Page 15 of Make Her Scream

Is this some kind of sick trick my guys are playing on me?

I’m stone in this man’s arms. The man is in Roman’s mask, but doesn’t smell of woods, and nature, and surety the way my Viking does. He smells of decay and something truly evil.

No, surely this can’t be happening. The Preachers wouldn’t play games with me like this, would they?

All they’ve ever shown me is love, so why would they turn the tables on me in this way? My mind begins to unravel as pure terror oozes to fill every crevice. I’ve never exactly been the most stable person. I’ve been through far too much abuse in my life. Now I’m second guessing everything. Every happy moment with Cain, Roman, and Mal is starting to look different.

Now I look more closely, the mask isn’t the same as Roman’s. Yes, it’s a skeletal mask, but it’s more solid than Roman’s with less detail.

The man behind me reaches around and slowly unzips the front of my dress. I let out a murmur of horror, and the fake Roman pushes the material to one side and palms my breast.

“Anchovies.” The word falls from my lips as a sobbed whimper.

“What?” the man behind demands.

Not Cain, and not Mal. And this man in front is not Roman.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Please, no.

“Anchovies.”

This time it’s a shout.

“Oh, fucking hell, we’ve got ourselves a crazy one.” Fake Roman laughs.

“Anchovies, anchovies, anchovies.” I scream and scream the word, praying it makes all this end.

9

CAIN

I can’t believe we’ve lost her. This was meant to be sexy fun, but I’m genuinely concerned now. Roman is with me, and I have no idea where Mal is. This fucking house is a twisty maze of false walls and rooms full of mirrors and misdirection meant to send you back around and around, chasing your own damn tail.

I take my phone out and try to call her, though I’m not sure if she even has hers with her. I think she left her small bag in the truck.

“Fuck,” I swear under my breath.

“What?” Roman asks.

“No cell service. Try yours.”

He pulls his phone from his back pocket and curses as he tries to use it.

“Must be in a dead zone.”

“Ophelia,” Roman yells again.

We’re back at the same place we’ve already been twice.

There are a few seconds’ lull in the noises of the funhouse. I guess it happens each time the prerecorded track of sounds pauses before starting again. That’s when I hear it.

An unmistakable sound. A scream, except not a fake, prerecorded one, but in a voice my very soul recognizes as belonging to her. I hold my hand up to Roman, indicating for him to stay quiet, and strain to hear.

It comes again.

She’s shouting something.

The moment my mind parses the word, my blood runs cold.