Their Vicious Games(70)

Saint tugs out the dagger Pierce selected, holding it up threateningly. “I’ve got your back. Do you have mine?” she asks.

I look at Saint—the girl who has never treated me like deadweight, the girl who has patiently helped me learn, but never babied me.

“Until the end,” I whisper.

Saint lets out a tiny huff, her gaze averting from my sincerity even as she fights a tiny smile. “Don’t get dramatic on me,” she mutters. She jerks into motion when we hear another gunshot.

Hannah G is in the maze now.

“We have to get moving,” I say, shuffling with Saint down the path. “Esme definitely is having her little group meet up somewhere, and it’s going to turn into a hunt for us just as much as for the prize.”

I hear a shrill cry of girls, bloodcurdling like a skulk of foxes, accompanying the next gunshot because Jacqueline finally joins the maze, and their pack is complete.

“We have to move fast. All four of them are in now,” Saint murmurs, and then we run.



* * *



The sun is steady on, not budging out of the cloudless sky to grant us even the littlest bit of relief. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and look over at Saint as we take another turn toward the outside and meet another dead end.

“Damn,” Saint mumbles. We turn back and go past two openings, then turn right this time instead of left. We’re forced to go up farther into the maze, and when we try to make another right to correct, it’s a dead end again.

And that would be fine—the dead ends—considering we’re biding our time until the prize is found and the others get out or, worse, ahead of us, but with each turn into the middle, the sounds of Esme’s pack screech louder, cutting through the obscene silences.

The third dead end is when I have to stop pretending it’s fine. Frustrated, I groan as we once again double back. Every false turn feels like a chance to run into the others, for my nerve to be tested.

“How far into the maze do you think we are?” I murmur.

Saint squints around. “I can’t really tell. I think we’re still on the outer edges, but we keep getting stuck, which makes me think… we’re being forced to surge forward, to the middle. To the prize.”

“To a confrontation, I suspect,” and Saint nods, agreeing with my suspicions. “I’d even guess the exit is near the entrance, not on the opposite side, so the first to the prize has to make their way back through everyone. I don’t think we’re meant to get out until we’ve gone through the middle.”

Our tense silence is shattered again by an uproar—one that sounds far away but not far enough. This time the shrill screams that stutter out don’t sound like joy, and there’s a barking of orders, then silence. I exchange another glance with Saint.

“Whatever that was, I want no part in it,” Saints says firmly. “Not until we’re sure they have the prize and are focused on that.”

“Agreed,” I mutter. We force our way forward, pacing slowly as exhaustion begins to weigh on us.

When we turn the next corner, I nearly collide with someone.

On instinct, I tear the gun from its holster and train it on the girl.

Hawthorne raises her hands, crossbow tilted toward the air. Her face is tinged pink and she’s looking behind her like terror is gripping her by the throat. “It’s me! It’s me!” she wheezes, before she doubles over, breathing hard.

“And that’s supposed to reassure us, why?” Saint growls, unsheathing her rapier. She looks behind Hawthorne, searching. “Where’s Esme?”

“I’m not with her,” Hawthorne insists. She huffs and I stare her down, refusing to tear my gaze away from her.

“You’re always with her,” I say coldly. Hawthorne knows that while I don’t understand her, I know who motivates her.

“We got… we got separated,” Hawthorne gasps, holding up her hands frantically. She is wide-eyed bliss and sweetness. She lets her crossbow drop to her feet, making herself as vulnerable as she can under our wary eyes.

“How?” I demand, keeping the pistol trained on her, holding myself in the exact stance that Graham taught me.

“Pierce was right. Reagan Mikaelson really does know how to use a bat,” Hawthorne says with a wry smile. “She busted Jacqueline’s two front teeth and definitely broke Hannah G’s nose.”

“Good,” I say, and I can see the look Saint gives me from the corner of my eye, like she’s surprised by my venom. It feels at home in my chest, like that’s where it belongs now, like that’s what this game has turned me into. “So you all split. But why should I trust that you’re not scouting for Esme?”

“Because Esme has her eyes on the prize.”

“And you don’t?” I demand.

“You know why I’m here, Adina. Why she’s here. I’m only trying to get Esme through without her getting hurt. It’s Jacqueline who has a bone to pick with you,” Hawthorne says firmly.

I scoff. It doesn’t matter who wants what. They’re still together. That’s an alliance, and everyone has an axe to grind with me, for one reason or another.

“We can’t stand around too long. They aren’t the only ones in here,” Saint warns me. “What do you want to do?”