Page 52 of Hunting Ground

“Who are you?” Ronnie croaks in a voice like a bullfrog. But Adrien’s mask only tilts to the side, and he doesn’t answer.

“Man, that’s so shitty of him not to tell you,” I quip dryly. “Can you believe him? I’ll be talking to his manager.” Without pause, I reach up to drag my own mask off my face, and I meet the eyes of all three men in turn.

Only Ronnie shows any sign of recognition, and he steps towards me uncertainly with one hand held up between us.

“I know you,” he breathes. “You’re Jonah’s bitch.”

Ronan stirs from the third man’s back, mask tilting up towards Ronnie.

“I don’t think my friends like it when you insult me.” I set the mask down on the piano, beside a collection of liquor bottles, before turning back to him. “Maybe you should talk nicer to me, yeah?” But I step forward, into his space, and something dark inside me curls in amusement when he scrambles backward and nearly falls over himself to get away from me.

“What do you want?” The man in the chair asks, his words slurred. He can barely focus in on me, but I give him a few seconds to try and meet my gaze.

“I want you to know what’s happening. I want you to know who is doing this to you. It would’ve been easy for us to take you out this evening. You’re sloppy as hell.”

There’s a rustling noise, and when I look to the window, I see Adrien rooting around in a plastic trick-r-treating pumpkin. He doesn’t look up at me, but I watch him shuffle through different kinds of candy bars before he finds a Reese’s cup. When he meets my gaze behind his mask, I hear a soft chuckle. “Want one?”

“Yeah. Any milky ways?” Almost as soon as I say it, a small, fun size candy bar sails across the room. I catch it in my free hand, and I take my time unwrapping it before biting the chocolate and caramel bar in two.

The men watch me the whole time, and I find that there’s something powerful in commanding their attention while I do something so normal. That encourages me to take even longer, and even Adrien removes his mask to eat a piece of candy as well.

“We’re not the ones who hunted you,” Ronnie snaps finally, when he’s too anxious to wait in silence any longer. “We don’t even know you.”

“Oh, agreed. Jonah and Cletus have been dead almost a day,” I reveal airily, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The man in the chair goes pale. His limbs stiffen, fists clenching on the arm rests. I watch with delight as that particular piece of information sinks in, and study the way he looks between the other two men like they’re going to help.

But from what I can see, only Ronnie is in a position to do much of anything. The man on the floor might not even be conscious. Ronnie glances back towards me, then looks between the other three men. His eyes linger on Adrien and he takes a nervous step towards him.

“Look, man, I don’t know what her deal is, but we didn’t do anything to her,” he says, making it seem like I’m not even the room. “Can you just–”

“Nope.” Adrien upends a whole, fun size bag of skittles into his mouth and chews a few times before swallowing. When he grins at Ronnie again, he’s already reaching for another tiny bag. “This is her circus, and we’re just her monkeys.”

“Hot,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Real charming of you.”

Adrien’s grin is sweet and sly at the same time. “Just making sure they know I’m not the right person to appeal to.”

“But you could stop her. Come on, you have to know this isn’t in your best interest. We can pay. We can pay anything you want–”

The man under Ronan suddenly surges upward. He fights like he’s possessed, and almost manages to land a lucky hit on my friend’s jaw. Instead, he just sideswipes the mask, sending it to the floor. Ronan rolls his eyes and drags the man to his feet, only to shove him down hard on the sofa with a kick to his midsection that has him gasping.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Ansel tells him sweetly, looming closer as Ronan replaces his mask. “Took you awhile.”

The man doesn’t look at Ansel. His eyes are full of hatred and fixed on mine, his hands trembling. “No,” he snarls drunkenly. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m not going to be killed by some stupid slut who doesn’t know when to die–”

Ansel moves before I even register the insult. He drags the man up off the sofa and throws him back to the ground, causing the man to catch himself on his hands.

“If you’re going to say shit like that, then why don’t you stay down there, huh?” Ansel sneers, leaning close to him. “And just as a reminder…” Without warning, he stomps down on the man’s right hand, hard enough that I can hear the crack of bone. But he doesn’t stop there. Ansel grinds the heel of his shoe down against the man’s fingers, not letting him up no matter how much he tries to jerk backward.

“Stop!” he cries out at last, when I swear I’ve watched at least three more small bones break under Ansel’s heel. “Fucking stop! I won’t–” Ansel steps away and the man gasps, curling his hand up to his chest. He falls over onto his side and cradles it against him, his eyes wide, sobriety returning from the pain.

I watch for a few more seconds, listening to the sounds of pain he makes and trying to imprint them onto my brain like the greedy bitch I am tonight. “Man, that’s rough,” I sigh. “Like I said, not sure my friends like it when you insult me–”

Ronnie shoots his shot, but I’ve been expecting it for the past minute. When he runs forward and into me, all I have to do is turn and tilt the knife a little more.

The result is everything I could have hoped for.

Ronnie impales himself on the blade with a gasp, his own momentum causing it to sink deeper into his chest, just below his ribs. His eyes find mine, shocked and bulging, and he manages to jerk backward.