Page 9 of Collared

“I’m going to win tonight,” the other participants repeats, then takes another step closer, until he almost bumps my chest with his. His blond hair is swept to the side by the wind, the light strands long enough to be tugged back behind his ear. Just as I think that he wants to fight me for the win, he licks his bottom lip swiftly, then chokes, “He carries a knife, and I don’t know if that should turn me on or scare the hell out of me.”

“Who?” I clamp my own mouth shut, inwardly cursing myself for my stupid question, both because I know who he’s talking about, and because I don’t want to know at the same time.

“What would it be like to get railed by a member of the secret brotherhood?” The other participant mumbles. I blink, trying to understand his meaning. He lets out a scoff when he catches me watching. “The walls of Monterrey Castle talk, don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors.”

I shrug with lingering thoughts and try to play it cool. Watching me intently, he suddenly sneers, “You’re not a first year, are you? Or are you just oblivious?"

Puffing up my chest, I force myself to hold his gaze. “I’m not.”

"Not what?" He scoffs, then waves me off, apparently not needing my reply. Something charges the air around us, making it electric with tiny sparks of menace. Of survival. “You know only one of us can win, right?” His dark gaze dips as he seems to size me up. Widening my stance, I fist my hands and clench my jaw. When his slow perusal finally lifts back to my eyes, he nudges his chin forward. “Are you on the football team?”

“That’s none of your fucking business,” I growl.

"You're a prickly one, aren't you?" He snarls, but the words lack venom. "That's what they like most. They—" The corner of his lips tick up and he opens his mouth, but before he can continue, there’s a rustle in the top of the trees. We both look up, just in time to see a group of bats flapping away, squeaking sharply as they do so. My heart leaps up in my throat. Something made them fly away, a brisk movement that got them scared.

Or someone.

Galloping sounds of the horse drift in the background, followed by another of those terrifying howls.

Oh God, that poor guy.

“He’s not yet eliminated,” the other participant says.

“No?”

“No. He’s still being chased down. Golden Mask and his knife are a huge threat, but they're not quite as terrifying as the one swinging that bola.” I think of the sling carrying that stone and shiver. “It’s a hunting weapon made from strings to which they attach stone balls they can sling at you to make you fall.” The other participant catches my gaze. “It originally comes from South-America.”

We have one guy from that continent at college, some fourth-year who always hangs around the popular guys. Realization dawns. Are they—

“Yeah,” he says, as if hearing my thoughts. “It’s them. Now you understand why I accepted that invitation.”

The table in the center of the canteen. The guys who occupy the top in our ranking system. Wealth, power, ego. Fuck my life. I think of my accidental gaze the other day and the piercing blue eyes that stared me down.

The other participant chortles hoarsely. “Oh, you didn’t know? You just went along and accepted a random invitation?” There’s a cold challenge in the dark pools of his eyes that makes me cringe inwardly. I want to tell him to fuck off, that he’s wrong, but in reality, the truth fucking stings. It’s embarrassing. I didn’t take the time to check the details, because my treacherous heart was ruffling rhythmically in my chest. Singing and flying and trying to connect to the loved ones I had to break from way too early in my life.

Swallowing thickly, I decide that this is where I should take my losses and let this guy have his victory. It seems like he deserves it—his ego already a great match to those who occupy the heart of the canteen.

Tilting my chin toward a random direction, I murmur, “I suggest that we call this a night, what say you?”

“I suggest you’re scared.” He cocks his head, and his earlier hesitant appearance has clearly morphed into aloofness and I’m not liking this one single bit. “Already?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool, ignoring this biting feeling that somehow every one of them is against me in this charade of hoods and cloaks. In this fucking chase. “I don’t care. I just don’t know if this is really what I signed up for.”

“Are you even into guys?” He suddenly asks. Now that has me dropping my jaw. His eyes widen, and he lets out a sharp giggle. “No, dude…did you even read the details of that NDA?” Hiding his mockery with the flat side of his hand, he mumbles to himself, “I’m going to fucking win tonight.” I think he’s right, but right now, my thoughts are in tatters.

Guys have always been…forbidden fruit. I’ve only been with girls, though I wouldn’t really call myself sexually active to begin with. I’ve always been too busy studying, or playing football with the guys, or just hanging at home.

The other participant gives me a faint smile that lacks any humor. “Do you know what they’ll do when they catch you?” He asks slowly.

"They…eliminate you?" I croak, but even to my own, swimming mind, that sounds pretty lame.

He huffs out a mocking snicker. “Oh boy, you really have no clue, right? That too, yeah, sure, they’ll eliminate you. After they’ve fucked you.”

“W-what?” A shiver flops vigorously through my stomach as my thoughts flick back to Silver Mask and the way he’d smirked at me. He knew. He fucking knew, with that rope and collar in hands. He had his eyes on his prize. Me. Problem is, he probably thought I knew too.

Bile rises in my throat and I swallow, but it won’t go away. It stays there, forming a lump that makes my voice even more gravel. “I really wanted to join this frat, but I think it’s too much. This is—” I gesture to our dimly lit surroundings, just as he says,

“Are you saying you don’t really want to become a member?” He takes another step forward, and it’s like something changes inside of me. Yes, that's exactly what I want to say, but his behavior makes me stand taller and puff my chest out. Something builds up in my gut, spreading further and further until it reaches all the way to my fingertips and down to my toes. And my heart, my heart steadies its beating, and I’m feeling like I’m running in that perfect flow in which I can keep going for hours. I’m not going to let this guy steal the win from me. This guy, who was practically sobbing before about how he was afraid of being in the darkness, this guy who’s undoubtedly in way more trouble than I am if he’s facing a crazy brother with a knife. That’s worse than rope, right?

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