Page 97 of Their Cruel Love

“Step…mother. And fuuuuck you.”

“Language!” Razor says softly. I blink past the glare of the flashlight, and I realize he’s lying beside me, his face turned. He winks.

I smile at him. “We got this.”

We don’t, but it sounds good.

Cold infuses my muscles, swimming in, spreading like frigid wildfire, smothering each of my rebellious thoughts one…by…one. My fantasy of turning this party into a bloodbath of my enemies sinks, somewhat thankfully, into oblivion.

I wake to the zap of electric pain on my hip that jolts my flesh and makes me cry out. To Aimee climbing to her feet above me, to a world of shouting men. One of them is an idiot with lanky black hair and a big mouth. He wields a cattle prod or similar. He is the one who poked me.

Another zap and the shaft scrapes the bars as the prod is withdrawn, and I scream and roll over onto all fours. Then, still blinking, wobbly-legged, I scramble to my feet.

“You got two minutes, ladies, and we release you for the chase to begin!”

The sky is made of bars of shadow.

“The Chase!” men shout in the distance. “The Chase!”

The hill ascends before us, and Aimee and I are in a cage lodged on sand on a long narrow beach that scrapes around that hill and sprawls wider to the right, shaped like a comma. On the fat part of the comma, a batch of men waits. I can see their running shoes, the batons and sticks in their hands, a net held high as if to boast or scare us. The sea grumbles and roars there. I clutch the bars of our cage, steadying myself. The tip of the cell tower shows far above on the hill.

The man with the prod jogs away.

“Can you run? Are you ready?” Aimee looks worried, her gaze skittering from them to the hill to the beach to me.

Is she my fault too?

I know where we are, what is happening, and… “I am never going to be ready,” I croak. I squeeze shut then open my eyes, rub them, making myself wake. I shake my head. A drug was given, and a reversal agent, I guess.

We’re on the far side of the hill. I went to all that trouble hiding four knives and a corkscrew in pot plants at the resort, and I’m nowhere near them. Sucks. But Aimee?

“Why are you here?”

“Because they decided I’m a spy. This.” She shakes a piece of paper at me. “It says there is a boat at the jetty. Reach it, and they won’t kill us. If they catch us…” She gnaws her lip, inhales, exhales noisily. “You know.”

“Yeah.” I bow my head and stare at the cage bottom for a second. “How long is it now?”

“Time? Maybe sixty to seventy seconds. You can run?”

We’re both wearing underwear and gym shoes.

I stamp my feet, noting the men have retreated a little. This cage has an electronic lock. Razor is also caged and further back, but closer to those men. We have a head start. He’s still prey. I’m betting they’d kill him just to make me cry and break down.

I’m already hurting inside. Is this how it ends? Is it? Not with a bang or a whimper but with screams and blood?

I don’t believe in that boat. I don’t. But what else is there to aim for?

“Stick with me and wait for Razor? The three of us can take a man down even if he’s armed.”

“Maybe.” Aimee seems doubtful. “But there are too many.”

Ten or fifteen of them? They’re waving sticks and clubs. They won’t want to lose. Some will have better weapons, just in case we resist more efficiently than they want us to.

The waves roll in, and the sun glares down, telling me it’s late morning. Seagulls cry and circle the blueness above, and a bell tingles. It sounds like an old shop bell from the movies, signaling a customer has entered.

The cage lock goesclack. Aimee shoves at the door, and it flies open. “Run.” She takes off, heading for where the beach continues around the hill, beneath the tower. The ledge with the door will be further on. I look to Razor, hoping he willcatch up. His cage is also open, but he is simply standing there, watching me. He waves as if to shoo me off.

“Go! Move! I’ll delay them.”

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