6. Max

" Y ou see the size of Lurch?" Deck—a little more excited than I expected him to be—nudges me. I say nothing though, because my main concern, is why I seem to be having trouble dragging my eyes from the mountain's gaze, since his name was announced.

Grim. Nice.

His stature alone fills me with a heightened sense of fear and excitement, mixed with a weird morbid curiosity. Sitting on the edge of the large wood structure they call a stage; I can feel his eyes on me as the crowd begins to disperse. The knee he was leaning on, drops over the edge, and I watch as he slowly leans forward, staring straight into my black soul.

Doesn't he know it's rude to stare? To be honest I doubt the fucker gives a shit. He's so big he probably makes everything look like something from a Sylvanian Families Dollhouse.

I can only imagine what kind of damage those huge hands can do.

To a woman… or a skull. We stare at each other for a beat longer, the lift of his chin in my direction feels like he's goading me. I can't see his face, but I know there's a grin underneath that Devilish mask. Daring me to make a move, like some unseen force has snatched my attention and the voice in my head is screaming at me to run.

But I can't, I won't. Why? Because I love the feeling that I seem to be enraptured in. A stare off with a man, creature, or being that I have no business being involved with or being anywhere near.

My father always said I never knew how to keep my attitude in check, which is why the sinful smirk laced on my lips is perched there, aimed at him. Showing him, I can take whatever he's got.

"I could take him." Ben shrugs from beside me and I roll my eyes in response. He thinks I don't know how he feels about me, I do, he wants to fuck me. But believe me when I say, that's never going to happen.

Ben thinks nobody is impervious to his charms, and sometimes it's irritating as fuck. Sure, he's a good-looking guy. Blonde hair, muscular frame, and bright, ice blue eyes that can make most California girls melt with a wink.

He's also the Running Back of Stanford's football team, but he's not what interests me, or causes me to strum one out at night.

"Ben, you think you can take everyone." I drop my head to the side, focusing on him instead of the Big Guy in front of me.

The one I'm really interested in .

"I remember when you pissed yourself at the Iota Kappa shindig after Tobias Jackson told you to shut the fuck up about his sister," Deck chuckles.

Raising his hands and dropping them against his thighs, Ben groans. "I was drunk and had too much—"

"Weed, we know!" Deck, Sasha and I finish for him. I like Ben, but he really has an extremely high opinion of himself. Most of the time I can deal with it, but sometimes, like right now...it's ridiculous.

"Ben…" Sasha wraps her slender arm around his waist, holding him close. Raising her arm, she points directly to Grim. "That guy would crush your larynx quicker than you can throw a ball from the fifty-yard line." Rubbing his chest in commiseration, she continues, "Just face it, it's never gonna happen."

Turning back to the stage, all the Hunters drop down onto the dirt and gravel below. Walking through the crowd, pushing people out of the way and for some reason, I'm directly in the way of the one they call Blonde-Shell. Striding toward me, it's as though she's looking right through me, the bunny mask she wears and the tight, black latex clothing that covers her curvaceous body, gives her the look of someone from The Purge.

She swings her hips from side to side seductively like a panther, ready to kill at any given moment and I have to say… it's kind of hot. Stopping directly in front of me, Blonde-Shell hums in approval. Sasha gets pulled back by Ben, and Deck, well, he's currently trying not to shit himself.

We're toe to toe, nothing but an inch of space between us. Her engorged breasts pressing against mine. Leaning in, the soft white fur of the bunny mask grazes my cheek and that's when I hear it.

Did she just sniff me ?

"Mmm, just as sweet as I imagined." Her muffled moan hums from behind the sharp teeth of the mouth guard. Lifting her hand, her pointed fake nail, grazes the underside of my jaw, moving to scratch down my neck.

"I wonder if you fuck just as—" Words faltering in her throat, her finger is snatched from the contact of my skin and lifted in the air.

"No." A deep rumble cloaks me, my head snapping up.

Grim.

How is it possible for one single word, to zing through my body, creating a desire to be touched by him. My body warms at the idea of his hand wrapped tightly around my throat, and I decide then and there that I need to give myself a pep talk.

Hysterical cackling comes from Blonde-Shell's throat, yanking her finger from his grasp.

"I thought as much, Grim." Stepping back, she holds her hands up in surrender. "At least now, I'm sure." Her ponytail swinging as the laughter courses through her entire body, and her shoulders shake. "Don't worry buddy, I have my sights set on someone," she looks me up and down, "much stronger than this little... mouse."

The adrenaline screaming through my veins, pushes me to do something and I regret it the moment it leaves my throat.

"Eat. Me."

Her cackle rings out again. "Oh darling, I plan on it..." She grinds out. A large hand pushes her to the side, and she laughs yet again. "See you in maze three, Mouse!" She calls back over her shoulder, weaving her way through the crowd and out of sight.

Ok, so maybe I've made a little mistake there, too late now. The beanpole steps in front of me, bending at the waist slightly, he meets my eyeline. At least, I think he does, the black sockets in the mask give nothing away. His eyes null and void.

" Se deplacer." He breathes softly, with a domineering bite.

"I don't understand French, Napoleon." I shrug. "I speak English though, maybe you could switch to that." Turning my mouth down slightly to pout. I mimic him, leaning in slightly closer so my face is barely a hair's width from his. So close I can taste his minty breath as it feathers across my mouth. "For me?"

Standing straight, wrapping his fingers over my shoulder in a vice like grip, I wince. His chin touching his chest, he looks down on me like a garden gnome. " Se deplacer..." and with that he persists to move me out the way.

"Ohh, it means move!" I shriek. "Hey guys," I look past him. "I learned French." With that, he releases me with a heavy groan and strides away. I cup my hands around my mouth and call to him. "I'm here all night!"

"What the Hell was that?" Sasha takes hold of my wrist. "He's a hunter, Max... they're not the ones to fuck with and you just so happened to open your mouth without thinking to—"

"Oh, Sash stop, it's fun. We know what we signed up for." I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close to me. "I could eat."

"You're fucking crazy you know that." Deck shakes his head, shocked at my behavior.

"We're here to have fun, I'll be forgotten about soon enough. There're so many fucking people—"

"Forget about you? HA!" Deck interrupts me. "Highly doubtful. I wouldn't be surprised if you're the big one's prey for the weekend."

"Nah, I'm not that lucky," I smirk. When in fact, I'm praying to whatever God is on my side right now, that I am.

The Carnival looks better than I initially expected it would and truthfully, I'm really impressed. It's been an hour since we met the Hunters, ate, and decided to walk about to get our bearings. This place is huge after all. Redwood Forest was the best idea for something like this. Performers on stilts stalk around and perform for the passersby.

Clowns performing magic, even though the costumes look deranged, it's cool as fuck. Street performers dressed up like jesters and murderous ballet dancers; fire breathers stalking around between attractions have the people around them watching in awe.

I've never experienced something like this before and I'm already excited for tomorrow. The thrill of not knowing what to expect, pair that with all your worst nightmares coming to life, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.

Raising my head, I see the line for the mirror maze has diminished somewhat, and if there's one thing that has always been my favorite as a kid, it was the thrill of the mirror maze at the Christmas fair my brother would take me to every year.

"Guys, I'm heading to the mirror maze." I start toward it.

"You want some company?" Ben calls after me.

Turning on my heal, I walk backwards. "I got this... thanks though!" Bumping into a group of guys, I smile. "Shit, sorry."

"No problem, beautiful."

Shivers run up my entire body. That word, I fucking hate it .

"I'm a lesbian." I shrug. "Sorry."

"I can help change that." One of them steps forward gripping his dick.

"Give it to your buddy behind you," I cackle, nodding toward him. Whipping around, not interested in any further engagement, I jog the small distance to the Playhouse of Mirrors, the cold night air caressing my face.

Presenting my wrist to the man standing outside dressed in jeans and a black tee, he presses the stamp to my wrist. The word ‘Vain', printed in black.

"Thanks," I grin, excitement bubbling up from my chest to my throat. Traveling lights circle the doorframe, creating a strobe effect as you walk through. I press open the door in front of me, and blood red lights shine through.

The screaming and laughter of other occupant's echo through the room, and I automatically smile in response. Down With The Sickness by Disturbed blares over the sound system, and the red lights begin flickering the deeper I go. The base shuddering and shaking the glass inside the framework of each mirror, beats through my chest with severe aggression.

Something's hitting me though, in this moment, other than the music surrounding me, I hear no other voices. Surely there would be people coming in behind me.

Am I alone?

The feeling of being watched hits my senses and my pulse begins to quicken. My heart pumps blood faster around my body as my skin shudders from the thought of someone being locked in here with me. Taking a swift left, I jump down the step into the center of a circular room. Mirrors surround it and my reflection darts around in every which way. The music stops abruptly, and that's when I hear it.

" Petit Mouton." The whisper sails into my left ear and I spin on the spot to see nothing, not a single person behind me.

"Hiding in the darkness... Smooth." I huff, laughing as my head nearly tears from my neck with the speed at which I'm turning it, looking at every angle I can. "I'd call you a pussy but that's not an insult," I chuckle. "So I'll settle for a weak bitch!" I shout. "Come out of the shadows."

Opening my arms, I spin in a circle. I mean sure, I'm shitting myself right now. But that's what you sign up for, so it comes with the territory. The deep laughter reverberating behind me, makes me freeze. Instinctually I turn around, slower than I ever thought I would in a situation like this.

That's when I see him, stepping from the shadows, filling the doorway and then some. Having to duck down slightly as he moves through the archway, right shoulder first. Luckily for him, once he's inside, the ceiling heightens, allowing him to stand to his full height.

Looking by the side of him, the steel of the bowie knife glistens at his thigh. I refuse to show him fear, it's what he wants, probably hard just thinking about me running from him. Besides, the way this room is set up, I could run straight into glass and right now, being in this room with him is safer than seriously hurting myself.

So, I do something fucking stupid and curtsy. "Back for some more witty banter?" Yep, that's me, humorous in these kinds of situations because even though I'm not scared, my heart and body betray me as my fingers twitch in anticipation for his next move.

"Well?" I lean on my cocked-out hip, "Do you talk, or do you just grunt because if I'm not going to get a conversation out of you then this really is just point—"

I don't manage to finish my sentence before I'm slammed back into the glass sheet behind me. His large, tattooed hand encapsulates my throat in one single motion and no doubt he could snap my neck with a single movement.

"I guess... not," I choke out as he holds me there. Then something happens, I feel something I haven't in a long time.

Lust. Desire.

My clit throbs against the seam of my jeans. There's no way this tall fucker is giving me the one thing I've been without for the last seven years. He cranes his neck down to me again and I have to press my lips between my teeth to stop from smiling because I'm excited to see what he plans to do.

"Quiet." He demands, pulling me forward and then slamming me back again. The glass shattering at my back.

"Say," I struggle in his grasp, "please." His hand fastens tighter around my throat; my lungs slowly losing oxygen, and I feel the instant rush of heat cover my face. I realize struggling won't get me out of this situation, I go for the easiest option.

Looking down, he's close enough for it. I swiftly raise my knee, aiming for his dick and yet again, I've underestimated the brute. His free arm wraps around the underside of my thigh, lifting me higher in one fluid motion and suspending me in midair with an outstretched arm.

"Much better." The rasp of his voice floats into the air between us and yet again my fucking clit betrays me.

"You're not a man of many words are you," I gripe, because from this angle, I manage to take a somewhat deep breath, if you can call it that. He tightens his grip on my neck again and growls, moving in closer so we are both chest to chest.

I've never felt this kind of desire rippling through me before. It's bad and fucking sinful to want someone I don't even know. Christ, tomorrow he will more than likely torture me to death in one of the mazes.

My skin tingles from the warm contact of his chest pressed against mine. The throbbing between my legs due to being pressed tightly against the belt of his black jeans. My chest heaving and throat burning for some oxygen, but also for more contact from him.

That's when it happens, the involuntary thrust my lower body performs when it grinds against his belt, shifting the seam of my denim jeans to the left, just over my clit and I groan. My eyes flutter and I can't stop myself from biting my lip.

Fuck it.

Wrapping my left hand around the back of his tattooed neck, I slide the hand that was barely making a dent on his wrist—the one attached to the hand strangling me—and curve my fingers under the gold mask. He doesn't move, so I lift it ever so slightly, up, and over just his mouth.

"If you're going to choke me, at least kiss me, or make me come."

Silence .

Not even his breath filled the silence within the room, and that's when I see it. The slow and deadly grin that curves the corner of his mouth. It's small, but it's there. His hand still grasping my throat, he lowers me back to the ground and I stand on slightly shaken legs.

For a split second I think he's going to let me go. You know what they say, assuming makes a fool out of you and me. His long and thick digits make light work of the button on my jeans, popping it open and yanking the zip down.

Moving his hand from my throat to my jaw, pulling it open, he instantly shoves two fingers in my mouth, hoping for some kind of reaction.

For some reason, I was lucky enough to be born without a gag reflex and I think the fact that I'm not choking right now pisses him off. Still giving him no reaction, he yanks them back out with rough action.

"Please—"

What am I even begging for?

"Please what, mon Petit Mouton?"

My skin ignites with desire, the wetness between my legs builds further, and I hate that for a split second my body is giving me away to just how much I want this. Want him. But the moment his fingers slide between my breasts and skate over the exposed skin above my black thong, I can't bring myself to say anything other than, "Please… touch me."

The words little more than a whisper. My mouth widening into an ‘O' as he slides his hand inside the fabric of my jeans and thong, gently brushing my swollen nub. Causing me to cry out in ecstasy; "Fuck!"