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Then his mask tilts back to the other side, and I canfeelthe black darkness radiating from the eyes behind it.
“Suck,” he commands again, his voice low and demanding.
I don’t think. I just obey.
I’m shaking, but I suck on his thumb, tightening my lips around the digit. His thumb moves slowly in and out, teasing over my tongue and stroking it in a slow rhythm that sends all sorts of fucked-up signals to various parts of my body.
It’s like a sick game of control.
And he’s winning.
Ihatethe way my body betrays me, the way my mind spins with fear and something else I can’t name. Something that coils deep in my stomach, dark and uninvited.
He’s toying with me, I realize that. This isn’t about killing me—it’s about something else. Something far more dangerous.
His thumb pushes in and out of my lips, like he’sfuckingmy mouth. Like it’s his cock, not his thumb, that’s enjoying the softness of my tongue and the suction of my lips.
I think he’s done with his sick game when he pulls his thumb out. But then it’s replaced by two thick, tattooed fingers, and I shudder as something dark twists deep inside of me.
The monster keeps the game going, pushing his big fingers in and out of my mouth, faster, deeper. I choke slightly, feeling my spit and drool coat his fingers and dribble out the corners of my mouth to run down my chin.
“Good girl.”
Jesus.
The sensation is anger and shock. Shame and outrage.
It’s also something else.
But I refuse to acknowledge what it is those words ignite inside me when he says them, his fingers sliding sensually from my mouth.
He wipes them absently across my lips, like the whole thing was no more than a game to him.
Then suddenly, without warning, his hand drops from my throat.
He steps back, and for a moment I think he’s going to leave. Relief floods through me, my chest loosening as the adrenaline starts to ebb away.
But then his hand shoots out again, gripping my jaw with bruising force. He tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him, and the black malice behind his mask seeps into my very soul.
“You’ll keep quiet,” he says, his voice low and steady. “If you don’t, I’ll find you. And next time, I won’t be so...merciful.”
The threat hangs in the air between us, heavy and undeniable. I nod, unable to trust my voice. I want to believe that I can just walk away from this. That I can forget what I saw, forget the blood and the bodies, forget the way he made me feel completely powerless.
But I can’t.
I know I’ll never forget this. The overwhelming sensation of a malicious voice behind the mask, or the way he treated me like I was nothing. Worse, an amusement. A toy to play with.
Histoy.
He releases me, and I press myself hard against the window, shivering and gasping for breath. My body trembles as I watch him exit the office and disappear into the shadows, moving with the same deadly grace that brought him to me in the first place.
It’s over.
I’m still shaking when I finally push away from the window, my legs unsteady as I stumble toward the exit. It’s not until I’m at the third floor that I realize I walked right over the bodies on the floor back there without even seeing them. I suppose my mind blanked them out.
Or maybe my mind has other things to think about right now.
The second I step outside, the reality of it all hits me. The cool night air does nothing to calm me down. My heart is still racing, my throat still feeling the ghost of his grip. The streets are deserted, the city asleep around me, but all I can think about is him.
