Page 26 of Lucky 14

My throat feels tight, and I clear it, shaking my head.

I fucked up. I fucked up big time. Plus, I brought someone here. Poppy’s therapist. I haven’t seen her in any of the rooms yet, and I can’t tell if I want to or not. I’d almost rather find whoever’s in charge and ask them to put us on separate flights out of here. Of course, I’ll pay her everything in my savings for bringing her here. And then some.

But, in order to find who’s in charge, I need to see who’s here. Staring at the deer mask on my bed, I hesitate. I don’t want to wear that. It’s stupid, and everyone will look at me. I stride to the door without it, then hesitate.

Everyone else is wearing them. I don’t want to be the only one without. So, reluctantly, I grab it and put it on.

The strap is tight around the back of my head, and it smells like plastic, although it’s surprisingly easy to see through the mesh-covered eyes.

Sneaking downstairs is less of an ordeal than I thought. This place is just like a big villa, with a main check-in area and conference room. There are a bunch of people around in masks. At first, my face burns under mine, feeling like everyone will look at me. But, they don’t. In fact, they don’t even give me a second look. I almost find the mask helps. No one can see my discomfort.

In addition to the masks, everyone has a number pinned to their person. It’s odd, until I remember the number the man gave me in exchange for my phone. Where did I put it?

Oh yeah. My pocket. I feel around my jeans, which I haven’t changed, and feel the hard card in there.

As I glance around, I realize that the people are all focused on the front of the room. There, a large man stands by a table. He’s even bigger than Manson, and I suck in a breath. Is everyone here huge?

A glance around the room confirms that not everyone is big, but they’re all men. Which is…odd. Where is Holland?

The man at the table is talking, and I focus on him. If I can figure out whatever fucking game this is, maybe I can win it, find Holland, and go home. Or lose it and go home. I don’t really care. As long as I can go home.

“And the lucky number is…” The man is reaching around in a jar. He has a skull mask on, and his arms are massive. He pulls out a paper and reads it. “Fourteen.”

I look around the room as everyone else does. Who is fourteen?

The men lean as they try to catch a glimpse of everyone’s numbers. As they do, I spot Riley in the back of the room. She tilts her head at me. Manson must be the huge fucker in a full mask beside her, and there’s also a smaller person between them, fully masked. Is it Holland?

“Lucky number fourteen.” The man’s voice is louder, but somehow sounds just as bored.

There’s muttering through the room. They must not be here?

The silence stretches on for an uncomfortable period of time, and I begin to wonder what my own number is. Pulling it out of my pocket, my stomach turns to ice as I see my card.

Fourteen.

Then, the person next to me is looking at me. “Hey man, that’s you.”

More people start muttering, and then there are hands shoving me forward. I walk on autopilot, scanning the table. The big man stands there, holding something. A knife. A big knife. It’s bigger than his hand.

I stop.

Oh my god. Is he going to kill me? Sacrifice me in some freaked-out ritual?

The knife is sheathed.

Slowly, my brain catches up. He’s not going to kill me. Why would he kill me? What’s wrong with me?

Stiffly, I start walking again. When I stand there, the man just looks at me, then nods at my hand.

I stand there for a second before realizing that my number is still gripped in my hand, so he can’t see it. Slowly, I force my fingers away.

I catch a slight eye roll under the mask, then the man drops the knife in my hands. It’s heavy, and my hands drop a little under its weight with a finality that twists the knot in my stomach.

As I turn back to the room, it’s like the energy has shifted. It’s like the air has gotten colder, and people have stopped talking. Some people are looking at me like I’m the enemy now.

What in the actual fuck is going on right now? My heart races. I wanted to come in here, gather information, and leave without anyone noticing me. Instead, I feel like this knife has more significance than just a knife.

The men part around me like no one wants to touch me. Then, slow clapping starts. It’s Riley. She stands up, staring me down as she claps. Everyone is looking at us, and I hate her for it. I hate her for drawing even more attention, and I hate her for bringing me here.