On, off.
On, off.
I’ve always hated clowns. To be fair, I don’t know anyone who actually likes them, but still. It makes the crickets and the last creeper feel like a walk in the park. Or maybe not. At least there’s a fence separating me from them, right? What’s the worst they can do?
I take another step, and the clowns do the same, mirroring my movements as the light goes dark before casting the eerie red spotlight on just how much progress they’ve made as it turns back on.
On, off.
On, off.
On, off.
The light matches my racing heart’s rhythm. With every added second I spend in this room, it slowly picks up its pace, making me feel like I’m going crazy.
Get. Moving, I silently remind myself.
On—I freeze—off.Bolting toward the door, I make it three quarters of the way when the lights go on again. A blood curdling scream claws its way up my throat as the clown rams into the fence, smashing me against the wall behind me. Their fingers slip through the gaps in the chain link, clawing at my clothes and hair. Clearly, they don’t give a shit about the lights anymore. I drag myself through the small space, wincing as the suffocating weight of the clowns’ bodies press into me. A hand finds my T-shirt. It grips onto the dark fabric, twisting it into its fist until the possibility of me actually getting the hell out of here feels slim to none. I slap at the hand, hoping they’ll release me, but the clown only cackles louder.
They can’t hurt me. They can’t. It would be against the rules. Or would it? I wasn’t paying enough attention when they were describing the dos and don’ts to actually confirm whether or not my safety was a requirement. And why would it be? This is an underground betting ring, for shit’s sake. Sure, Roman made a comment about the whole thing, but why the hell should I trust anything that Drift traitor says?
My fingers find the edge of the sticker again, and the clown’s eyes light up as they zero in on the movement.
“That’s right, number thirteen,” the clown cackles. “Take it off. Take it off, and all of this goes away.”
My eyes thin, and he twists the fabric even more while a second clown drags his hands along the side of my face. Their weight is too much. Their bodies pin me in place. Leaving me barely any room to breathe, let alone make it out of here alive. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
“See how pretty she looks with my makeup?” the second one says. “Bet I could paint you all over.”
Stomach rolling, I drop my hand from the sticker and shove into the chain link fence instead of away from it, using my weight to knock them off balance in hopes of breaking free. By some miracle, it kind of works. The hand on my T-shirt pulls back, and someone curses as I strain to reach the button on the opposite wall. When my fingers brush against the bold red circle, the clowns immediately retreat back to their original places. I don’t miss the way one of them cradles his wrist to his chest. It must’ve been pinned at an odd angle when I threw my body weight at the fence.
Good.
As the door opens, I rush through it and into the next hallway before it slides closed behind me. Holy. Freaking. Shit. Another two doors wait for me with a flickering white light overhead. Windows are missing this time, blocking any hints as to what might be waiting on either side. Leaning against the closed door I just passed through, I try to steady my breathing while wiping the second-hand clown paint from my cheek. But even then, it doesn’t erase the feel of their fingers clawing at my skin. My clothes. Everything.
Ifthatwas what Jagger considered the lesser of two evils, I can only imagine what was in the quiet room. Or maybe it’s what he wanted. To take me through the gambit and make me miserable. He wouldn’t do that, would he? What am I thinking?Of course, he would. He doesn’t like me. He isn’t looking out for me.
No one is.
My upper lip curls in disgust as I realize just how much of a fool I was to listen to Jagger the first time. Looking up at the blinking red light in the upper corner of the hallway, I flip off whoever’s watching and slam my hand against the door on my right.
Are you watching, Jagger?
Because if you are?
Fuck. You.
19
JAGGER
I’m gonna kill her.
I told her to stay left. Stay fucking left, and what does she do? The girl chooses right. She was so close. So fucking close.
Molars grinding, I stare at the screen, weighing my options. If I help her, she’ll be disqualified. If I don’t, she’s gonna have to go through three more rooms until she’s led right back to where she was before she pushed the wrong button.
“I gotta piss,” I announce. “I’ll be right back.”
