, sliding his arms around my back.
“Prestwick Forest.”
“Smart deduction, and you’re correct.” He pins me with a shit-eating grin. “And do you know what happens out here?”
“You kill people and bury them in the woods.” They all chuckle at that, and I wonder what I said that’s so funny.
“Do you know what else we do out here?” he inquires, poking further. I shake my head. He smiles wider, rubbing his thumb along my mouth, eliciting a wake of shivers in his trail. “Good.” He glances over my head. “Ready?” he shouts. After a few beats, he looks down at me, grinding his cock against my pelvis and smushing his chest against my hard nipples. His eyes feast on my breasts, and I shiver all over. He smirks, letting me go, and I lament the loss of his body heat. “I really hope I’m not wrong about you, princess,” he whispers in my ear before tugging me through the trees by the elbow.
The others are standing around an opening in the ground, looking down and sharing wicked grins.
“It’s set,” Galen says, his voice cold and unfeeling.
“Down you go, princess.” Saint brings me to the edge of the pit, where a rope ladder has been slotted into the ground.
I lean over, peering into the pitch-black pit, shivering uncontrollably. “I’m not going down there.”
Saint shakes his head, gripping my elbow tighter. “Already disappointing me.”
“Let me clarify,” Galen says, approaching me with lethal menace. “Climb down, or I’ll gladly throw your ass in there.” His eyes drop to my chest, and I hate that my nipples are rigid and poking through the front of my thin sleep shirt. He lifts his head, smirking, and his know-it-all demeanor grates on my last nerve.
“They’re hard because I’m cold, asshole, not because I’m aroused.”
“You can lie to yourself, angel, but we all know the truth.” He leans in close to my face. “You’re every bit as fucked up as we are. Maybe more so.”
He’s quite possibly right, but I’m not confirming that out loud.
“What’s it to be, princess?” Saint says. “You going willingly, or not?”
My gaze meets Theo’s, and his eyes urge me to climb down, his expression suggesting he’s got my back. For a split second, we’re co-conspirators again until I remember where I am, who I’m with, and how I got here.
“I need my hands,” I say, averting my eyes from Theo and staring back at his annoyingly hot leader.
Saint’s amused smile irks me. “So use them.” The meaning is clear, and I think he knows, as well as I do, that I could’ve freed myself the minute Galen tied me up.
It takes me longer than usual, because that asshole tied them super tight, but I manage to get free a couple minutes later, and the rope falls to the ground at my feet. Galen and Saint share a look as I step up to the ladder and start climbing down.
The lower I go, the more my trepidation builds, but I refuse to let fear get the best of me, so I focus on my movements and my breathing, ignoring the way my heart is racing, my palms are suddenly sweaty, and blood is rushing to my ears.
I plant my feet on the muddy ground, shuddering as I look around. It’s not actually that deep, and I can still see the guys standing around the edge, looking down. But it’s deep enough that as soon as they whip the rope ladder away, and I realize I have no way out of here, panic starts to crawl up my throat.
“Let’s see what you’re made of now, princess,” Saint says, shining a flashlight on my face. The light illuminates my surroundings, and my panic accelerates to coronary-inducing levels as the myriad of bones littering the muddy ground comes into clear view. Some still bear remnants of decaying flesh, confirming these are more recent kills.
I tremble all over, and this time, it’s not from the cold.
Chuckles ring out from above, followed by a succession of wails as they howl like wild animals. They throw slabs of bloody meat into the pit, and I shriek as Galen throws his offering right at my face, darting to the side just in time. I scramble back as my foot hits the side of a skull, screaming before I can stop myself. They laugh again, and I bristle with rage, but I clamp my lips shut, because I won’t plead or beg. They would love that, and I won’t give them the satisfaction.
It turns dark again when Saint switches his flashlight off, but it brings zero comfort. Another shudder works its way through me, and I cross my arms over my chest as my teeth chatter.
“Wild wolves are known to roam these woods at night,” Saint says, his voice tinged with glee. “I wouldn’t stay down there too long, princess. Unless you want to become wolf nom, nom.”
CHAPTER 19
I STAND IN the center of the muddy pit, in the pitch-dark, in my now filthy pajamas, shivering and shaking from the cold and uncontrollable rage. I listen to the guys laughing and joking as they saunter off, leaving me to my fate, and I want to tear those assholes limb from limb and feed them to the wolves when they come hunting. But my furious thoughts aren’t going to help me escape, and I don’t plan on spending long down here.
First, I hurl the lumps of bloody raw meat out of the pit, one at a time, offering silent thanks that Dad got me interested in kickboxing at sixteen. Between classes and regular bouts with the punching bag in our basement gym, I have decent strength in my arms. Enough that I can toss the stinking piles of wolf bait out of the pit and away from me. I don’t think I’ve thrown them far though, and the scent will most likely carry on the breeze, so I need to get my ass out of here stat.
Ignoring the icky feel of slimy bones under my feet, I scale the perimeter of the small pit, using my hands to explore the muddy walls for anything to grip on to, but I can’t find any markings I can use to climb out of here. The mud is quite soft to the touch, almost clay-like in substance, as if they built this pit on purpose solely to drive me demented.
I pace the small clear space in the middle of the pit, racking my brains for a solution.
When it comes to me, I almost throw up.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, and bile swims up my throat, but I can’t identify any other plan, and even though I don’t know if this will work, I’ve got to try.
I attack the wall I climbed down using my long nails to dig, pulling clumps of mud away. When I’ve gouged a deep enough hole, I swallow my distaste as I crouch down, tentatively reaching out and grabbing the first bone I feel. I don’t think about the fact this belonged to a living, breathing being at one point in time, focusing on the fact I need to get out of here before my bones join this gruesome collection.
I wedge the bone into the hole I’ve dug, covering it with the clay-like mud, but leaving the end part jutting out just enough to climb on. I pack the mud around the edges, compacting it as tightly as I can, and then I repeat the process, lining bones up in a crisscross pattern, choosing bigger, wider bones for my feet and smaller ones for my hands to grip onto. I go as high as I can reach, hoping that I can close that final gap using my hands and pull myself the rest of the way up.
I’m covered in mud and sweat after my exertions, but at least, I’m no longer shivering.
Here goes nothing. I start to climb, and it’s clear straightaway that the bones aren’t going to hold long, so I scale the wall as fast as I can, almost slipping a couple times, until I’ve reached the last marker. I stretch my arms up, my breath oozing out in relief when my fingers grip the top of the pit. My footing gives out as I grab the top with my second hand, and I dangle from the edge, literally holding myself up by my arms and my fingers. I dig my hands into the earth above, grunting as I use my upper body strength to haul myself up and over the edge.
I roll onto my back, breathing heavily, my hea
rt pounding furiously in my chest, arms throbbing like a bitch. But I’m silently triumphant because I’m out! I force my aching body to move, staggering to my feet and glancing all around.
Daylight is starting to creep into the dark sky, offering some small illumination, but I still have no clue what direction we came from. I remember the sound of their voices as they walked away, and I think they were heading in a westerly direction, so I take off that way, praying I’m not going deeper into the woods.
My desire to get the hell out of Dodge before any wolves make an appearance has me running even on blistered, cut feet.
The entire time, I’m conjuring up imaginative ways to dismember the guys.
I come to a small clearing, stopping for a minute to find my bearings and to draw a long breath. A gap in the woodland on my right grabs my attention, and I head toward it, smiling when I spot the fresh imprint of boots on the soft grass. I sprint through the gap, jogging along the narrow grassy path, my breath puffing out in cloudy circles, my limbs tired and protesting, but I keep going until I come to a much larger clearing and discover a defined path. I follow it for a mile or two until I reach the main entrance to the forest. I only know it is because I came up here one time with Darrow for a party.
I lean over the worn wooden railing to catch my breath while scanning my surroundings. The road outside is long and seemingly never ending, with thick forest running on either side, but I detect a small property about a quarter mile up ahead, and I take off in that direction.
I stick to the little grassy strip on the side of the road, forcing my tired legs to cooperate for another stretch.
When I reach the building I spotted, I see it’s a small one-story log cabin. A trickle of smoke filters from the chimney as I stand at the front door and knock. No one answers. I figure they’re most likely asleep, so I rap harder. When no one appears after I pound the door, scraping my knuckles in the process, I try the handle, but it’s locked. I walk around to the rear of the house, trying the back door, but it’s locked too.
Fuck.
I don’t want to add B & E to my resume, but I’m low on options. I’ve no money, no cell, no shoes, and there isn’t another house in sight. I need to get to a phone to call for help. I have no choice.
Wiping sweat off my brow with the back of my hand, I look all around for something I can use to break in.
What I wouldn’t give for my lock-picking kit now.
I’m about to use my elbow to break the glass panel in the door when I spot a large plant pot at the corner of the cabin. Figuring I might as well check, I pull it up, and a laugh rips free from my mouth at the sight of the key.
Someone up there is looking out for me.
I open the door, calling out hello as I cautiously step inside. I check all the rooms, but no one is here. But they can’t have gone far because there’s a toasty fire going in the living room and something is cooking in the oven.
I move to the wall-mounted phone and place my call. It takes five attempts to rouse Sariah because that girl sleeps like the dead, but finally, she answers, promising she’s coming as fast as she can.
Although it’s tempting to conk out on the comfy couch in front of the fire, I don’t want to overstay my welcome, so I exit the way I came in, cringing at the muddy footprints I leave behind. I replace the key under the pot and retrace my steps toward the entrance of the forest.
I’m slumped against the wooden railings, utterly exhausted, when Sariah shows up a few minutes later.
“Jesus Christ,” she exclaims, climbing out of her grandma’s battered red Volkswagen Golf. “What the hell did they do to you?”
I’d only given her the cliff notes version on the phone, so on the drive back, I fill her in on everything that happened last night.
“Those motherfucking bastards!” she seethes, gripping the steering wheel in a tight grip. “You could’ve been eaten by wolves! Or some psycho out burying bodies might’ve come across you. This means fucking war!”
“That’s what they’ll be expecting, but I’m altering my strategy.”
After I go postal on Saint’s ass, I decide, tiptoeing into my house fifteen minutes later. Sariah wanted me to come home with her, but I’m not hiding from them. They don’t scare me, and they need to know they won’t get the better of me.
I go straight to my bedroom, retrieve my knife and my kit, and step back out into the hallway, picking Saint’s lock as quietly as I can.
When I’m inside his room, I stare at the asshole as he sleeps. He’s flat on his back, sprawled across the king-sized mattress, the black silk sheets bunched at his waist, his chest inflating and deflating as he breathes deeply, as if he hadn’t just left me alone in the freaking forest.
Slivers of buttery light slip through the blinds, bathing him in a dim glow. He looks magnificent with all that toned, tan skin on display, and the ink on his arms and one side of his chest only adds to the attraction. His face is all angular masculine lines, his jaw covered in a smattering of hair I find so sexy on guys.
I wish he was an ugly fucker because it might help to make it easier to hold on to my anger. But, somehow, I know that wouldn’t make any difference. Saint exudes this aura, this magnetism, that sucks me in, and it’s less to do with how he looks and more to do with his dominant personality, his cutting humor, the dark intensity he brings to everything, and the power of the connection between us.
A connection forged in a split second in a stolen moment when we were kids.
Right now, that connection means jack shit, and his gorgeous looks aren’t distracting me from my anger either.
I move with purpose toward the bed, leaving a trail of muddy, bloody footprints on the gray carpet.
I’m a dirty, sweaty mess, my hair is knotted and caked with mud, and I stink to high heaven. I’m covered in cuts, my feet are bleeding, and there isn’t one part of my body that doesn’t hurt as I climb up over him, straddling his thighs and pressing the sharp edge of my knife to his dick through the sheets.
His eyes blink open the second my body weight presses down on him, and he’s instantly wide-awake, his gaze taking in the filthy state of me before lowering to the knife pointed at his family jewels. He turns his head to the bedside table, glancing at the time before facing me again with a cocky smile. “I’m impressed,” he rasps, his voice dripping with raw sexuality, doing funny things to my insides.
Focus on your anger. I give myself a silent pep talk because the shithead is not getting away with what he’s done to me. “I’m not,” I snap, angling the knife over his crotch. “I’m livid and I have a tendency to act recklessly when I’m mad.” I rip through his silk sheets until the tight black boxers he’s wearing are revealed.
Bending his arms at the elbows, he tucks them under his head, grinning at me like I’m no threat.
It infuriates me, and I rip a hole in his boxers, exposing some skin and curls of wiry hair.
“If you want to see my cock, princess, you only have to ask.”
“Mock me again and I’ll slice your dick off.”
I expect him to wince and attempt to protect his manhood, but he smiles instead. A smug smile that indicates he’s not concerned, because he clearly underestimates how mad I am, he thinks I won’t attack, or he’s just not like normal guys who would cower in this scenario. “No, you won’t. You love it too much.”
I bark out a laugh, pressing myself down over him, loving that I’m soiling him with my dirty, mud-spattered skin, and holding my blade against his face. “Delusional much, Saintly?”
“You’re not the only one who feels it, princess,” he says, running the tips of his fingers up my arm. “And I’m tired of fighting.”
“Then maybe, you shouldn’t have kidnapped me in the middle of the night and dumped me in an open grave in the fucking woods!”
He cups my face, uncaring I have a blade flattened against his cheek. “It was a test, princess, and you passed with flying colors.” His blue eyes burn with the usual intensit
y, and when his tongue darts out, I catch a glimpse of metal in his mouth. The tongue piercing is new.
“Explain.” I sit up, pulling my knife back, unable to think clearly when I’m that close to his face. Bile swims up my throat, and my stomach is tied into knots. It takes colossal willpower to ignore the feel of his growing erection under my ass, but I do because his words have thrown me.
“Theo has been championing your cause,” he says, sitting up with me on his lap. He leans his back against the headboard, and I slide lower on his body.
“I never asked him to.”
“Neither did we, but he’s right.” He grips my face. “We don’t have to be enemies.”
I smell a rat, and I’m not buying the bullshit he’s peddling for a minute, but I’ll play along. “What are we then?” I inquire, leaning into his face.
“We could be allies.”
“Who says I need an ally?” I ask, working hard to keep my tone neutral as he moves his hand to the nape of my neck and his gaze drops to my lips.
“War is coming to Lowell, princess, and you don’t want to find yourself on the wrong side.”
I lean in closer until there’s barely any gap between our mouths. Our noses brush, and he snakes his arms around my back, pulling me in close, uncaring that I’m dirty and messing up his bed. “What if I’m Switzerland,” I whisper over his mouth. “And I don’t want to choose a side.”
He rubs the skin at the back of my neck, and all the tiny hairs lift. “You don’t get to sit this one out. You’re going to be a Lennox, and Lennoxes always side with the winning team.”
I break free of the bubble he’s coaxed me into, tipping his beautiful face back and placing my knife against his Adam’s apple. “Let’s get one thing straight, Saintly. I’m a Westbrook, and I will never be a Lennox. Not while there’s blood still flowing through my veins.”
I’m glad for the reminder, and the anger he dialed down with his seductive charm flares to life again.
In a move he didn’t predict, I lean back, cutting both sides of his boxers, tossing the torn strands away and leaving him fully exposed to me. I press the tip of my knife into his dark-blond pubes, enjoying the flash of fear glimmering in his eyes. “Your cock really is quite magnificent,” I purr, using my free hand to stroke his shaft. Slowly, I move my knife down lower, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I’d hate for my hand to slip and cut it.” I let the full extent of my venom show on my face as I press down on the knife, meeting flesh, and I’m sure I’ve drawn blood. I let go of his cock, eyeing it like I might just cut it off.
The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series) Page 17
