Chapter Six
Violet
I SWALLOW THE scream that tries to tear through my throat and clutch my chest. Holy fuck! I’m not sure if that voice belongs in a horror movie or a smutty romance book—maybe both.
I turn slowly, an apology on the tip of my tongue, but the sight that greets me has me forgetting what words are.
The man in front of me is easily six-three, and he’s wearing a tight, black T-shirt that shows off his muscles.
My eyes follow the lines of his black and gray tattoos on both arms up to where his tattooed biceps stretch his sleeves.
His face is hidden by a black, blood-splattered mask, which I’m guessing has a voice modulator in it.
The eye and mouth holes are covered with a dark-red fabric.
He’s so close that I have to tilt my head up to look him in the face.
“I-I’m sorry,” I manage to squeak out. I clear my throat. “I’m Violet Higgins, I’m with the Ridgewater Tribune. I talked to your boss, and he said I could look around while you guys finish setting up.”
He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head to the side. It should be an unnerving sight, like a predator examining his prey, but something about him makes me feel safe rather than scared.
I push forward with the interview, my nerves settling just a bit. “I’m hoping to do a story about how the attractions work, what goes on behind the scenes. Do you mind if I ask some questions about the house?”
“Sure, if that’s what you came for.” He says this suggestively, and I’m not sure how to react. Is he flirting with me?
Why do I kind of hope he is?
I scrunch my forehead at him. “What else would I have came for?”
He lifts a shoulder and then gazes at me through the red eyeholes of his mask. Even though I can’t actually see his eyes, his stare feels intense, sending a shiver over my body.
I ignore the sensation and try to focus on getting information about this place. “So, I’ve heard this is the main attraction. What’s so special about it?” I ask, unimpressed so far. It’s just a room filled with creepy dolls.
He chuckles a little, like he’s amused by me.
“It’s a combination of a haunted house and an escape room.
Each room has up to ten different clues that play when people enter, and they have to find the right object to open the next door,” he explains, his voice still unnaturally low.
The electronic hum of it goes straight to my core, and I have to hold back the whimper building in my throat.
Damn, I wish I had turned on my recorder, because there’s no way I’m going to remember anything he tells me.
I nod along, trying my best to take mental notes, completely forgetting the notebook and pen I have in my jacket pocket.
He takes a slow step forward, invading my personal space, and I back up, hitting the door behind me. He keeps stalking toward me until his chest is pressed against mine, his scent surrounding me. Cedarwood with a hint of tobacco. It’s strangely familiar. Comforting.
I stare up at him, frozen and unsure what to do, or if I could even move if I wanted to.
He reaches out a hand, and I think he’s going to grab a strand of my hair, but he bypasses me.
An audible click tells me he just pressed a button, and that’s all the warning I get before the door I’m leaning on opens suddenly.
I think I’m going to fall on my ass, but he wraps an arm around my waist, holding me up.
I let out a tiny gasp at the contact, at the intense warmth of his body as he holds me there.
The heat of his hand is branding my exposed skin between my shirt and skirt.
“Nobody moves through this house unless I let them,” he tells me as I melt into his hold.
“I can also open or lock the doors from my control room or remote app to get people moving faster or hold them up if the group in front of them needs more time. And each door has a hidden button that opens it, just in case, but I’m going to need you to keep that last secret off the record. ”
I nod. “Cool,” is all I can think to say, and I internally scold myself.
He releases me slowly, like he’s making sure I’m steady first, and I turn into the next room.
Thankfully, this one has no dolls. But it’s no less unnerving. The walls are lined with cabinets filled with aged and worn medical equipment. It looks like we’re in an abandoned asylum.
In the corner is a chair with leather cuffs on the arms, and I point at it. “Kinky.” Jesus Christ, Violet, where is your professionalism?
He lets out a light huff of a laugh but doesn’t say anything as I walk away from him and continue looking around the room. Along the walls are counters, some with old rusty sinks, others with faded files. The cabinets above them are dirty glass, some of them broken.
“So, each room has its own theme?” I ask my masked companion.
“Yes. There’s five rooms total,” he tells me. “There’s robotics that make things move to jump scare guests, but the overall goal is to be more off-putting than terrifying. I wanted older kids to be able to enjoy it.”
“That’s really cool.” God, can you think of literally any other adjective, Vi? “Did you design the house then?”
“Mm-hmm, the programming, the architecture, all of it,” he confirms.
I walk around the room, taking in all of the details. I feel his eyes on me the entire time, tracking me behind that mask.
“So . . . um . . . what gave you the idea . . . for the house?” I stutter through the question, my heart racing.
“It just came to me one night,” he answers vaguely, tilting his head. He stalks closer, coming to stand in front of me. Those empty, bloodred eyes look down at me as I tilt my head up to meet them, watching me like he knows me. “Do I make you nervous, Violet?”
My name sounds like sweet sin coming through the modulator on his mask, and this time I can’t ignore the shiver it sends through me.
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I admit.
“Are you scared?” There’s that predatory head tilt again.
“No,” I say, and I’m really not. For whatever reason, I’m not afraid of this masked stranger. Maybe I should be. Maybe I should be concerned that I’m alone with him in a room he can easily trap me in. But I’m not. For whatever reason, I feel safe with this man.
Certainly safer than I’ve ever felt with Aaron. And why am I even thinking about him right now? He probably hooked up with someone else while he was out last night. Why shouldn’t I do the same?
And let’s be honest, what woman hasn’t fantasized about an encounter like this?
“Then what’s got you all flustered?” The masked man reaches out, and this time he does grab a strand of hair to tuck behind my ear. His knuckles graze the column of my neck, and goose bumps erupt in their wake.
“I . . . I’m . . . ” Do I just tell him I’m turned on?
That I’d let him tie me up with those leather cuffs and have his way with me if he wanted?
Fuck it. Something about him is calling to me, telling me I’m safe with him, that I’d have fun if I let myself, and I don’t want to regret not taking that chance. “I, I’m, I think I’m attracted to you.”
“You think?” He sounds amused by how flustered I am.
“I know,” I correct. “Unless you’re hiding something truly repulsive under that mask.” My tone is teasing, and it earns me a deep chuckle.
“No,” he says, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I don’t think so, at least.”
We stand there for a moment, far too close for a reporter and their source. When I heave in a breath, my chest brushes his torso.
He hums in thought as he glances around the room. Turning his face back to me, he asks, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I respond without hesitation. This is either about to be the best afternoon of my life, or my literal demise.
His hands grip my hips gently, and he turns me, maneuvering me to the edge of a counter on the side of the room. A thrill shoots through my body at the feel of his hands on me. “If you want me to stop, just tell me and I will, got it?”
I nod, my brain still trying to decide if it should be activating my fight or flight response.
“I need your words, darling,” he says as his fingers lightly graze my sides, leaving trails of sparks on my skin.
“I understand. Say stop, and you’ll stop,” I confirm.
Without further hesitation, he grabs my hips and lifts me onto the counter. I instinctively spread my legs, allowing him to step into me. His hard body against mine feels so good. As if they have a mind of their own, my hands reach for his abs before finding his belt buckle.
He closes his fingers around my wrists and puts my hands at my sides. “Hmm, so eager, are we, darling?” he asks, his hands brushing my thighs.
“Yes,” I practically whimper. I still can’t quite believe that I’m having such a reaction to this masked stranger, but I definitely don’t want to stop myself.
“We can get to that later. I want to make you feel good first, okay?”
“Okay.” I bite my lip.
He hitches up my skirt before dragging my panties down my legs and putting them in the front pocket of his jeans. “If I turn off the lights so I can take off my mask, will you be a good girl and stay on this table? I don’t want you tripping in the dark.”
I nod eagerly as I look down at him.
“Darling, talk to me. Can I have my way with you in the dark?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and that’s all he needs. He pulls a phone from his back pocket, swiping at it a few times. The lights go out, and then he locks the screen, the room completely pitch black now. His hands skirt up my thighs, and I take in a sharp breath.
“You sure?” he asks again.
“Yes, god yes, please.” I’ve never begged a man for anything before, but if he stops now I think I’d die.
I hear some shuffling, and then soft lips are brushing against my neck. He took off the mask. God, I wish I could see his face, but the idea of being pleasured in the dark has me already dripping wet. My other senses feel heightened, making every little touch of his fingers and lips more intense.
He drags one hand from my waist, down to my knee, and then back up my inner thigh, brushing against my core. I gasp at the sensation, already so turned on I’m aching for him.