Page 23 of Make Her Scream

Sneaking up behind him, I raise the cleaver in both hands high above my head. He must sense someone at the last minute, as he turns just as I bring the wickedly sharp blade down. It connects with the top of his forehead and his skull, the impact sending vibrations down through my hands and arms. He blinks at me in surprise, opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. The mask drops to the ground, and he lifts both hands like a zombie about to walk, but his knees buckle and he sinks to the ground.

A gross stench fills the air, and I realize he’s crapped himself. Fucking hell, I need to get away from him.

I shove my foot against his shoulder to gain purchase then wrench the cleaver back out of his skull. The sound it makes is enough to turn anyone’s stomach. It’s covered in blood, and the man is unmoving, his eyes still open but staring sightlessly.

I turn to Cain. “Well, that was easier than expected. Now we just have to find his brothers.”

We both stare out toward the woods. Are they still out there, or have they done what we did and doubled back? It suddenly occurs to me that we’ve left Ophelia and Malachi alone in the office, and there are still three brothers alive.

“We need to get back to the office,” I tell Cain.

From the press of his lips, I can tell he’s had the same thought.

14

OPHELIA

The stench of the coppery blood, and the knowledge of the body lying right next to us, is making my stomach heave.

I turn to Mal and jerk my head toward the door. “Can we go and stand outside? I honestly feel like I’m about to be sick.”

“I think we should stay in here until the others get back,” he tells me. “It’s probably safer that way. Plus, we need to watch the security screens in case any of the brothers show up.”

His hand automatically pats where the knife is stashed against his body. I really wish there had been enough weapons for me to have one. Although I’m not sure if the guys would like that. I have been doing some training with Cain and Roman back at the water tower. Sometimes with Malachi, too. Although often with Malachi, our training descends into tickles and fits of giggles.

The men like to tell me that having a weapon when you don’t know how to use it is more dangerous than not having one at all. Apparently, the statistics on those harmed by their own weapon are horrifying.

After checking his knife, Malachi moves across the room and jams his shoulder against the side of a heavy desk. He pushes it toward the door. Is he going to barricade us in? I guess it makes sense, because when Roman and Cain get back, they can simply call up to us, and we can move the desk again.

Suddenly, all the lights go out.

I draw a sharp breath and freeze. It’s not just the lights. The crazy fairground music from outside has died, too, and so have the security screens. Someone has cut the generators.

“Fuck,” Mal curses.

Bang, bang, bang!

I jump out of my skin, my pulse skyrocketing. Someone is pounding on the outside of the metal walls with their fists.

Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang.

The wall vibrates every time they hit it. My heart begins to pound in time with the banging, and my eyes cut to Malachi. He moves faster, pushing the desk with renewed urgency, but it’s too late. The door flies partially open, hitting the desk with enough force to send the desk screeching back across the floor a few inches. The huge man, the one I recall thinking was Cain in those dark tunnels, forces his way into the room. He has to turn sideways to fit through the gap of the door, with the desk still partially covering it, but he can slip through.

Everything seems to slow down. I watch in horror as the events unfold. Malachi grabs for his knife, but a second man has already rushed into the room, and he tackles Mal, taking him down to the ground before he can draw it.

I scream, my hand clutched to my mouth.

They grapple, and the man punches Mal, who is distracted by my scream.

The third brother pushes through the door, his eyes on me through his clown mask, and his lips stretched in a terrifying grin through the mouth hole. The big guy runs to Malachi and helps his brother drag him to his feet, pulling his hands behind his back. I cry out in shock when he backhands Mal so fiercely his head whips back, making me think he may have damaged his neck.

“Stop. Don’t hurt him.”

I will beg and plead and let these men do anything they want to me if it means keeping Malachi safe. I know now I’m strong enough to get over it, but they could kill him, and that I would never recover from. Maybe I can keep them occupied long enough to stop them wanting to do him harm.

The third brother, with the unhinged grin and the clown mask, is by me now, and he yanks my arms painfully behind my back, holding my wrists in one big hand. He pushes me roughly toward the door. I stumble on the steps and start to fall, but his hold on my wrists stops me from hitting the ground. Pain shoots through my joints, like he’s tearing my shoulders from their sockets. I cry out a second time, this time in pain rather than fear for Malachi.

We reach the bottom of the steps, and the man holding me turns me around so I’m facing him. He wraps both his big meaty hands around my throat and squeezes. I let out a strangled wheeze, his fingers cutting off my air.