I lift a shoulder, but my head bobs nonetheless.
He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t call me out for lying, either. Instead, Roman yells, “Next!”
Another girl steps forward, and I try not to panic.
Stay right, go left. Stay right, go left.
I got this.
One by one, all the girls get their stickers then move to the front of the haunted house until a line forms. And with every additional player, I can’t help but notice my odds going further and further down. There’s no way I’m winning this thing. Shit.
“Gentlemen,” Roman announces. “Pick your winner, then place your bet. If you’d like to watch the event on a tablet, there are cameras streaming what happens inside, but it costs extra. Ladies,” he clears his throat, “Good luck.”
If that isn’t promising, I don’t know what is.
“I thought there were no electronics,” a girl claims.
“How else will we know who won?” One of the guys waves a tablet in the air. “Besides, I’m paying an extra five hundred to be able to use this thing, so you should be grateful.”
The girl scoffs. “Grateful? For what?”
“For adding more money to the pot.” The guy grins. “You’re welcome.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
Five hundred dollars just to witness our demise? Is he serious? Five hundred dollars? What I wouldn’t do for five hundred dollars, and I'm not talking about the dirty money Jagger handed to me weeks ago. I’m talking about hard-earned cash like the money I could walk away with if I make it through tonight. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I’m going to do this. I amgoingto do this. It’s only a haunted house.
My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest as the final girls take their stickers and stand in line at the front of the shabby building. Once everyone is relatively situated, Jagger reappears. The cotton of his black T-shirt stretches around his biceps and chest, highlighting his broad shoulders like the first night we met. His arms are crossed and a bored, almost uninterested, expression takes over his stupidly handsome features. Or maybe it’s the facepaint. He doesn’t look at me. Maybe he thinks I hightailed it out of here. Or maybe he’s actively avoiding me. I can’t decide which is worse. Beside him is Roman, with the same skull facepaint and same unnerving expression. They legitimately look like gatekeepers to Hell, and here we are. Their prisoners.
But what’s worse? It’s how hot and cold Jagger can be. How he can push me up against a wall and warn me to stay away one minute, then the next he’s pretending like I don’t even exist. Or maybe that’s the point. Maybe he’s trying to seem uninterested so I can make it out of this stupid haunted house with no one the wiser, thanks to his words of caution and, let’s be real, super helpful advice about how to make it out alive.
Stay right, go left. Got it.
I cling to the words while Roman rambles on about the instructions. I should probably pay attention, but I’m too amped up to focus on anything at all, let alone the logistics of an absolutely ridiculous event I’m participating in on the off chanceI walk away with enough money to cover a new laptop and maybe a few drinks at The Pelican for me and Lexie.
Yeah. If we survive this, I’m definitely buying drinks to celebrate. That is,ifI walk away with the money.
Not if. When. Because I’m not here for some extra spending cash on clothes or iced coffee. I’m here to graduate from college. I’m here for my future. I’m here because?—
“All right,” Roman announces. “I think that’s it. If there aren’t any more takers?—”
“Wait!” someone yells. Hair prickles along my neck as I recognize the voice. It’s my own freaking father. He stumbles through the crowd of men, a handful of twenties fluttering through the air. “I wanna make a bet.”
My gut lurches, but I don’t move a muscle, praying he doesn’t notice me in the line of girls.
“Over here,” someone else calls, answering him. “I’ll get you taken care of.”
Satisfied, Roman turns back to the group of us in front of him. “Numbers one through ten. Line up. You have a two minute head start. If you rip off your tag, you’ll be escorted out of the haunted house for surrendering, so do not take off that sticker unless you’re out. Understand?” Roman hesitates. “Each group is being timed. If more than one person manages to make it out alive, your time will be the deciding factor to who wins and who loses.” He turns to the group of guys speculating tonight’s event. “Bets are officially closed. Jagger, is there anything else you want to add?”
From the porch, Jagger’s eyes finally meet mine. “Good luck.”
The first ten girls file in through the front door until it closes behind them. The sound of a heavy lock clicking into place follows seconds later, and my entire body tenses. They lock us in? They seriously lock us in?! Panic coats my insides, my fightor flight already kicking in, though I force myself to stand still. And then I hear it. Screams of absolute horror.
“Let me out!”
“I’m done! I’m done!”
“Fuck you, Jagger! You owe me a new dress!”
