Page 73 of Hateful Games

Gripping them tight in my free hand, I resume walking and in few short steps, my fingers collide with a doorknob. I grit my teeth when it makes a horrible creaking noise as I push it down.

Or maybe it’s my frazzled brain making it seem louder than it is.

I enter a room lit up with candles. It’s furnished and maintained unlike the hallway I was thrown into. A twin bed with a canopy sits in the middle while a dresser with an arched mirror is pushed against one wall.

A princess’s room.

Lifting my gown, I reach the dresser and study its contents that have been kept organized. The tiniest of scraping sounds cuts through the air. Immediately, I stare up in the mirror above and my heart plummets to my stomach when a silhouette appears behind me.

Whirling around, I come face to face with a tall man in a black-and-white mask with hollow eyes. A sharp scream pierces out of my throat when he charges for me. Adrenaline pumping, I kick him in the balls with the pointy heel of my Louboutin.

He howls in pain and falls to the ground.

“Fucking bitch!”

Left with one shoe, I get the hell out of the room through another door on my left. Another long corridor greets me as I run farther away to avoid being caught by the man. I stop when I hear giggling.

“Hello,” I call out, because I think I’m closer to other girls being chased.

My head snaps behind me and I watch them run past, followed by a guy confidently going after them. Hardly running. As if catching them is a foregone conclusion.

Unlike me, those girls didn’t seem scared.

Again, they aren’t broken like me.

I shudder as I take a step and collide with a wall. No, a hard brick-like chest. I try to turn but strong hands grip my waist and press flush against my back. The buttons on his shirt scraping against my naked skin due to the low cut of my gown.

Fear wars with something strange igniting low in my belly as I feel his warm breath skate across my neck. However, my rational instinct wins and I knock my elbow in his gut. He exhales roughly but his firm hold doesn’t ease.

Fight or flight, I once again poorly attempt to jam my heel in his body just to dislodge his grasp. Only for him to easily wrestle it out of my hand and throw it away.

The sharp thud echoes around us.

“Let me go!” I demand, heaving a breath.

Arms circling to my front, he grabs my wrists and locks them against my stomach. The smooth material of the mask caresses the side of my face as he whispers in my ear, “Shh…”

Tugging us into a shaded corner, he keeps me caged against his body. I’m confused when the same door I left bangs open and the guy I kicked steps out—limping, actually—followed by his friend.

“Where the hell did she go?” he growls.

“We’ll catch her,” answers his friend. “She couldn’t have gone far.”

“I won her fair and square.”

Won? What am I? Cattle? The condescending asshole. I have half a mind to go punch him again. As if reading my intentions, the stranger behind me squeezes me tighter. Both of us listen as the two guys continue plotting.

“The rules didn’t say they’ll resist or fight back,” he continues whining.

“Maybe she wasn’t from the group.”

Was I that obvious? Shit.

“Whatever. I’ll teach her a lesson once I get my hands on her.”

Behind me, the stranger who is turning out to be a savior, tenses at the blatant threat. I also realize how I haven’t been scared for even a second since he dragged us into a corner.

The two men finally stride in the opposite direction. Yet neither of us move.

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