I hit something.Someone.
A solid, unmoving wall of muscle. My head snaps back, my breath exploding from my lungs in a choked cry. I stumble, hands flailing, and the moment I look up?—
I’m not alone.
Five men.
I catch my breath and regain my balance, staring up at them.
Their faces are masked, skulls grinning down at me from beneath the shadows of the trees. They stand in a loose semicircle like a formation, their bodies relaxed, but their presence is a noose tightening around my throat.Predators. Watching. Waiting.
On my left, the one with soft red curls slicked to one side flexes his muscles—giving off a raw, wild masculinity—then tilts his head, his white mask gleaming under the moon. His lips stretch into a grin beneath the bone-white mask. Watching me. Savoring my fear.
“Well, well,” he drawls in a faint accent, Irish or Scottish, hands slipping into the suspenders hooked over his crisp blue collared shirt. “Looks like we caught ourselves a lost little lass.”
Scottish.
My pulse hammers. My body trembles, every muscle coiled tight.
The man in the middle, the one closest to me, the one I bumped into, steps forward—taller, his dark ponytail draped over one shoulder. He wears a crisp gray suit, absurdlypristinefor the middle of these godforsaken woods. His dark green eyes flick over me, slow, assessing. Calculating.
“You shouldn’t be here, little one,” he murmurs, quiet and dangerous. “You’re on our land.”
“And we don’t take kindly to trespassers,” the bulky, tattooed one in the back says. The one dressed in a large black hoodie that can’t hide all his bulging muscles.
A shudder wracks through me. I open my mouth—to beg, to reason, to scream—but before I can speak, a new sound slices through the air.
“There you are!”
My stomach lurches. Ice floods my veins. Oh God. No.
“So glad you found my fiancée,” my ex says smoothly, stepping into the moonlight with his usual smug, self-satisfied smirk. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”
A choked sob claws up my throat. I lurch back, shaking my head violently. “I’m not his fiancée,” I gasp, my voice raw, desperate. “He’s lying! He’s—he’s trying to take me somewhere—somewhere horrible! I won’t go!”
His hand snaps out, gripping my wrist hard. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. “She’s sick,” he says, flashing the men an easy, practiced smile. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. I’m just trying to take her home.”
Something shifts in the green-eyed man’s expression. Something sharp and knowing.
The masked black man on my right is the tallest. I’d wager 6’5 or 6’6. He’s strong and muscular like the others, but with an effortless elegance. His crisp, unbuttoned white shirt draws attention to his cheekbones, sharp as diamonds. Stroking his jaw, he watches me tremble and muses, “Interesting situation.” His voice is deep, measured. His gaze flicks to the suited man. “What do you think, Raph?”
The redhead practically vibrates beside him, barely containing his excitement. “Oh, come on, Raphael,” he groans, raising his hands with clenched fingers like he’s imitating strangulation. “It’s Halloween fucking night.”
The bulkier man standing in the back—the tattooed giant with wispy dark hair—just glowers, watching me with scorn.
The last one on my far left seems younger than the rest. In this red plaid shirt and axe resting over his shoulder, he reminds me of a lumberjack, bulging with muscle. Not as much as the tattooed guy, but I still choke on a breath when he lifts his axe, twirling it playfully. “Could be fun.”
My stomach drops.
My ex grips me tighter. Hard enough to bruise. “Come on, Briella,” he hisses. “Enough games.”
I fight. I thrash, wrenching back, and when that doesn’t work? I bite. My teeth sink into his wrist. He howls.
“Fucking bitch!” He rears back, fist lifting.
A hand clamps around his arm.
I turn and gaze up at the leader, the one with the dark ponytail.
