Pushing into the narrow wedge of space I’ve folded myself into, the wall at my back gives way the tiniest bit. I frown, shifting onto my other side to push at it, and sure enough, a portion of the wall folds inwards. My breath stutters.
As if I have no self-preservation whatsoever, I tuck myself into the tiny, forgotten alcove that was probably meant for sound equipment or storage or something. There’s nothing in here now, but something hollow I accidentally kick that seems like a cardboard box.
Slotting the panel back into place, I sink into the dust, undoing the point of the shower, and grin to myself like an absolute maniac. I found somewhere to hide that’s cramped, awkward, and absolutely perfect because, holy shit, I’m actually going to win this.
Chapter Seventeen
The house tilts. Not literally, though the amount of whiskey Rhys shoved into my hand has made it possible. Perhaps it’s just me tilting as the hallways lists to one side. My pulse thumps dully at the base of my skull, but under it is a thread of something bright and eager, something that burns. I’m drunk, yes. Stupidly, embarrassingly so. But even through the haze, the game is alive under my skin, urging me onward.I’m coming, sweetheart.Whether I find her or collapse face-first in some antique rug, the hunt is on.
I shoulder my way through the door after door, glancing upon foreign rooms as if I can see straight. I don’t know what I’m looking at, the edges of the furniture blurring, the scones of light in the corners seeming to carry an audible buzzing with them.
I wince and rub at my ear, then snort at myself because, wow, I am absolutely not sober enough for this game. Frankly, Rhys’ confidence was the reason I agreed to drink alongside him in the first place. He could locate Harper in this manor with a blindfold on, so if I’m going to watch him fuck her in all the ways he described whilst sitting outside his front door, I might as well bedrunk for it. His descriptions were vivid enough that I’ve already lived through them in my skull.
With only the burn of liquor warming my veins, I let yet another door click shut behind me. The sound slices straight through the haze clogging my skull. The corridor stretches ahead, shadows long and thick, and I swear they sway with me. I end up using the wall more than I’d like to steady myself, fingers dragging along cold paneling. Why is everything so cold here?
If I had all the money in the world, I’d have at least one wall made of faux fur so I could rub my face against it when I inevitably run out of things to buy and turn to a life of drugs. That’s what rich people do, right? I wouldn’t know. When I was growing up, I only read a new headline when we were using a newspaper to patch up cracks in our windows.
“Come here, my little sex cookie,” I call out like I’m calling a dog. My hands work their way across the wall, twisting another door handle, and I stumble to catch myself from falling on my face. “The cookie monster is coming to eat you…out,” I snigger to myself. The whiskey churns in my stomach, loosening my grin, tugging it up crooked even though my head’s spinning.
Finding myself in a games room, I drag my feet towards the snooker table and slump against it. There’s no point even looking. Rhys no doubt sent me this way because he knows exactly where she’ll hide. Maybe she didn’t even make it out of the shower yet, and he’s up there, hoarding her to himself. That sneaky bastard. Attempting to lie back on the table, a few snooker balls dig into my ribs, and I irritably push myself upright.
“Rhys can go fuck himself,” I grumble. Time lapses, fading in and out, and every time I blink, I’m deeper in the manor as if my feet are programmed to know the way. I meander the hallway, drifting side to side. Stopping at a particular window, I peer up at the moon. The longer I stare at it, the more it blurs asif someone has smudged it with their thumb, the pale crescent growing hazy and doubling before my vision. I blink hard, but it doesn’t fix itself. Lifting my hand in front of my face, that doubles too. Imagine if I found Harper in time to claim my prize, and she has four tits.
A dry laugh coughs its way out of me as I press my forehead to the cold glass, chuckling to myself freely and openly. I picture her smug little smirk if she could see me now, finally pulling the stick out of my ass enough to loosen up. All it took was a dare and a whiskey that was older than my grandfather would have been, God rest his soul.
And while I stand here reevaluating my life, Rhys is closing in on her. Another warm rush spirals through me that has nothing to do with the whiskey. It’s the hard burn of jealousy, despite being able to have Harper any time I’m able to get out of my own way. It feels different when it’s a game, when she’s a prize to be won.
“Save some of her for me,” I mutter at the moon, as if it can pass the message along. Peeling myself away from the window takes serious effort, but eventually gravity remembers to cooperate again. My feet carry me onwards, weaving a path I’m not consciously choosing. I inhale a sweet scent that I trick myself into believing is Harper’s shampoo, drawing me to a door at the end of the hall.
The scent of old leather and cedar hits me first, expanding throughout the theater space I stumble into. My boots sink into the plush carpet as I move between the rows of chairs, segregated by dim blue aisle lights. The giant blank screen stares down at me like an unblinking eye. A chill drifts over my heated skin as if I were stepping onto the set of a horror movie. Lucky for me, I actually like horror. Rhys, on the other hand, seems like the type to insist he’s not scared of them and then shit himself at every jump scare.
Speaking of Rhys, I faintly hear him down another hallway, opening doors, muttering curses, and searching with a desperation that proves he hasn’t found Harper as easily as he expected. Dropping into a cushioned chair, another round of laughter bubbles from me as I throw my head back and call out to him.
“She’s a master of silence, dumbass. She won’t be found if she doesn’t want to be.” I run a hand through my hair, grinning despite myself as I picture her darting around this manor like a fox who knows the hounds are too slow to keep up. What a menace our beautiful girl is. Suddenly, the door bangs open, and I groan at the impact it has on my head.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Rhys almost roars, stepping into my line of vision. Apparently, where alcohol makes me tired and calm, it enrages Rhys to the point of panting. His shoulders are drawn up tight, the veins in his arms pulsing through the ink. Even in the faint blue lighting, his eyes are wild, blown out like a savage animal on the hunt. I suppose that’s what he is.
“Dude, you need to chill out,” I roll my eyes in time with my head, flopping back against the chair. My hand drops to the arm, faintly feeling out a row of buttons. “What the,” I frown, pushing one for the chair to flip back into a recliner. “Holy hell, this is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in,” I grin, stroking the arms back and forth tenderly.
Rhys makes a noise I’m not sure is even human, his foot shooting out and slamming down on the reclined footrest. The entire chair snaps back into place, all but throwing me out of it. I shoot to my feet with a slight wobble, jamming my finger into his chest after missing on the first two tries.
“Hey! You’d better calm the fuck down. You can’t find her, boo hoo, you lost your little game. Don’t take it out on me.”
Rhys glares at me like I’m personally responsible for killing his pet fish. I bet he’d have one of those Chinese fighter fishthat eats everything that comes near, the violent, lonely fuckers. Knocking my finger aside, he grabs my T-shirt in his fist. I don’t even fight it, thankful for the assistance to stop swaying.
“You made me put the fucking clause in about a punishment if we don’t catch her by midnight,” he hisses into my face. I wrinkle my nose, the heavy liquor on his breath colliding with the roiling in my stomach.
“So what?” I let my head drop to the side. “She’ll make us drink vinegar or eat a hot chili or something passive-aggressive. We’ll just deal with it.” Rhys leans back to get a clear view of me, his voice dropping into something dark and ominous.
“If I were her and I wanted to make a power move, I’d force us to kiss,” he narrows his sharp eyes, “or worse.” His gaze flicks down to my crotch. I reel back, shoving out his hold, hoping I saw that wrong, but my head is already shaking. “What if she grows a kink for sword crossing. Will we justdeal with it?” A wash of horror falls across my face, dousing the recent calm I was content with.
“How long until midnight?” I gulp, my throat suddenly parched. Taking a few steps back, I use the row of chairs to prop me upright. Rhys pulls his phone out and flashes me the time. I hiss like a damn vampire, holding my hand up to my eyes, but not before I catch the time. We have less than five minutes. We’re screwed. “Fuck. Where is she?”
Rhys smirks faintly, but there’s restless frustration under it as he starts pacing in the aisle as if the room’s too small for him. “She’s close,” he mutters, sniffing the air like a very drunk, very horny bloodhound. “I can feel it.”
“Dude, that’s not a feeling. That’s dehydration.” I scrub my hand over my hand. This is so typical of me, to gift Harper all of the power and not spare a second thought for my own preservation. My hand ends up in my hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to get my mind straight. This wouldn’t be happeningif I were wearing my beanie. Call it my thinking cap. “Come on, asshole, think,” I say to both of us. “You must know every hiding spot in this place. Where was one place your father could never find you?”
Rhys stops dead in his tracks, his body facing the screen. I glance at it and back, unsure what has captured his attention. He narrows his eyes and glances back at the time on his screen. Two minutes to go.
