Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,19

risk that he might be bored again.

Which means there is a high possibility he will be out there tonight.

I haven’t checked yet. How easy it is to revert back to burying my head in the sand when it suits me.

But regardless of who is or isn’t in the crowd, I will do my best not to care.

I’ve been practicing all day without a break.

Every time I got out, Denim would come back and take me back to the start before tying me up again. I think it was the fourth attempt when Scout came with his friends and sat down to watch me. He drew odds in the sand and took bets for how long it would take me to escape. They got bored long before I finished.

And now I’m exhausted—every bone and muscle in my body aching—but it’s nothing I haven’t felt before. I managed to get the escape down to around ten minutes.

Tonight they have made it slightly harder by dressing me in a long sheer gown, with fabric that attaches to the shoulders and falls down my back before connecting with bangles on my upper-arms. This will no-doubt get in the way of the padlock, but I’ll rip the dress to shreds and flail around naked if I have to.

The sound of the crowd cheering outside startles me from my thoughts, and a moment later Denim and Maxim appear in front of me. I don’t need them to tell me to come. Ruby appears from behind the curtain, looking hot and panting for breath. Our eyes meet as we pass each other, and I give her a weak smile. I’ll see you soon.

With a hand on each of my shoulders, they lead me out into the center of the ring and push me down onto my knees. I scan the crowd, looking for that glint of metal in the blue lights.

Nothing.

Nothing.

There.

How did I not see it before?

He sits alone in the middle of the front row, leaning back in his chair with his arms stretched around the seats next to him. It’s as if he owns the sand, the tent, the whole damned world. Then again, in these current times, perhaps a man with the face of a devil has more chance at owning the world than most.

Maxim is holding me up on my knees while Denim connects the straps together.

My eyes are still on Baron, but a flick of his head indicates I should look behind me.

I turn around, much to Maxim’s annoyance, and see a large cube covered with a black sheet.

My head pivots back to him. I wish I could see his face. I wish I could know what he’s thinking.

What are they doing?

This time when I glance behind me again, I look at my wrists and ankles. Where there was one padlock during my practice, now there are five. Each limb connected to the next one, with a big one in the middle locking them all together.

My heart sinks. I will be here all night.

The men drop me into the sand while Maxim addresses the crowd. I have heard this speech a thousand times, I don’t even try to listen. My heart is beating too loudly in my ears to hear him anyway.

Denim is moving toward the black box.

I’m going to do the routine inside a box?

He pulls the cover off just as Maxim shouts, “Behold.”

The crowd gasps.

I almost pass out.

The black box is not a box.

It’s a tank, filled to the brim with dyed dark blue water.

I’m trying to shake my head at Denim, but it’s impossible with it lodged in the sand. Instead, my eyes plead with him.

He can’t even meet my gaze.

Arms reach around my shoulders and the two men lift me up between them, turning me around to face the tank.

I blink.

I’m staring my own death in the face, and I don’t know what to do. Screaming feels… clichéd and ridiculous, and my throat is too tight.

All I can do is stare. I thought I was staring death in the face last night, in my bedroom. Baron’s words ring in my ears. He told me I should have gone with him willingly if I wanted to live, but I didn’t listen.

But then he made the deal with me.

Why would he make the bargain with me, only to return the next night to watch me die?

Perhaps he changed his mind. Ruby’s words.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Why tell me to paint my face only to throw me in a tank of water?