Page 16 of Trick of the Flesh
A branch snaps to the left. My pulse spikes so hard I nearly stumble. I push faster, weaving through the trees, my hoodie clinging to my chest with sweat. Each inhale tastes of wet soil and wood smoke from the bonfire.
I need him.
No, stop it, Caleb.
“Run, pretty boy.”
The voice is low, velvet-wrapped with malice. It shivers down my spine and settles deep in my stomach, in my balls. I can’t see him, but I don’t have to. Miguel’s close. The mask makes him sound inhuman, detached, like a demon that learned to talk just to torment me.
“You want it, don’t you, baby?”
Baby?I bite down hard, lungs burning. My legs pump, but the woods are a snare—roots snagging, branches clawing at my skin through the fabric of my hoodie. My shoulder catches one, and the pain flares sharply. I barely register it.
I need distance. I need space.
But he doesn’t give me either.
Miguel knows I need him.That’s why we’re playing this little game.
The sound of him is everywhere—footsteps closing in, never hurried. He knows the game isn’t about speed.
It’s about inevitability.
The two of us.
This night, this moment, it was all supposed to happen.
My chest heaves, ragged, when I break through to the same clearing as before. The moon spills silver over the ground, turning me into a spotlighted target. I whirl in a three sixty, scanning the shadows.
Nothing.
No—wrong. Something. Always something.
“Little brother.” His taunts slither out from between the trees. “I can hear you panting from here.”
“Shut up,” I hiss, though the words don’t even reach him. They’re just for me, a pathetic type of armor that holds no significance.
The clearing feels too exposed, so I dart back into the thicker woods, the darkness wrapping tight. I can’t tell if the pounding in my ears is my heartbeat or his footsteps.
Then fingers catch my hood.
I choke on a gasp as I’m yanked backward and spun around hard. My back slams into a tree, bark biting into my shoulders through the thin cotton.
And there he is.
The mask gleams faintly, a black void with neon slashes for eyes, cold light that makes my skin prickle. Behind it, I know it’s him—his jaw, his smirk—but the mask steals his humanity, leaving only a predator. His chest rises and falls steady and calm, like he hasn’t run at all.
In shape, son of a bitch.
Me? I’m shaking, ribs aching with every gulp of air.
I might be dying… Or I’m just being dramatic.
“Caught ya.” His words rumble low, almost affectionate if not for the vicious curl underneath. His hand braces the tree near my head, caging me in. The other presses flat againstmy chest, pinning me harder. “You really thought you could get away?”
I shove at him, a feeble attempt to put some distance between us. My palms skid across the rough leather of his jacket. He doesn’t budge.
“I don’t—” My voice cracks. My throat is desert-dry. “You can’t?—”
