Chapter 2
YELENA
At first, it's like I'm falling headfirst into a dark pool, breaking the inky surface and sinking into the murky depths in slow motion.
It feels like my legs have become heavy, my lungs have filled with water, and my very pulse has slowed to a dull, syrupy thud beneath the frozen surface of my skin.
Then, just as quickly as everything slowed down, it speeds back up. Instantly, despite the weight of the man’s body pinning me to the bookshelves, the strength in his hands, and the edge of his knife in front of my face, I come alive.
My elbow jerks back, slamming into his side. It barely elicits a dull grunt.
But it’s enough.
His grip momentarily loosens to the point that I can do it again, jamming my elbows back and breaking free. I choke out a broken non-scream as I whirl away from him, darting out from between him and the shelves and bolting for the door to the bedroom.
I don’t have time to think about why the fuck there’s a man with a knife lurking in the shadows of the Para Bellum party.
I just need to get away from him.
I’ve barely made it three steps before his weight crashes into me again. This time, one powerful hand grabs me around the throat from behind while the other grips a handful of the waist of my leggings, yanking me back so hard that I jerk clean off my feet.
I go slamming into a rock-hard chest, thickly muscled arms instantly circling me and pinning me tight as hot breath rasps across the shell of my ear.
“Yesss, I was hoping you’d run, little prey. Your pussy will taste so much fucking sweeter if I have to hunt you first.”
My eyes bulge. Another choked scream withers in my throat. Adrenaline screams and whines in my ears like a siren, neon warning lights blaring and stabbing through my brain as I twist and fight and kick to break free of his grip.
My heel comes down hard on the top of his foot. Again, it’s just enough for his grip to release a little. I lurch away, staggering erratically through the pitch-dark bedroom. My hip slams into the pointed corner of a dresser, bringing a scream to my throat before I can swallow it back.
A lethal, quietly sinister chuckle rumbles through the darkness, swirling and surging closer as I bolt to the right.
Instantly, I crash into the side of the bed and go sprawling face-first across it.
Fight or flight chemicals flood my system as I kick and scramble to drag myself to the other side of the bed before he can get to me.
I’m not fast enough.
My scream chokes off as his strong hand wraps around my throat again. The full weight of his body lands across my back, pinning me to the bed beneath. His other hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making me spasm and jolt with blind fear as he yanks my head to the side.
Your hair x my fist.
But this is no TikTok. This isn’t one of Galina’s “morally gray book boyfriends”.
This is fucking reality.
“Mmm, is that the best you've got for me, little prey?”
The voice is gravelly and metallic, a blade dragging across stone. My pulse jangles through my veins, thud-thud-thudding like a hammer in my ears, as pure, naked fear and adrenaline explode through my system.
He keeps my hair in his fist, his other hand slipping away from my neck only to slide back in front of my eyes again with the knife back in his grip.
Icy cold panic drags down my spine, making me shudder and shake and choke on my scream again as he waves the dangerous, lethal edge mere inches from my face.
“You’re even better than I imagined, little prey,” he growls sinisterly into my ear. “Better than you promised.”
Before I can even focus on what he just said, I gasp when he suddenly rolls his hips against me from behind.
If there was ever any doubt in my mind that I'm seriously fucked-up, it’s eradicated when he grinds against my ass with the knife in my face, and my insides turn to liquid fire.
…He’s hard.
A shiver flickers through my core as my attacker grinds a very hard, thick erection against my ass, his grip tightening in my hair, bringing a pathetic little whimper to my lips.
“I can’t wait to feel this cunt break for my fucking cock,” he snarls quietly, rolling his muscled hips against my ass and letting me feel the full weight of his erection. “You’ve made me wait so long, little prey. I can’t wait to hear you scream for me.”
I gasp sharply as he pushes my face down into the duvet beneath me, his grip still on my hair. I feel a hot, raking sensation over the delicate skin at the nape of my neck, and I realize in horror that it’s his teeth.
“Remember, nothing will stop me. No pleading, no begging,” he snarls against my skin in that same rasping baritone, like a voice from beyond the grave. “Nothing except your safe word. Thunder is the only thing that’ll stop this.”
Suddenly he’s lifting his weight off me. Then I cry out as he yanks my hair hard and flips me onto my back beneath him.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Whatever naked fear and pure terror I thought I was feeling before becomes even more all-consuming and terrifying when I look up into his face for the first time.
It’s not a real face leering down at me. I’m pinned to the bed, a knife to my throat and a man dressed in all black straddling my hips, and he's looking down on me through the twisted smile of a Scream mask.
For a second, the whole world just freezes as I stare up into my horrifying, all too real nightmare-slash-fantasy come to life.
Galina knows that I’m hooked on the same MaskTok videos that she giggles about, and that I’ve read some of the spicy books she’s recommended.
She doesn’t know the half of it.
She doesn’t know about the secondary TikTok account I have that I keep secret from my friends—the one I use to leave thirsty, slutty comments on some of the more sinful videos that come across my FYP.
She doesn’t know that it’s not just a few books that I’ve read.
There are easily a hundred of them since she introduced me to the genre, all featuring men with masks, knives, tattoos and a definition of consent that is iffy at best.
They've been invading my dreams and fantasies over the past year. And right now, I’m staring up at a literal fantasy I’ve played out in my head in the dead of night as I gasp into the pillows, using my fingers on myself.
It’s not just the mask, or the knife, or the swirls of tattoo ink snaking out from under the pushed-up sleeves of his black hoodie and over his muscled forearms. It’s not just being chased and grabbed.
It’s the whole fucking thing.
I have had almost this exact fantasy before, dozens of times.
I get separated from a group at a social function.
I’m hunted down and grabbed.
Then I’m forced to look my masked nightmare in the face as he takes what he wants, heedless of words like “no” or “stop”.
Those messed-up fantasies are a fun little secret, a deliciously wicked treat, when you’re alone in your bed at night.
Played out in real time, with real strong hands pinning you down and a real knife being held to your throat while very, very real fear burns in your veins like acid… It’s a whole other thing.
I glitch out, shaking and shuddering, my eyes bulging wide as the man looms over me and slowly twirls the vicious-looking hunting knife right in front of my face. My breath catches sharply as he touches my lower lip with the tip of the knife, ghosting the lethal point over my throbbing skin.
“I’m going to enjoy making you scream as I fuck every one of your slutty little holes, prey.”
Without warning, he reaches down, grabs a fist of fabric near the hem of my top, and yanks it up my torso. I spasm and flinch, my body unsure if it’s supposed to be gearing up to run for its life or to come.
I really need to stop watching MaskTok.
I tremble as he shoves my top up over my bra. He brings his hand down, tracing the blade over my chin, my throat, then lower to the exposed skin between my breasts.
For some reason, that’s the moment reality suddenly kicks in.
“STOP IT!” I scream. “Stop!”
The masked man laughs.
“Fuuuuck,” he rasps. “You know how hard I get when you use that word, little prey.”
He keeps talking like we’ve discussed this before. Like I’ve been expecting it.
And that’s when it truly hits me.
He thinks I’m someone else.
Someone crazy enough to have signed up for this.
“You have the wrong girl!!” I blurt. “I’m not who—”
My words and the subsequent scream are both choked off when he shoves my top up over my head, covering my face. His hand wraps around my throat, and I jolt violently from the combined sensation of his hot breath on my neck and his cold blade sliding over my cleavage.
The knife slips under the front band of my bra. His wrist flicks, and I gasp when he cuts the bra away.
“Stop it!!” I yell. “Let go of me!!”
The man laughs as he yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it behind him.
“Mmm, fuck, prey. My cock is so fucking hard for your screams.”
“I’m not her!!” I blurt in a blind panic, trying to wrestle out from under him. “I’m not—!”
I shudder as the tip of his blade slides dangerously up my throat, sending sparks of panic and something I’m desperately trying not to acknowledge skittering through my core.
His big, strong hand jams between us, and I find myself choking on my breath as he slides it down my bare stomach and grabs the front of my leggings.
Remember, nothing will stop me. No pleading, no begging. Nothing except your safe word.
Safe word.
SAFE WORD.
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THE SAFE WORD?!
“STOP!!” I scream as he starts to pull my leggings down. “I’m not who you think I am!! You have the wrong girl!!”
“Use. The. Fucking. SAFE WORD,” he snarls viciously as he keeps yanking my legging down, past my panties.
My reaction comes from somewhere inside me, beyond my control. My knee jerks up, and I hear and feel him grunt and flinch when it slams into his crotch.
“Jesus…” he snarls.
The knife falls away from my throat.