Page 23 of Ready Or Not

I jump up. As I dart past the coffee table, Manson lunges at me and grabs at the wood in my leg. I scream, my body numb with adrenaline.

“Twenty-eight.”

I dart to the back door, but Riley chases after me, putting herself between me and the door. “Stay inside, bambi,” Riley demands.

I backpedal away, then go the only place I can—up the stairs.

Manson’s monotone counting continues. The second floor is just as dark as downstairs. I dart into the room at the top, hoping there’s a porch roof or something to jump out on.

The bedroom is virtually empty, just a bed and a nightstand. And outside the window, there’s no porch. Just a straight drop to the hard ground below.

I yank on the window latches anyway. They’re stuck.

“Ready or not…here we come.”

Fuck! That was way faster than 30 seconds. I dart to the closet. There are some clothes and shoes, but it’s mostly empty. Shutting the door behind me, I tuck myself into the corner and grab a shoe, anything to use as a weapon. I immediately try to slow my breathing. It comes hard and fast, and my heart is beating so quickly I feel it squeeze with every pump.

As I still, fire races up my leg. It hurts more now, and it feels wet. I reach my fingers down. Fuck, the stick is gone, and warm, heavy blood soaks my sock.

Footsteps sound up the stairs in a heavy cadence.

“Where are you, little intrigue?”

“She’s mine, so fuck off.”

I grip the shoe harder. As I do, a rush of bright light rushes through my head. What the hell? I suck in a breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

Something scratches outside the closet, and I snap my eyes open, trying to see in the pitch-black.

“Bambiii.”

More scratching. Are they scratching the walls? It makes shivers run down my arms. Fuzziness fills my brain, and for asecond, overwhelming sensations wrap me in bursts of color and goosebumps. I suck in a breath to stop my spiral. What is going on?

“Oh, bambi. You left such a perfect bloody trail.”

The closet door rips open, and Riley grins down at me.

I scream, launching myself at her.

Riley ducks into me, grabbing me around the waist. I slam the shoe into her head, clawing at her.

She laughs, “Yes, feisty thing. Fight me so good.”

Suddenly, I’m flying through the air. I bounce on something soft, realizing I’ve landed on the bed. Riley crawls up over me, grinning. “Keep going. Make me stop, Rachel.”

I twist over, trying to get up on my hands and knees, but Riley just drops onto my back. Her grip is harsh and painful.

“Need some help?” Manson’s voice deadpans. The deep sound of his voice wraps around me in a warm hug. My brain is fuzzy again. I struggle weakly.

You can’t feel sounds. Why am I feeling sounds?

I jerk my elbow back, crashing it into something.

“Jesus.”

The pain cracks down my arm, shooting into my mouth and exploding out of it in a burst of color. I watch the splatters of blue drop onto the bed.

What the actual fuck? What the hell was in that drink?