Page 52 of Your Masked Haunting

“Mona,” I grind out through my teeth and pull out, sliding my dick between her cheeks as I explode. “Forever, Mona. You’re mine forever.”

I’m not sure I actually slept last night. I think my body just lay there in a coma state because I feel like I was out for maybe five actual minutes. I don’t know why. There was just an uneasy pit in my stomach that I couldn’t shake. Yet, somehow, I’m still running late to my booth this morning.

I’m solely face painting today and not helping with the makeup department afterward because it’s a Tuesday. Technically, Horror Night—The Schrader House’s alternate ego that has the scare actors, Saturday night ghost tours, and more adult themed activities—only operates Thursday through Sunday. But I’m not mad about it because I plan on going straight back to my bed and passing out after my shift.

This morning, I feel like an imposter without my usual attire and makeup on. The only reason my hair is down is because I had it braided last night, leaving it cute and wavy today.

In the chaos of getting dressed and out of my room, I managed to throw on a Schrader House–branded shirt and jean shorts. My poor legs don’t even have their emotional support tights on today.

We’re a mess.

My new boots, courtesy of my sexy stalker, trot across the yard as I get to my booth. I’m ready and eager to paint faces today. Not. Thankfully, it’s still eight a.m. and relatively slow this morning, no kids lined up and waiting.

“Cutting it close.” Clara’s stern voice sounds behind me, and my spine straightens.

I quickly drop my purse to my chair that I rarely get a chance to sit in during a shift and close my eyes, spinning around to face the music. I cannot lose this job.

“Clara, I’m sorry. I can stay as late as you need.”

I open my eyes, suddenly aware that we are not alone. Cambrie and her brother—Caper, I think—are beside her, both studying me with a knowing look.

Great.

From the way they’re both looking at me, I have a horrible feeling that this might be my last day. Smug smirks, like they know something I don’t.

“You’ve never been late or stepped a foot out of line, Mona. I’m just teasing you,” Clara assures me.

The tightness in my shoulders dissipates. Oh, thank God.

“Have you met the Ridleys properly? I’m introducing them to anyone they might have missed from their previous visits.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mona. I’ve heard great things.” Cambrie beams and turns to Clara, a polite smile on her face. “Would you mind showing me those new stuffies we got for the gift shop?”

She knows how to pique Clara’s interest.

“I’d love to!”

Clara strides away, and Cambrie follows her, but not before giving Caper a side-eye, communicating something that I can’t understand.

After they make it halfway to the house, Mr. Tall, Blond, and Bratty steps up in front of my booth. I have so many good ways to twist his ego right now, but I can’t. Because he’s my stupid boss.

His eyes search my face, as if he’s seeing me for the first time or trying to figure out if something’s changed. He’d be the most observant man in the world if he remembered my makeup from before and the lack thereof now. It’s a sweet thought, but that’s all it is.

“Look.” The word flies from my mouth, stealing the start of the conversation before he can say anything. “I didn’t know you were the owner. I’m”—why is this so hard?—“sorry. Had I known⁠—”

“Stop,” he cuts me off, an aggravating twinkle in his eye and a higher pitch to his voice than I remember. “Had you known I owned the place, you’d, what, have kissed my ass?”

“Eww. God, no,” I scoff, unable to stop the words before they slip past my lips or the scowl from forming on my face. “I’m sure your ass is great.” I wince, wanting to throw myself off of the nearest bridge because I can’t say the right thing to save my life. “But I would have been more respectful, is all. I apologize.”

“While I appreciate that”—a chuckle bubbles out of him, lifting his smile—“I’m glad you didn’t. It was refreshing, getting knocked down a peg every time we crossed paths.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, standing up a little taller, reassured about my job’s stability. “Well, Caper, then it’s my pleasure.”

His nostrils flare, and his head cocks to the side. “What did you call me?” He laughs obnoxiously. “Caper?”

“Is that not your name?” I ask genuinely, my stomach sinking through my ass.

The itch in my throat wants me to curse him out for getting enjoyment out of my mistake, but I keep it to myself.