Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Or more like, I’m trapped by Orange Mask who’s standing about thirty meters away nonchalantly holding the club that rests on his shoulder.
And he’s still staring in my direction, the neon orange of his mask becoming creepily predatory as the night stakes its claim. Though, he’s not looking directly at me, so he doesn’t know where I am exactly.
“Come out while I’m giving you the chance. If I have to pull you out, the scene won’t look pretty.”
It won’t look pretty either way, psycho.
And how can someone sound so apathetically methodical while talking? His tone is no different from that of a robot.
An evil one that’s defected and is currently plotting humanity’s demise.
“Your time is up.” The weight of his words hits me first before he starts toward me with long, purposeful strides.
I don’t think about it as I run in the opposite direction.
Inexplicable energy courses through me, bubbling with the sole purpose of survival. Of getting as far away from him as possible.
It’s not about being eliminated, but more about getting out of here in one piece.
I use the bushes as camouflage and shove my way through them. Fallen branches and stray thorns cut my hand and scratch the side of my neck in a symphony of minor violence.
The sound of his footsteps follows right after me, long, hard, and so damn persistent that my heart speeds up.
It’s like that feeling back in childhood when playing hide-and-seek with friends. When you felt someone at your heels and you released a squeal of both excitement and fear.
But this time is slightly different.
Only fear locks my muscles together and crowds my mind. My limbs shake and my pulse buzzes in my ears, despite my mental attempts to remain calm.
Because I know that if he catches me, I’m dead meat. I’ll be unconscious like all the other participants he pummeled to the ground.
Hell, maybe I’ll have to be admitted to the hospital and my parents will hear about this reckless decision I made and be disappointed in me.
No.
The closer he comes, the faster I run and run, and run.
But no matter how hard I do, I don’t lose him.
Not even close.
Hell, he’s hotter on my heels with every passing second. And for some reason, I feel he’s delaying catching me on purpose, judging by his even footsteps.
He wants me to run and see how far I can go.
Damn that sadistic twat.
If I keep going like this, I’ll be no different from a mouse that’s being played with by a suburban cat.
I search my surroundings and, in a snap decision, I hide on the side of the dirt road behind a large rock.
My harsh breathing resembles that of a trapped animal, but I force myself to remain still.
The thud, thud, thud against my rib cage increases in volume, in desperation and regret for what I’ve done.
Did I lose him?
My eyes stay glued to the path I escaped down to make sure Orange Mask has left.
I wait and wait, sweating in my T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no trace of him.
It doesn’t make sense.
Since he was hot on my trail, he should’ve caught up to me by now.
Unless…
My swallow gets stuck in my throat as I slowly look behind me. Sure enough, he’s standing there, casually leaning against a tree, arms and legs crossed and the club hanging from his left hand like a threat.
“Is there a reason why you’re always hiding?”
The ripple of his deep voice carries in the air and vibrates against my skin. It’s less robotic now, as if he’s deemed me worthy enough to be acquainted with the less apathetic version of him.
That’s by no means good news, considering his real image could be the personification of a devil.
His voice makes me pause, though.
I’m sure I’ve heard that commanding American accent before. So he has to be either Gareth or Killian Carson, the siblings the girls and I often see at the fight club.
Or Jeremy Volkov.
Please don’t let it be Jeremy.
A sane person would wish for anyone aside from the psycho Killian Carson or the crazy Nikolai Sokolov, but in my eyes, Jeremy has always been the worst of the Heathens.
Just because he doesn’t announce his actions as publicly as the others do doesn’t make him harmless, just much better at hiding his monstrosity.
After all, he didn’t become the leader of the Heathens by acting nice.
“Being accepted into the club can only be achieved through running, not hiding,” he continues in that less-robotic yet freezing-cold tone.
I open my mouth, then slam it back shut.
Blimey.
I almost spoke and completely gave my nationality and my unorthodox appearance at this initiation away.
Orange Mask pushes off the tree and I take a step back, then slightly jump when my shoes hit the rock.
“You’re still not running.” His voice lowers with a dark edge, overcrowding with promises of a worse fate than the other participants he sent flying.