Page 34 of Wicked Little Games (The Four Nightmares of Castle Pointe 2)

I hate this man. I always knew it was a possibility to be a victim of their pranks, but I certainly didn’t think it would be this terrifying… or this degrading.

“Take. Your pants. Off,” he whispers at me, a caress against my skin, covering me, blanketing me, feeling like protection, when I know it’s anything but.

My mind and heart battle, between what I’ve felt in his arms and what I feel now.

My thumbs hook underneath the waistband of my shorts, and I take a deep breath, shoving them down my thighs in one quick go. The cool air covers every inch of my skin now, and suddenly, each of them grow a smile, their straight rows of perfect teeth shining like blades ready to pierce my skin.

“Now, little witch, you shouldrun.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

The smile drops from his face, and he looks breathtakingly terrifying. “Run!”

They each grab their knives, flicking them open as they take a step toward me. The evil in their eyes is petrifying, and I spin on my bare feet, the soles digging into twigs and dirt as I dash into the woods. The brisk air whirls around me, but I don’t pay attention to the cold or the dark, creepy woods of Castle Pointe. Survival is the only necessity in my mind as I dart around stumps and low-hanging branches. They catch on my hair, pulling the strands free from my scalp as I move faster. My breath pants from my lungs, seizing with fear as I make a race for safety.

I can hear their heavy steps pounding against the ground as they chase after me, their movements calculated and purposeful, and it only terrifies me more.

I run so quickly I don’t notice the sharp branch in front of me. It digs into my stomach, gouging my skin. I bat it out of the way, and I can feel the blood trickle down my waist to my hip. My hand slaps against my stomach, smearing the blood as I sprint like my life is on the line.

Becauseit is.

Seeing a break in the trees up ahead, I know I’m so close, but I’m not feeling hopeful. My eyes water, hearing them gain on me. My feet punch the ground, knowing the soles are bloody, scraped, and bruised.

“Come here, little witch. We want to play a game,” Felix mumbles, his voice ominous, as if he’s right behind my shoulder.

“How scared are you, little witch?” This time Atticus speaks, humor in his voice as he taunts me. I grind my teeth, my tears trailing from my temples into my flowing hair. The break in the trees is getting closer, I can almost taste freedom.

A flash of white appears in my vision, and I automatically glance to the side, my eyes widening when I see a figure. A woman, her neck broken, her head resting on her shoulder as she stares at me. Her long, black hair falls to the side, blowing against the light breeze. She’s in some historic-looking dress, almost like a nightgown. Her eyes, as white as her gown, watch me, bore into me, as her elongated mouth stretches. My eyes squeeze shut as a scream works its way out of my throat. I glance forward again, just as the trees thin out.

Picking up my pace, I glance over my shoulder once again, only to see the spot empty. I feel like I’m going insane as tears flood my eyes just as I break from the tree line. My eyes widen once again, my arms windmilling as my feet hit air. I look below me, seeing the edge of the cliff behind me and nothing but the choppy waters of Superior below me.

My mouth opens in a scream, and I tense, horror locking my body as I look up, seeing all three guys staring at me with smiles on their faces. The scream in my chest can’t be contained. I can’t do anything to hide the terror within me as I race toward the surface of the water.

Crack.

It’s like landing on pure glass, every limb in my body screaming in agony. The temperature of the water is freezing, a flow of rushing ice pounding against me. It becomes too much, and I can’t hold on. The pain, the fear, they consume me, dragging me under, until I submerge into the depths of the water.

My mouth opens, and I scream.

My eyes flutter open and a horrified gasp fills me as I shoot up in bed, my sheets falling to my waist as I look around with wide eyes. My hands shake as I bring them to my face, running them across my skin and up through my tangled, wet hair. I glance out the window, listening as a light rain taps against my window.

What happened?

Was that seriously all a dream?

I pull my sheets back, seeing I’m in exactly the same clothes I wore last night. I test out my limbs, and each one feels sore and overworked, like I ran a marathon. My fingers land on my naked shoulder, and I reach back, feeling the cut strap laying against my pillow.

But, if that happened, how did I get back in my room?

I bring my fingers to my mouth, running my pointer along my lower lip, still feeling the tingling sensation of his blade against my skin. I can smell his tobacco, can taste the night air on my tongue.

My hand goes to my shirt, and I lift it up, exposing my stomach. My eyes widen when I see the large red mark from the branch that cut across me.

I grab at my ankles, pulling my feet up, as I look at the soles. They’re bruised, cut, and stained brown with dirt and dried blood.

So, it did happen.

The question is, how did I get back here?

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