72 Hours Page 3

  I’m going to encourage that along, and I know just how to do it.

  My game won’t be nearly as satisfying if they work together. He needs to be livid.

  She needs to be weak and broken, fragile even.

  Then my game will be ready to be played.

  FOUR

  “Let me buy you a drink, beautiful girl.”

  I stare at the attractive man standing beside me at the bar, eyes on mine, smile planted on his perfect face. I’m in here sulking. It’s been a week since I saw Noah last and I feel worse with every passing second. I don’t want to admit that a small part of me liked seeing him so much after three months of not seeing him at all. So I’m in here, trying to drink my sorrows away. So far, it’s not working.

  “Me?” I ask, sure he must be talking to someone else.

  I look like a wreck. Hair in a messy bun. No makeup. Faded halter top and jeans. “Yes, you. You’re alone, it looks like you could use some company.”

  “Oh,” I laugh softly. “I’m waiting for a friend.”

  That’s not a lie. Rachel promised she’d meet me after she finished work.

  “Then you have time to let me buy you a drink. I promise I don’t bite.”

  He smiles, a genuine, warm smile, and it feels nice to have someone looking at me like that again. Someone who doesn’t know me. So I do what I wouldn’t usually do.

  “Okay,” I say softly. “Vodka and soda, please.”

  “As you wish.”

  He orders the drinks and turns to me while they’re being made. “What’s your name, beautiful girl?”

  I touch my hair self-consciously. “Lara.”

  “I love a woman who’s naturally gorgeous.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m Marco, but you can call me Marc.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Marc.”

  The bartender slides us our drinks, and Marco hands mine to me. “What are you doing alone here on a Friday night?”

  I shrug, nervously sipping my drink. It’s been a while since I’ve been chatted up by a stranger, and I feel incredibly awkward.

  “My friend and I meet here every Friday night,” I tell him, taking another sip.

  “Why here?”

  I shrug again. “We met here.”

  “Ah, I see. What do you do for a living?”

  I stare at him. He’s so open, so comfortable in his own skin. He should be, too. He looks like a Greek god. He’s got dark hair, dark-brown eyes, and olive skin. His body is muscled but lean. He holds himself well; he oozes confidence.

  “I’m a receptionist,” I say. “Nothing too fancy.”

  “I hear they have the hardest job?”

  I laugh softly. “Yeah, I would say I do sometimes. What about you, what do you do?”

  “I work for a shipping company. Nothing spectacular.”

  “Have you lived here long?”

  “All my life.”

  We ease into an easy conversation about his personal history, his family, and his work. He asks me questions and the more drinks I have, the more at ease I feel talking to him. When I realize Rachel hasn’t arrived, I pull out my cell and excuse myself, dialing her number. She doesn’t answer. That’s odd. She would let me know if she couldn’t make it, and so far she’s well over an hour late.

  I go back to Marco after shooting her a quick text, and he’s gotten me a fresh drink. “Would it be too forward if I asked you to join me for something to eat?”

  I study him.

  He wants to take me out?

  I haven’t been out with anyone since Noah. I haven’t wanted to. Going out with someone else might be nice, possibly even good for me. I’ve held on to a love that I can’t trust for the last few months. Maybe it’s time to let that go. To let him go. The thought of really releasing Noah from my life hurts more than I’m willing to admit, especially considering I hurt him last time we were together. Maybe we are both better off without each other. Why does that thought kill me inside? I push down the pain and smile. “Sure, I’d like that.”

  “Well, finish up the drink and we’ll go for a walk. There are some great places around here.”

  I do as he requests, finishing my drink. Then I grab my coat off the chair and check my phone as we exit the bar. Still nothing from Rachel. Odd. Maybe she got held up at work, or stuck in a meeting where she can’t answer the phone. I fall into step beside Marco and we walk across the road toward the park I usually go jogging past.

  “Do you live around here?” Marco asks as we near the trees.

  “Yes, just a few blocks up.”

  “Any suggestions for a good eating spot?”

  My head feels a little light. Surely the alcohol isn’t affecting me this heavily so soon?

  “There’s a great little café through these trees and out the other side, closer to the city.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We move into the trees, small lamps lighting the path we walk down. I stumble a little, which is odd. I really didn’t think I had that much to drink. Still, I laugh at Marco’s jokes and talk freely with him, all my inhibitions seeming to have flown out the door. We’re near the middle of the thick trees when Marco stops and turns to me.

  “It’s nice in here, isn’t it?”

  I turn, stumbling a little and facing him. My head feels so light I actually lift my hand and make sure it’s still there, then laugh hysterically because of course it’s still there. I try to focus on Marco, but he’s blurring in and out. Have I been drugged? Is that what’s happening? God, did Marco drug me?

  “I know it sounds forward, but I’d really love to kiss you,” Marco murmurs, cupping my face and moving toward me.

  His lips touch mine and I don’t even try to pull back, not because I don’t want to, but because my body just doesn’t seem to want to play the game. I reach up, curling my fingers around his biceps, to push him away, but I seem weaker than usual. His kiss gets more intense, and I can’t seem to find the strength to argue.

  I hate it. After kissing Noah, no man could ever compare.

  The lightness in my head has moved over my whole body and I feel like I’m flying. My knees wobble, but Marco holds me up with an arm around my waist, kissing me deeper. He’s getting a little too intense now.

  “Seriously?”

  The voice seems almost distant, but I recognize it instantly. Noah.

  “Let her go or I’ll make you,” Noah warns.

  “Hey, man,” Marco says, pulling back from me but keeping his arm around me. “Don’t know who you are, but this is my girl.”

  His girl? Wait, what?

  “Are you fuckin’ serious?” Noah barks, looking to me. “Lara, what the fuck?”

  This whole scene feels incredibly confusing. Why is Noah here? Am I dreaming this whole thing?

  As I try to make sense of it all, I curl an arm around Marco’s middle to try to hold myself up.

  “So that’s how it is, huh, Lara?” he spits out. I open my mouth to reply but can’t seem to form any words.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Noah shakes his head. “I thought we had a chance, but now I see how stupid I’ve been. It’s really over.”

  He sounds broken.

  My heart twists. I don’t want him to give up. I’ve been pushing him away but deep down, inside the parts I won’t let out, the idea of him leaving rips me to shreds. I wish I could tell him, but no sound will come out of my mouth.

  “You should leave now,” Marco says, and my head starts spinning.

  He holds me tighter.

  “No. Don’t leave yet. The fun has only just begun.”

  A voice. I can hear it; I can’t see the person who owns it. I blink and try to focus past my blurred vision, but it’s too difficult. A dark shadow comes up behind Noah; I can’t make out his features. Is it even a person? Maybe it’s a tree. My head spins again. I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Who the fuck are—”

  Noah’s words are cut off and the sounds of grunting fill the si
lent night. Then his body hits the ground—his big, beautiful body just falls. I start struggling against Marco, confused and disoriented. My struggles are futile; I barely manage to get my body to move. The shadowy figure comes closer. I can’t make out his face, only his white, straight teeth.

  “Ready to play, Lara?”

  Something sharp stings in my neck.

  Then my world goes black.

  FIVE

  Damp earth is pressed against my back.

  That’s the first thing that alerts me to the fact that something is not right.

  The second is the soft rain falling on my skin, drops gathering and then rolling off my cheeks. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are heavy, weighing me down and refusing to allow me movement. When I wiggle my fingers, soft mud squelches through them and panic seizes my chest. What the hell?

  I struggle to remember what went on the night before. In fact, I have no memory of it at all. I struggle to think back to my last clear recollection—it was me texting Rachel earlier in the day to organize our usual Friday drinks. Everything after that is a blur. I focus on my eyes again, taking a deep breath and opening them. Cloudy sky greets my hazy vision, and I raise a hand to rub until that vision clears.

  I’m in some sort of forest.

  Did I go for a run and pass out?

  I move my hands down to my clothes: jeans and a halter top, heels on my feet. No. Not a run. I focus back on the thick trees covering most of the sky, allowing only patches to peek through. They’re no match for the incessant drizzle, though. It manages to make its way through and hits my skin like a soft mist. I look to my left—nothing but trees for miles.

  I look to my right, and freeze.

  Noah is sitting against a tree, eyes closed, one eyelid swollen and red. His head is slightly drooped and he’s soaked. I take another steadying breath and push up to a sitting position. I’m covered in mud, and my head is pounding.

  Where the hell are we? Why is Noah here? Worse, why is he hurt? I check myself over but find no wounds.

  “Noah?” I croak, my voice dry and thick.

  He doesn’t move.

  Is he dead?

  Fear crushes my chest, and I force my tired body to move closer to his until I can reach out for his face. My fingers gaze over the stubble on his cheeks, then move to his puffy, swollen eye. It’s grazed by light scratches. Did he fall over? My hand moves down to his shoulder and I shake him gently. “Noah.”

  His hand lashes out so quickly I don’t have time to pull back. He gasps and his eyes fly open. He twists my arm and I scream, tumbling forward. A painful crunch in my shoulder alerts me to the fact that my arm didn’t move with me. Noah, as if realizing what he’s doing, suddenly lets me go. His chest rises and falls with heavy pants as he looks around.

  “No,” he rasps. “Fucking no.”

  “Noah,” I whimper, rubbing my shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  His eyes dart backward and forward and then land on me rubbing my shoulder. “I hurt you.”

  It’s not a question.

  I shrug anyway.

  “I didn’t realize it was you…”

  I’m confused. “Who did you think it was?”

  His jaw tenses. “How long have you been awake?”

  “A few minutes. What’s going on?”

  He starts fumbling with his clothes, arching his hips up and shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “Noah?”

  He ignores me, coming up with a folded piece of paper. He clenches his eyes closed and mutters a curse before unfolding it.

  “What’s going on?” I prompt again.

  “I’m prayin’ it isn’t what I think, what I remember…”

  He stares down at the letter, and his entire body goes solid. Something fills the air, and if I didn’t know better, I would say it’s fear. What could Noah be afraid of? He’s scared of nothing.

  Something is very wrong.

  “Please explain to me what the hell is going on,” I beg.

  He looks up at me. “You don’t remember anything?”

  I shake my head.

  “Not a thing?”

  “No, Noah,” I cry, frustrated. “No. Is this some sort of game to get me here so we can talk, because if it is, it isn’t funny.”

  He glares at me. “You’re kidding?”

  “Well, nothing else seems to make any sense. You’ve been hassling me to talk to you—”

  He makes a growling sound in his chest. “Don’t insult me. This has nothing to do with us. Do you honestly not remember seeing me last night with your little fucking boyfriend?”

  I flinch. “Pardon?”

  He shakes his head, bitter smile on his face. “Drugs removed that, did they?”

  What the hell is he talking about? “What drugs? What boyfriend? What are you talking about?”

  “Playing coy used to be cute, Lara,” he snarls. “It isn’t anymore.”

  “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

  His eyes meet and hold mine, and the look in them is scaring me. “We’ve been captured.”

  I’m sorry. Did he just say captured?

  I study him, eyes wide. “What?”

  “I didn’t stutter,” he replies, thrusting the letter at me. “I remember bits and pieces. There was a note on my windshield this morning from you saying to meet you in that park. After what you did last time I saw you, I thought it was over. But then I got the note and thought you were finally ready to talk to me. I went in and you were there with another guy. Someone else came in and I think drugged us. Whatever drug he gave me wasn’t strong enough and I woke up a few times. Heard him mumbling about his game, and how close it was. He sounded like he was going to fuck himself with excitement before I passed out again. Then I woke up and we were out here. I freaked out, you were passed out … couldn’t wake you.”

  “A note?” I say, confused.

  “You didn’t put it there, did you?” he says, his voice tight.

  “No,” I whisper. At least, I don’t remember putting a note on his windshield.

  “So somebody wanted us to be in the same place at the same time,” he mumbles.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper.

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a note. “This is what I found in my pocket just now.”

  With trembling hands, I take the note and unfold it, reading words that send a chill up my spine.

  Welcome Lara and Noah,

  How wonderful to have you here. You’re probably wondering why you’re so special. Why are you good enough to play? Why did I pick you? Well, if I revealed everything at once, it wouldn’t be a game, now, would it?

  Let me get to it. I tend to ramble when I’m excited.

  And I am excited, you see.

  I’ve been planning for this moment my entire life, down to every fine detail. I even studied personality traits. How clever of me, don’t you think? It seems like a miracle, really, that you two were thrust into my hands. All this time and you never even knew I was there. But I was there. Always watching. Waiting.

  My players.

  My game is quite simple. You won’t forget the rules, because there are none. But, like all good and fair games, I need to give you a head start. It wouldn’t be right if I won without even a little fun, would it? No. Of course not.

  Seventy-two hours.

  Such a special number to me. It took seventy-two hours for my mother to bleed out when I sliced her entire body, the cuts just big enough for a gentle trickle of blood to escape from each wound, for her to writhe in agony as she prayed for death to take her. The human body can be quite a miraculous thing: It constantly tries to save us, even when there is no hope.

  But that’s a story for another day.

  You get seventy-two hours to prepare yourselves for my game. You can do whatever you want; there are no boundaries. Once your seventy-two hours are up, I’ll come for you, and, like the good little players you are, you’ll make it fun for me. You’ll run. You
’ll hide. You’ll fight. You’ll try to escape.

  But you can’t.

  You won’t.

  I’ve made sure of it.

  I’ll hunt you until I finally decide to kill you both. I have great plans for how I’ll do that, but it won’t be a surprise if I tell you now. Just know—I like to play with my prey.

  I wonder how you’ll make use of your time?

  Tick tock.

  I thrust the note onto the ground and push to my feet. “Is this some sort of joke?”

  Noah stares at me, then pushes to his feet as well. “I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure I’m willing to risk it not being a joke. If seventy-two hours is all we have, I’m not wasting it playing guessing games.”

  “This is a joke,” I laugh hysterically. “It’s someone trying to prank us. You can come out now, you got us!”

  Not a single thing moves.

  “Seriously, there has to be a way out.”

  Noah scowls at me. “I walked a few miles in each direction when you were sleeping. Wherever he dumped us, it just keeps going.”

  I spin around to face him. “That doesn’t mean it’s not a joke. I mean, this can’t be real. It’s too insane.”

  He laughs bitterly. “Tell me, Lara. Which of your friends would think it’s funny to drug us, throw us in a dense forest, and leave us in the cold rain?”

  Goddammit.

  No.

  I try to think of another explanation for how we got here and who might have written the note, but nothing adds up. God. What the hell is happening?

  “Noah, there has to be another explanation.”

  Noah steps forward, running a hand through his hair. “When you come up with one, I’d love to hear it. Until then, I’m taking it very fucking seriously because I heard the man driving when we were out of it and I can tell you, he wasn’t right in the fucking head.”

  My voice shakes when I speak next so that my words come out scared and frantic. “Maybe it’s some sort of reality TV show or—”

  Noah gives me a scornful expression. “Don’t be stupid, Lara. There is no fucking way it’s a reality show. They can’t do a single thing without a million forms being signed.”

  “These things don’t happen in real life!” I cry, panic rising in my chest, heart pounding so hard I can barely think past it.