I guess that means he’s not savage with only me.
I expect her to whine or yelp—I would’ve definitely shrieked from how painful it looked—but she just licks her lips, showing a piercing in her tongue. “I love it when you’re being rough. Rawr.”
Is she crazy? Why the hell would she like the bastard’s violence?
Oh, wait.
Aren’t there people who get off on it? Like Killian, for instance.
I lift my head to watch them openly, not bothering to hide the fact.
“What are you doing here, Cherry?”
Of course her name is Cherry. She looks like a Cherry.
A seductive grin curves her lips. “I always wondered about your secret club, so I thought I should join. Look. I won.”
My heart sinks at the reminder that I didn’t win, and the bastard eliminated me at the last second. This Cherry, however, is already a member.
Killian’s expression remains blank, so she steps toward him, swaying her hips and biting the corner of her lower lip. “How about a celebratory fuck to welcome me to the Heathens? You can choke me.”
I step backward as if I’ve been slapped. I can’t stay here anymore. My chest aches at the thought that he’s done the things he did to me to someone else.
He choked them, too.
He probably ambushed them and made them feel alive just to drop them when he got bored.
I know all of that, I do, so why the hell do I feel like crying?
One thing’s for certain, I definitely won’t stay to watch them hook up.
“I’m…going to go.” My whisper is barely audible.
Refusing to lower my head, I turn around and start to walk from where I came.
Though maybe I can go into the house and see if there’s a way out—
A strong hand wraps around my elbow, jerking me to a halt. I stare up at Killian who all but fuses me to his side.
“I have someone else for a celebratory fuck. Better luck next time, Cherry.”
I want to say no, there’ll be no fucking and absolutely nothing to celebrate, but for some reason, I remain silent.
It’s due to the change in Cherry’s face from proper flirtatious to frightening calculation. “And who is this lost lamb?”
“More like a little rabbit. She runs fast.” Instead of mockery, there’s a hint of…pride in his tone. But before I can comment on that, he slides his palm from my elbow so he can wrap it around my waist. Possessively. “The door is to your left, and so are the dicks you can suck.”
“You’re still mad about that? We weren’t exclusive, Killer.”
“I’d have to care to be mad.”
Cherry waltzes in our direction until she’s glued to Killian’s other side. “Do you honestly think you’ll be able to replace me with this…boring lamb? She’s looks as ordinary as a grandma from fairy tales and doesn’t have what it takes to keep your mind and body stimulated. She’ll never understand you like I do, give you the thrill that I do. So don’t waste your precious time on some neurotypical human who’s not worthy of your attention. And you”—she directs her malicious glare at me—“stop running after him. You’re not on his level.”
“Who told you I’m the one running after him?” I’m surprised my voice remains calm. “In fact, he’s the one bugging me, even though I’ve told him countless times to leave me alone.” I dig my elbow into his side and try to pull away from him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, this neurotypical human is leaving.”
Hot breaths tickle my ear and send shivers through my body. I stiffen as Killian whispers, “If you leave, I’ll fuck her.”
“I don’t care! You can go to hell and it would mean shit to me,” I all but yell, then with superhuman strength—that’s probably a result of the adrenaline—I push him away and storm in the direction of the house.
My fingers twitch and I rub my hand against my shorts as I barge into the hall.
I pause when I find two of the neon purge masks inside.
Green Mask stands by the corner, watching the scene outside, apparently. The yellow mask, however, sits on a sofa with a participant on his lap.
No kidding. The one with the number eighty-nine is using Yellow Mask as a chair.
Judging by his form, he’s most definitely a man and…he looks a bit familiar. I try to meet his eyes, but he lowers his head, remaining still.
Yellow Mask—who’s been watching him the whole time—jerks his attention to me. I swallow a scream at the sight of blood on his mask and his hands that he’s using to grab eighty-nine’s waist.
“Lost?”
I startle at the sound coming from behind me and stare back to find Green Mask staring down at me.
“Uh, yeah. Can you tell me where the exit is?”
“Follow me.”
He walks in front and I hesitate for a beat, but at the yellow mask’s glare, I slowly follow the green one.
The Heathens are a complete freak show and no one will be able to convince me otherwise. A shiver slashes through me at the thought of what they might do in the dark.
As I leave the hall, I can’t help feeling bad for eighty-nine. He’ll be okay, right?
Maybe that’s what Devlin felt at the hands of these guys before he decided to drive straight off that cliff.
He’s not antagonistic, and if they made him indulge in violence or mind games, it might have shattered him.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
I jerk out of my thoughts to focus on Green Mask who’s leading me down a barely lit hallway with gothic-like red wallpaper.
For some reason, I’m waiting for a creepy hand to shoot out and drag me into one of the rooms, horror film style.
Green Mask is tall but lean, and he has a calming presence, definitely not threatening like the yellow one.
“Why not?” I ask.
“You were eliminated and this place is exclusive to members.”
Eighty-nine is a member? It can’t be. The yellow mask looked like he could’ve easily eliminated him.
“I didn’t know that and I just want to leave now,” I say, hoping he’ll drop it.
I’m trying, and probably failing, to not think about the scene I left behind.
Green Mask stops near a closet, opens it, then looks at my wrist. I remain still as he rummages through it, then produces my phone. It’s wrapped in a plastic bag with the number ‘69’ on it.
“Thanks,” I murmur, tucking it in my pocket.
Green Mask only nods, then continues his silent march. We arrive at the double doors that lead to a patio with stairs. A short distance away sits a black gate—smaller than the front one, probably a back entrance.
He stops in front of me and slowly removes his mask, letting it fall around his neck.
The man behind it is none other than Gareth.
As in, Killian’s older brother Gareth.
Where Killian has dark hair, expression, and everything, Gareth is more blond, with light green eyes and a less sharp presence.
There are still a few traits that makes him look like Killian’s sibling. Only, he seems more trustworthy—probably due to his calm appearance.
“Thank you,” I whisper.