Page 56 of Dare To Break

Why had it taken so long for them to send another dare? Why the blindfold? Am I going to get to meet them? They made me wait a whole week. Why should I even go?

Opening the note again, I scan the black written words with a growing sense of anticipation.

I need to know.

Chapter 36

Eli

We take to the tunnels to get to the cemetery. That way, we don’t have to worry about security or being spotted by Arabella. Once we’re at our spot near the bench, Kellan moves to where he’d been the last time we recorded her, and we both pull on our ski masks. We’re dressed all in black so we blend into the darkness, and once the masks are in place, I can’t see Kellan where he’s crouching down behind the trees.

I hear her coming before I see her. The snap of twigs, crunch of leaves, and the soft pad of her footfalls as she jogs along the path. I shift my stance, making sure my cell phone’s camera doesn’t have the flash on, and tap record. I’ve found the perfect position on the branches of the trees to secure it, so I don’t need to hold it, and it’ll record the entire thing.

Why am I recording it?

Why not?

When she finally comes into view, I smile. She’s wearing black, the same as we are, her sneakers are the only flash of color in the darkness. She doesn’t look around and makes straight for the bench and sits down.

“Are you out here?” Her voice breaks the silence, soft and hesitant.

I don’t reply.

Her tongue sweeps out to dampen her bottom lip. “I did what you said … the other day. And I’m here now … like you instructed.”

Instructed. Interesting choice of word. Not dared, which is what I would have expected her to use had I even considered the fact she would want to hold a conversation.

She fiddles with something at her waist, and then her cell phone is in her hand. She must have a bag of some sort wrapped around her; one I can’t see. The light from the screen highlights her face as she frowns down at it, her fingers tapping away. When she’s satisfied with whatever she’s doing, she sets it beside her and her fingers dip into the bag again and pull out the blindfold I’d left for her.

She hesitates, the slim strip of material draped across her fingers.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” The words are muttered but they still reach me.

Truthfully? I can’t believe she’s doing it, either. I wouldn’t. But here we are, and she’s wrapping the material around her head, covering her eyes.

“I set the timer for six minutes to give me time to put it on.” The words are louder, talking to me again, assuming I’m here … watching her. “It’s dark without the blindfold. I can’t see anything with it.” There’s a hitch to her voice, a tremor, as what she’s doing finally connects in her mind. She tucks her hands between her thighs, her back straight and her head up and waits.

She’s sitting in the dark, alone, blindfolded, and nobody knows she’s here. Anything could happen to her.

I recite the first three verses of ‘The Raven’ by Poe in my head, then straighten and step onto the path. Kellan has already set a timer on my smart watch, which will count down from five minutes once I tap the screen. I tap start and walk out.

I stop in front of her, my feet inches from hers, but she doesn’t react. Her breathing remains the same. She doesn’t flinch. The blindfold is doing its job and she can’t see me.

But I want her to know I’m here. I want her to react. I want her fear, so I scuff one shoe against the dirt. Her breath hitches again, her lips parting to allow her tongue out to wet her lips.

I follow the path it takes as it snakes from one side of her mouth to the other and mimic the motion with my own tongue over my lips. With careful movements, I place the small black box I’m holding onto the bench beside her cell. This close, I can hear her quick breaths, see the rise and fall of her breasts, and I reach out before I can stop myself. My hand hovers close to her.

I could touch her. She could scream. No one would see. No one would hear.

I stand there, frozen, arguing with myself, with my instincts, and instead of closing my fingers over her breast, I shift position and curl a lock of hair around them instead. Her head swings sideways.

“Who’s there?” Fear is rich in her voice, the realization of how much danger she could really be in, and my dick is so fucking hard it’s almost unbearable.

I release her hair and drag a finger over her cheek, along her jaw, and over her lips. She jerks back, but she doesn’t scream. Her breath stills, stops, lips parting as I trace their shape. They’re soft, softer than I expected. Her mom’s look full of collagen, and I expected hers to be the same. They’re plump, curved like a cupid’s bow, appealing to my artist’s eyes. I’d been sure they would be as fake as everything else. I’m surprised by the discovery that they’re not.

I tap her bottom lip, and lean close until my mouth is beside her ear. “Open,” I whisper, hoping that her heightened sense of fear combined with the whisper I’m using stops her from recognizing me.

Her mouth drops open.

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