“Let’s see what you’re made of now, princess,” Saint says, shining a flashlight on my face. The light illuminates my surroundings, and my panic accelerates to coronary-inducing levels as the myriad of bones littering the muddy ground comes into clear view. Some still bear remnants of decaying flesh, confirming these are more recent kills.
I tremble all over, and this time, it’s not from the cold.
Chuckles ring out from above, followed by a succession of wails as they howl like wild animals. They throw slabs of bloody meat into the pit, and I shriek as Galen throws his offering right at my face, darting to the side just in time. I scramble back as my foot hits the side of a skull, screaming before I can stop myself. They laugh again, and I bristle with rage, but I clamp my lips shut, because I won’t plead or beg. They would love that, and I won’t give them the satisfaction.
It turns dark again when Saint switches his flashlight off, but it brings zero comfort. Another shudder works its way through me, and I cross my arms over my chest as my teeth chatter.
“Wild wolves are known to roam these woods at night,” Saint says, his voice tinged with glee. “I wouldn’t stay down there too long, princess. Unless you want to become wolf nom, nom.”
CHAPTER 19
ISTAND INthe center of the muddy pit, in the pitch-dark, in my now filthy pajamas, shivering and shaking from the cold and uncontrollable rage. I listen to the guys laughing and joking as they saunter off, leaving me to my fate, and I want to tear those assholes limb from limb and feed them to the wolves when they come hunting. But my furious thoughts aren’t going to help me escape, and I don’t plan on spending long down here.
First, I hurl the lumps of bloody raw meat out of the pit, one at a time, offering silent thanks that Dad got me interested in kickboxing at sixteen. Between classes and regular bouts with the punching bag in our basement gym, I have decent strength in my arms. Enough that I can toss the stinking piles of wolf bait out of the pit and away from me. I don’t think I’ve thrown them far though, and the scent will most likely carry on the breeze, so I need to get my ass out of here stat.
Ignoring the icky feel of slimy bones under my feet, I scale the perimeter of the small pit, using my hands to explore the muddy walls for anything to grip on to, but I can’t find any markings I can use to climb out of here. The mud is quite soft to the touch, almost clay-like in substance, as if they built this pit on purpose solely to drive me demented.
I pace the small clear space in the middle of the pit, racking my brains for a solution.
When it comes to me, I almost throw up.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, and bile swims up my throat, but I can’t identify any other plan, and even though I don’t know if this will work, I’ve got to try.
I attack the wall I climbed down using my long nails to dig, pulling clumps of mud away. When I’ve gouged a deep enough hole, I swallow my distaste as I crouch down, tentatively reaching out and grabbing the first bone I feel. I don’t think about the fact this belonged to a living, breathing being at one point in time, focusing on the fact I need to get out of here beforemybones join this gruesome collection.
I wedge the bone into the hole I’ve dug, covering it with the clay-like mud, but leaving the end part jutting out just enough to climb on. I pack the mud around the edges, compacting it as tightly as I can, and then I repeat the process, lining bones up in a crisscross pattern, choosing bigger, wider bones for my feet and smaller ones for my hands to grip onto. I go as high as I can reach, hoping that I can close that final gap using my hands and pull myself the rest of the way up.
I’m covered in mud and sweat after my exertions, but at least, I’m no longer shivering.
Here goes nothing. I start to climb, and it’s clear straightaway that the bones aren’t going to hold long, so I scale the wall as fast as I can, almost slipping a couple times, until I’ve reached the last marker. I stretch my arms up, my breath oozing out in relief when my fingers grip the top of the pit. My footing gives out as I grab the top with my second hand, and I dangle from the edge, literally holding myself up by my arms and my fingers. I dig my hands into the earth above, grunting as I use my upper body strength to haul myself up and over the edge.
I roll onto my back, breathing heavily, my heart pounding furiously in my chest, arms throbbing like a bitch. But I’m silently triumphant because I’m out! I force my aching body to move, staggering to my feet and glancing all around.
Daylight is starting to creep into the dark sky, offering some small illumination, but I still have no clue what direction we came from. I remember the sound of their voices as they walked away, and I think they were heading in a westerly direction, so I take off that way, praying I’m not going deeper into the woods.
My desire to get the hell out of Dodge before any wolves make an appearance has me running even on blistered, cut feet.
The entire time, I’m conjuring up imaginative ways to dismember the guys.
I come to a small clearing, stopping for a minute to find my bearings and to draw a long breath. A gap in the woodland on my right grabs my attention, and I head toward it, smiling when I spot the fresh imprint of boots on the soft grass. I sprint through the gap, jogging along the narrow grassy path, my breath puffing out in cloudy circles, my limbs tired and protesting, but I keep going until I come to a much larger clearing and discover a defined path. I follow it for a mile or two until I reach the main entrance to the forest. I only know it is because I came up here one time with Darrow for a party.
I lean over the worn wooden railing to catch my breath while scanning my surroundings. The road outside is long and seemingly never ending, with thick forest running on either side, but I detect a small property about a quarter mile up ahead, and I take off in that direction.
I stick to the little grassy strip on the side of the road, forcing my tired legs to cooperate for another stretch.
When I reach the building I spotted, I see it’s a small one-story log cabin. A trickle of smoke filters from the chimney as I stand at the front door and knock. No one answers. I figure they’re most likely asleep, so I rap harder. When no one appears after I pound the door, scraping my knuckles in the process, I try the handle, but it’s locked. I walk around to the rear of the house, trying the back door, but it’s locked too.
Fuck.
I don’t want to add B & E to my resume, but I’m low on options. I’ve no money, no cell, no shoes, and there isn’t another house in sight. I need to get to a phone to call for help. I have no choice.
Wiping sweat off my brow with the back of my hand, I look all around for something I can use to break in.
What I wouldn’t give for my lock-picking kit now.
I’m about to use my elbow to break the glass panel in the door when I spot a large plant pot at the corner of the cabin. Figuring I might as well check, I pull it up, and a laugh rips free from my mouth at the sight of the key.
Someone up there is looking out for me.
