Page 20 of Hunt Me
He’s right, I had. So, if it wasn’t the balcony, what was it?
I grab my bat, hold it firmly, and scan our surroundings. ‘Take that side,’ I nod to the right-hand side of the building and move back through the hall he had just chased me down.
My body is as light as a shadow as I check each gallery corner but find nothing. It doesn’t even look like anyone has been here in years, and if someone was using this place as a home, there would at least be some signs, but there is nothing. There is not a speck of dust out of place apart from the ones that the Skull and I are responsible for.
I squeeze my thighs together at the thought of how he’d chased me. Wetness pools at my core and ignoring it is almost impossible. From the second I looked at him from those steps, I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t something I’d say I’m proud of. A more primal part of me took over. I wanted to be chased, and more than anything, I wanted to be caught. And when he caught me, bent me over the balcony railing so that all I could see was the long way down and feel how he was the only thing standing between me and death, I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to me.
Take whatever he wanted from me.
I release a long breath.
Then he went and ruined probably the hottest moment of my life by slamming me to the floor.
At least he wasn’t doing it to try and be sexy. With the way his hand on the back of my head protected me from the floor, I was questioning it for a second. Now, that would be awkward. I like it rough, but not body-slam-me-into-stone-flooring rough.
‘No one on this side,’ I shout out to where the Skull is walking through the archway, and we meet in the middle of the building, the night sky shining through a couple of smashed glass plains on the ceiling. The shadowed lighting perfectly highlights his cheekbones and the toned muscles of his tattooed arms.
‘No sign on my side either,’ he crouches down to retrieve his mask and his thumb draws across the white plastic. White plastic with a bloodied fingerprint smeared across it.
His gaze snaps to my hands, searching for any cuts but I shake my head. ‘I’m not bleeding,’ looking around again. ‘That’s not mine.’
The Skull bolts to where the door stands open, and he disappears through the large wooden entrance and into the empty street.
I follow, peering outside to take a look. There’s nothing out here but the crumbling city and all the nightmares it holds within.
‘The mask must have spooked them,’ he states as he passes where I stand in the doorway.
‘That’s all it takes?’
‘Yes,’ he doesn’t smile like I expect. ‘For most people anyway.’
I scoff, trying to ignore the lack of any unsettled feelings that comment should give me.
‘C’mon,’ he waves a hand towards a staircase inside the entrance that leads down.
‘Not a chance.’
‘You scared?’
‘No, but I’m not stupid.’
He shrugs, mumbles a ‘suit yourself’ and trudges down the white steps, not looking back as he leaves me in this spooky as fuck museum. I feel eyes on my back, and it’s as if every stuffed animal is staring right at me.
I shudder.
Maybe a creepy basement with a psychopathic killer isn’t that bad of an idea.
I keep my steps light as I follow after the Skull, not wanting him to know just yet that I’ve listened to his command.
Bottles clanking sound from the end of an open-plan room. It is filled with various sized tables and a till stands at the back, right in the direction of where all the noise is coming from.
‘What are you doing?’ I shout.
‘They used to host events here,’ his muffled voice calls back.
‘So?’
‘So, mischief. Events means drink.’
