I put a hand on his chest, stroke my thumb over the worn material of his T-shirt and smile. “I might be.”

“I heard about you putting your hand in the fire.”

“It was a dare. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Right.” He moves to walk around me.

“I’ve got a better idea.” I take a step in sync with him, blocking his path. I keep my hand on his chest and lean towards him so our faces are inches apart. “Why don’t we go and talk about it somewhere more private? Somewhere like … I don’t know … the huts?”

“Why go all the way down to the huts? Why not have a conversation right here?” His hands snake around my waist and he pulls me close, pressing his groin into me as his thick, wet tongue searches out mine.

He walks as we kiss, moving me away from the bright lights of the house and into darkness. We stop abruptly as the backs of my thighs make contact with the log pile, and he presses himself into me, forcing me to lie back against the wood. He hitches up my dress and his hand snakes its way up my thigh. I stiffen as his fingers pluck at my knickers, and a wave of panic crashes through me.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t. I—

I twist from side to side, but the more I struggle, the more frantic he becomes, grabbing at my breasts with one hand, yanking down my knickers with the other.

Where are Johan and Al?

There is the sound of a zipper being pulled, a low grunt, and then a sound I’ve heard before. The sound of a football being kicked. Only this time it’s followed by a violent crack, like a butcher’s knife cleaving through bone, and Gabe’s lips slip from my mine. They trail down my cheek, striping my skin with saliva as the full weight of his body collapses onto mine. Before I can move, scream or cry, Johan appears behind him. He grips Gabe’s shoulders and hauls him off me, then tosses him roughly to one side. Gabe’s body slips down the log pile and falls to the ground with a soft thump. Johan throws something at the body. It’s the log we used to smash open the window. The three nails on the end are dripping with blood.

Someone leans over me. Someone with pale skin, terrified eyes and bleach-tipped hair clinging to her forehead.

“He’s dead,” Al says. “Gabe’s dead.”

Chapter 45

Chapter 45

“Come on.” Johan jabs the key at the lock. “Come on!”