Without waiting for him to reach the middle, I sprint down one of the spokes. This isn’t the way I was supposed to go, but it doesn’t fucking matter. If Cole isn’t here, I only have two options: run all the way out and flee from the maze, or try to hide in the walls.
Shaw is chasing after me way too fucking fast. He’s probably visited the maze himself, late at night while it was being built. He knows the way through. He’s faster than me. If I run, he’ll catch me.
If I hide, it might give Cole enough time to find us both.
Where is he?
I thought he’d be here. I was so sure of it. Not for a second did I believe he’d let me down.
He won’t let me down.
He’ll be here.
I just have to stay alive a little longer.
I dart into a tiny alcove hidden in the glossy black wall. There’s a dozen of these niches scattered through the maze. I try to make myself as small as a mouse, stifling my panting breath, covering my mouth with both hands while gasps leak out in a frosty mist, harsh and ragged.
I can hear Shaw’s breath, even heavier. He’s puffing like a buffalo, winded from chasing after me.
I hate that sound. I really fucking hate it.
His thudding steps pause as he reaches the center of the maze. I can hear him turning this way and that, pausing as he stares down each spoke, searching for me.
His voice cuts through the still night:
“I know you’re in here.”
I press both palms over my mouth.
His tone is low and flat, devoid of emotion. Just like the night we met.
I know you’re awake.
He cut me open. Left me to bleed out on the ground.
We’ll see who bleeds tonight.
Slipping my hand into the pocket of my coat, I find Cole’s knife and close my fingers around the handle.
Cole said to stick to the plan no matter what.
Well, the plan is fucked.
I’m the one hiding in the walls. I’m the one with the knife.
Slowly, carefully, I flick it open.
The blade snaps into place with a minute click.
I can feel Shaw stiffening, his head jerking up, his ears straining to find the direction of the sound.
“There’s no point hiding, Mara. Come on out and we’ll talk. Face to face. Woman to man …”
He gives a nasty chuckle.
He’s coming closer, his heavy steps slow and measured. He knows I’m hiding close by.
“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you? Don’t worry … I just want a little taste …”
I think he turned down the path next to mine. I hear his voice moving off at an angle. But just as quickly, he turns and strides back again.
“You might even like it. Some girls do … at least to start … Your roommate Erin certainly enjoyed herself …”
He’s walking down my aisle now, I’m sure of it. Drawing closer and closer …
“The first time we fucked she was bouncing and squealing so loud it echoed up the staircase … Half the party must have heard her. The second time … well, the second time I wasn’t as nice …”
He’s walking right past me. The opening in the wall sits at an angle. I’ve wedged myself into the furthest corner of the alcove, out of view.
I see a slice of Shaw’s broad back as he passes by. I see the carefully combed waves of his sandy-colored hair, and the high collar of his tuxedo jacket. In between, the nape of his neck … thick and muscular, but unprotected …
I clench tight to the knife, slipping out of my hiding place. Stepping behind him, smooth and silent as his own shadow …
“I bit her nipple off and swallowed it whole,” Shaw chuckles.
Gripping the handle of the knife overhand, I stab the blade toward the base of his neck, planning to bury it in his spine.
Maybe it’s the motion that gives me away, or some whispering sound.
Shaw whirls around. The knife embeds in the back of his shoulder, wrenching it out of my hand. Shaw’s bear-like arm swings around, clouting me in the side of the head, sending me flying into the glass wall opposite us.
“You fuckin’ BITCH!” he howls, clamping his hand over his shoulder. He’s trying to reach behind him, trying to grip the knife. His arms are too thick—his fingertips graze the handle, but he can’t pull it out.
He rounds on me, face flushed with fury. Genuinely outraged that I dared to fight back.
I’m already leaping to my feet again, sprinting away from him, back into the center of the maze.
My feet slip on the freshly-fallen snow, and I almost eat shit rounding the corner. I can hear Shaw barreling after me, grunting through his teeth, utterly enraged.
I’m running in a mad panic, all memory of the labyrinth wiped from my mind. I’m back in the center, but I don’t remember where I came in, so don’t know the way out.
I pick a spoke at random and sprint down it, taking turn after turn, praying that I’m not about to run down a blind alley into a dead end.
I find another alcove and jump into it, planning to hide again, but when I look back the way I came, I realize something awful: I’ve been leaving footprints in the snow. I can see exactly which way I came, and so will Shaw. He can follow me as easily as if I left a trail of breadcrumbs for him.
I drop out of the niche and sprint once more, chest burning, legs burning, eyes watering so badly I can hardly see in front of me. Snowflakes whirl into my face, sticking in my eyelashes, blinding me. The black glass walls seem to go on and on in every direction. A dozen ghostly Maras stare back at me every way I turn, faces pale, eyes black holes of terror.
I cross over my own footprints, and I can see Shaw’s right on top of them, twice the size, his weight churning up the dirt. I can’t hear him, but I know he’s close. Following my prints. Hunting me.
Picking up the skirt of my dress so it won’t drag, I run backward down the next aisle. I hope this might confuse him. Then, when I reach the next intersection, I run forward again. Then backward once more.
I still can’t hear him. Where the fuck did he go?
Is he hiding in the walls now?
Is he about to jump out at me?
I’m staring around on all sides, wild-eyed, fighting against the waves of panic threatening to overwhelm me.
Where is he? Where am I? How do I get out?
Dazed and distracted, I see my own reflection running right toward me.
I slam into the smooth black glass, falling backward onto my ass. Scrambling up again, I hear a low laugh.
Shaw stands at the other end of the aisle.
I’m trapped.
There’s nowhere to run.
He’s cornered me in the dead end.
Shaw isn’t running anymore. He approaches calmly, casually. Smiling like he did as he walked through the technicolor spiderweb: knowing he has every advantage, and I have none.
He only pauses to reach around behind his shoulder once more, finally catching hold of the handle of the knife and wrenching it out of his back with a grimace. He examines his own blood on the blade, as dark and glossy as the labyrinth walls.
“Got me good, didn’t you, you little cunt,” he grunts.
He holds the knife upright, the tip as wickedly sharp as the point of a fang.
“I ought to peel your fucking face off with this,” he says. “See how pretty Cole finds you then.”
He opens his fingers, letting the knife drop to the ground, the impact causing a spatter of blood to flick across the fresh-fallen snow.