Page 8 of Monstrous Serpent

No thank you. There’s ticks, mosquitos, and poison ivy in these woods.

I shake my head and keep moving. None of my business what others choose to do. I’m only here to find out what my girlfriend is up to.

A branch catches me across my thigh hard enough to sting through the fabric.

Fuck.

Should've worn jeans. But I wasn't exactly planning on barreling through the goddamn woods tonight. This was just supposed to be recon. Actually, what I was supposed to be doing was sitting across from my girlfriend, eating overpriced pasta, and pretending the breadbasket wasn't the best part of the meal.

Loud snaps rip through the woods from the left.

Every muscle in my body coils as three guys crash through the brush, shoving each other, laughing like they're at a frat party instead of—whatever the hell this is.

Fucking assholes.

They blow past me without a second look. I shake my head and turn back ahead, but the masked guy is gone.

God-fucking-dammit.

The trees are thicker here, packed tighter, branches overlapping. I slow to a walk and look around. He can’t be far. Just need a glimpse of him to see what direction he went.

Or better yet, a hint of my girlfriend. Would be easier to spot those white micro shorts.

My breathing evens out as I scan the area, which is weird because it shouldn't. Cindy is out here with some masked asshole, and my body's acting like it's on a power play instead of in the middle of a goddamn crisis.

Un-fucking-believable.

A shadow shifts between two pines about fifty yards out. Too small to be him.

I turn in a slow circle, scanning the tree line, checking every gap, every shadow, every flicker of movement between the pines, when someone slams into my side, causing me to stumble.

A small brunette wearing a glitter mask that hides half her face, squeals, then covers her mouth. “Oh, my god! Sorry. I didn't even see you.”

“Obviously.”

She steps closer, twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger. “You're cute. You know, there’s like a really good spot by the—”

“I'm looking for someone.”

“Aren't we all.” She grins, her focus shifting down to my left arm, then the right, her brows pinching together. “Where's your band?”

“My what?”

“Your armband.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Okay, but like, that’s the whole point.” She holds up her wrist to show off her green band. “I’m a runner. The blues hunt us down.” She leans in like she's telling me a secret. “Are you a runner?”

The fuck did she just imply?

I huff. “I don’t run from anyone.”

She pops a hip, placing a hand on it. “Then why are you out here?”

Good fucking question.

So, this event . . . it’s a goddamn sex thing. My girlfriend signed up for some freaky sex tag game in the woods. Then lied to me about it.