Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Maggie’s gaze shot to Daisy then back to Trisha. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I didn’t come all this way to run through the woods like some scared rabbit.” She met their stares in the reflection, her jaw set with the kind of determination that came from surviving worse. “I’m leaving here with as much money as possible. But I’m not giving up any control. I’ll choose who touches me. Anyone puts a hand on me without permission—I’ll break their fingers.” She unclasped her necklace, appraised it with a raised brow, then shoved it in with the earrings. “I got kids to get home to. I’m doing this my way.”
“You can’t be serious,” Maggie breathed.
“Dead serious.” Trisha turned to face them, her American accent sharpening each word. “You see those men down there? Half of them are pigs. The rest are just rich and bored. I’ve dealt with worse for free.” She smoothed the front of her crimson gown. “Tonight, we get paid. No one said we can’t pick.”
Daisy’s hand drifted unconsciously to her hair, fingers brushing the elaborate twist where her locket lay hidden, secured by a pin and prayer. It was still there. Still safe. But maybe she should move it.
“How rough do you think it’s going to get?”
Trisha scoffed. “Those men are somewhere in this castle, waiting just like us. Have you ever waitressed? Watched wealthy people before a meal? They drink, and stroke each other, getting louder and bigger, sucking all the air out of the room, inflating their egos like giants.” She looked at both of them expectantly, then scoffed. “Jesus, girls, keep up. We’re on the fucking menu.”
Maggie looked at Trisha like she’d sprouted a second head, then leaned closer to Daisy. “I’m still hiding,” she whispered. “First shadow I see, I’m gone.”
“Same,” Daisy agreed, though her plan didn’t feel as foolproof as it had earlier.
“Good luck with that,” Trisha said. “I prefer to play offense over defense. Those men have been blowing each other since they arrived. They want you to run. This is one case where they get to act like the animals they are.”
Daisy’s heart shrank and rattled wildly in her chest. “You’re trying to scare us.”
Trisha’s sharp stare pegged her like a nail sinking into a cross. “I’m trying to warn you. Hiding won’t save you. It’s not even fully dark out yet. They have until dawn. You can’t hide forever.”
Trisha pivoted and bee-lined to the ignored buffet in the corner. Maybe she was right. What if the best way to approach this was to run towards it rather than try to run away?
“I can’t breathe in this dress,” Maggie said, gasping as she pressed a hand to her emerald bodice.
The room hummed with nervous energy. Fifty-seven tributes in various states of panic and bravado, their gowns catching the firelight like jewels scattered across velvet. Some paced. Some prayed. A few laughed too loudly, their champagne courage already wearing thin.
“Just stick to your plan,” Daisy said, but her words were hollow, distracted by her own panic.
The double doors swung open, and she flinched.
“Attention, my beautiful tributes.” Aunt Vanessa glided into the room, her champagne gown flowing behind her like liquid gold, and her hair was swept into an elaborate crown. “It’s time to find your places. Please line up in order of your numbers. Lowest to highest. Quickly now.”
The room erupted into motion.
Daisy found herself shuffled toward the front of the line, her number among the lowest. They formed rows of eight, lining up like beautiful soldiers. Dolls that would be broken by dawn.
Her fingers fidgeted into fists. Palms sweaty, she tried to dry them on her gown, but silver beading swirled over every inch of the fabric. She looked down at her shoes. How was anyone supposed to run, on pebbles and grass, in such ridiculous footwear?
Maggie appeared just behind her at 1938. They exchanged a look that said everything words couldn’t. Trisha, 1952, stood a few bodies back, her chin raised like a queen unapologetically walking toward her own execution.
“Remember,” Aunt V called out as the lines took shape, “when your number is announced, you will descend the grand staircase, pause at the landing for the hunters to acknowledge their interest, then proceed to the ballroom floor.” She approached the first tribute and adjusted a curl hanging by her ear. “Masks on. Chins up. Do not think of yourselves as prey, my darling does. You’re the prize.”
Was there a difference?
The doors opened, and she forgot how to swallow.
The line started to move, pouring them into a corridor lined with candles, their flames flickering in an unseen draft. Male voices carried from a distance, drifting over the soft whirr of classical music.
The air grew thicker as they walked, heavy with exotic floral scents with undertones of dark dread lurking underneath. Anticipation. Hunger. The combined weight of God knew how many predators below.