Page 315 of Primal

Pigface reaches into its robe and pulls out a chain of dog tags—clinking softly like morbid charms. Lets them dangle between its gloved fingers.

Derek whistles. “Three? Fuck, baby. You’re a natural.” He taps the party hat. “And you accessorize. Who knew gutting people came with flair?”

Pigface tilts its head—almost coy.

My skin crawls. I don’t care if they team up and murder every asshole on Earth, but if these two decide to multiply … just kill me already.

Derek ruffles the top of Pigface’s hood like it’s a fucking puppy. “Now, you get to pick our first act.”

Pigface strolls past the college girls, dragging a gloved finger along the pews.

Pauses at Kristy. Tilts its snout. Sniffs near her hair.

Then those black, beady eyes lock on me. Rot and iron floods my nose. I hold my breath.

Don’t move. Don’t blink.

The thing keeps staring.

Of course it’s me. Wrists bound, hoodie soaked in someone else’s blood. Sure—go ahead and tack first act victim onto my résumé.

Finally, it points at Mia. “Her.”

Derek nods approvingly then strides to the altar, humming to himself.

Pigface herds Mia down the aisle. Then it pulls something from behind the pulpit. Places it on Mia’s hair.

An antlered headdress. Same one the hostess was wearing earlier tonight.

My stomach drops as I exchange another look with Kristy. One more fucking body in the ground.

“Welcome to the finale, ladies.” Derek lifts the tablet. “Or should I say sluts? You paid to be hunted. Ravished. Used. Chasing some cheap thrill or hoping someone might fuck the guilt and shame out of you.”

He looks up. Calm. Inevitable.

“Either way, we deliver. You’ll get exactly what you asked for. Every kink. Every filthy little box you ticked. Tonight, we grant wishes. And we’re going to make your nightmares blush.”

My stomach twists. The waiver. Kristy and I checked almost everything, sure—but we had safe words. Fantasies with a reset button. Not this. Not real abduction. Not monster-snuff level murder.

Pigface straps Mia to a chair, its gloves lingering on the antlers—adjusting them like a crown.

Mia thrashes, screaming through her gag.

“Let’s see …” Derek taps his tablet. “Mia Ramirez. Twenty-seven. Works trauma in the ER. Likes her ass slapped, cunt stuffed, and everything in between. No limits. No safe word.”

Kristy shifts closer until her fingers almost brush the side of my thigh.

I swallow down a bitter taste—my own safe word stuck on loop in my brain.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious—

Yeah. A fuck ton of good it’ll do now.

“So, hunters, who’s feeling generous tonight?” Derek scans the room with a grin. “Which one of you wants to grant our girl, Mia, her every filthy little wish?”