3. Hunt #2
For a single soul, I can really drag it out. Hours of torment and feeding. Here, the horror moves much quicker.
Speeding up, I duck around the side of the group, swinging my blade at the front man. He screams, his fear heightening into pure terror, which temporarily alters his taste.
I back off, pretending to hack at the ankles of the rear of the group. My attention fixes on the one who boasted that he wasn’t scared. One more swing and he falls. I hate when they fall. If this were a real horror flick, that guy would be dead.
The group leaves him to scramble to his feet and then slip through the exit alone.
Quiet falls over my false forest for a moment. My skin is buzzing. The fear settles into my system. I lean against the nearest tree, waiting for the dizziness to clear.
Damn that was a good start.
The next four groups are equally as satisfying.
A blonde in a zombie cheerleading costume beefs it when her group of five bolts for the doorway.
That tiny skirt betrays her the second she hits the ground, giving me a full view of a pert ass and a pitiful excuse for panties.
She’s wearing a red G-string so tiny and so far up her asscrack that I don’t know why she bothered wearing anything at all.
The triangle of fabric does its job in keeping her pussy from my sight. An unexpected shot of disappointment flares across my hips. Wanting stirs beneath my mortal jeans. When was the last time I touched a woman?
The lights come on just as she’s rising to her feet. She scurries to catch up with her remaining companions.
I duck behind a nearby tree. This isn’t right.
The group is quickly escorted out by a plain-clothed employee in a headset. He’s joined by a second worker who shakes his head.
They speak excitedly. “There’s blood everywhere. They probably had to take that guy to the hospital.”
“Did someone at least get a video?”
“Not when it happened, but I got some pics of the blood splatter before they sent everyone out. The guests have been told to stay where they are. Things will start up again when it’s cleaned up.” The shorter of the two workers lights up a joint from behind his ear.
“They’re not going to close for this?” The scent of weed fills my room.
He blows out a cloud of sour smoke. “Fuck no. It’s Halloween. You’re new. The owner’s not going to shut things down on the busiest night of the year just because of a little blood.”
The scrawnier of the two accepts the joint, coughing when he takes a hit. “Right. I guess this kind of shit is why people come here. The clown seems like a real psycho.”
“This isn’t the first time someone’s left his room with a lot less blood than they entered with.”
The clown. My skin sizzles, ruining some of my current buzz.
Madness.
Sticking to the shadows, I sneak to the clown room. Madness is hiding in a doorway that leads to the employee tunnel. That won’t save him from me.
My forearm slams into his chest, pinning him to the wall.
“Madness,” I growl out his name.
His hands fly up in surrender. “It wasn’t like that. A slip, a tiny one. We didn’t touch him.”
“What happened.”
“Our mask. It slipped. Only for a second. He freaked and ran straight into the wall. Broke his nose. We never—”
My grip switches to the front of his throat.
“You fucked up.”
“We didn’t mean to. There’s so much fear tonight. The crowd is too big. It’s too much. We’re combusting. We can’t take it.”
His hands drop to the front of his trousers as he adjusts himself.
Fucking hell. He’s not going to make it through the rest of the night.
Using my hand around his throat, I push him away from the wall, forcing him to walk backwards as I guide us through the maze of passages behind the various themed rooms. He’s trying to peer over his shoulder when I kick the door in that leads to Gator’s cabin.
“Oh shit, Hunt,” Madness panics. “Don’t let him cut anything off.”
“Shut up.” I shove Madness onto the rotting wood floor.
Gator leans back against a butcher’s block, twirling a serrated knife between the fingers of his right hand. He must have known we were coming. I can scent the anger beneath his weathered pig mask.
“Why did they turn the lights on?”
“Because clown boy here showed a human the face he saves for the dark.”
Madness cackles. Gator stands up straight. The cackling ceases as he cowers in my hold.
“Idiot.” Gator slams the knife he’s holding into a wooden butcher’s table. “I’ve barely gotten started. You’ll ruin this whole thing.”
“We know. Fuck.” Madness squirms. “We’re overwhelmed today. That last group got us so hard.”
Hard indeed. His cock is straining against those ridiculous polka-dot clown pants.
Gator clocks the erection then slips his gaze to me. “What should we do with him?”
“I don’t want to reward him for his stupidity.”
“It was an accident,” Madness whines.
“Shut up.” I rub my temple through the fabric of my mask. “He doesn’t deserve it, but if we want him to make it through the night…”
Gator’s gaze flicks to the front of Madness’s pants. “You or me?”
“I’m too pissed. I might rip it off.”
Madness flinches, fighting to stand upright. Gator’s hands are on him before he can shriek. A half cackle, half scream pours out of him as he’s slammed face down on the chopping block.
“You don’t deserve this.” Gator peels his bloodied gloves off. One of his hands presses into the back of Madness’s neck. The other snakes beneath his waistband. “You’re fucking weak, Madness.”
I know the moment Gator grips Madness’s dick because the clown nearly rips from his skin.
My jeans grow taut as I watch the movements beneath the table. Gator doesn’t start slow; he jerks Madness back and forth, not being gentle in the least as he pleasures him.
Not that he needs to be. We all have a thing for pain.
Arousal cuts through my fury. Watching is more of Gator’s thing, but I can’t deny the appeal. We’ve been together hundreds of times, the three of us. Knowing each other’s wants and needs is second-nature.
“You’re a weak fucking demon,” Gator repeats.
Madness moans, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.
The hot-pink polish on his fingertips clashes with his coffee skin.
Neon pink and green dominate his mask and ensemble.
As if the clown face and pants weren’t enough, he’s got a bright green harness tightly buckled across his muscular chest. He’s always so over the top with his choices.
“Can’t even hold it together one night. You’re pathetic. Worthless. A fucking cockroach.”
Madness bucks, his mewling growing louder. That damn clown loves to be degraded, and Gator always knows just what to say to get beneath our skin.
“Pants all the way off,” I interject.
He drops Madness’s pants to his ankles, giving me a full view of his weeping, fat cock squeezed between Gator’s tatted knuckles.
Gator never lets up, stroking him with a ferocity that must be close to bruising. “I bet you can’t even come. Too pathetic to get it done. They’ll turn the lights back off and you still won’t be able to finish.”
Madness is thrusting now, his hips slamming into the edge of the table as he forces his length into Gator’s tight fist.
“Maybe I shouldn’t let you.” Gator slows his hand.
The desperate, feral noise Madness makes has my cock jumping beneath my jeans.
“Let us. Please, Gator. We have to. We’ll die. We can’t fucking make it.”
“Cockroach.” Gator spits on the back of Madness’s neck.
My body is so tense. I’ll tear through this human facade if I’m not careful.
Gator jerks Madness’s cock again, even rougher than before. Precum streams out of his darkened tip. “You have thirty seconds to come. Count it, Hunt.”
My mouth is dry. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”
The sounds Madness screeches out turn full demon. He’s thrusting into Gator’s grip, face pressed against the table, snarling so loudly I’m worried they’ll send someone to investigate.
My eyes are locked on his pulsing cock. “Eleven, ten, nine, eight—”
“Fuck.” With a scream of absolute relief, Madness finishes. His cum spurts beneath the table, a heavy, oversized load hitting the bloodstained wooden floor. My tongue slips forward, swiping beneath the burlap mask. So shiny and wet.
“Great job, cockroach. Now get out of my sight and don’t fuck up again.” Gator slaps Madness on the ass before pulling him upright and shoving him away from the table.
Madness stumbles but recovers as he pulls his pants back into place.
“No more slipups,” I reiterate as Madness scuttles past me.
He nods, disappearing into the corridor. “No more. We’ll be good.”
The lights shut off. Machine-created fog fills the cabin.
Gator’s pig mask tips down, assessing the bulge against my jeans.
He steps forward, hand sliding against my exposed lower abs.
I’ve only got half a shirt on. The owner of this body has a thing for throwbacks to the 80s.
A time when men apparently wore something as ridiculous as this cropped grey shirt.
The tips of his fingers burn a trail to my jeans button. “We might have time.”
A fresh round of screams carries through the air. We both sigh. They’ve reopened the doors.
“Later.” I bury my fingers in the long, dark hair on the unshaved side of his head.
Gator nods, brushing his fingers over my hips before returning to his knives. My anger returns as I hurry back to my own room.
Madness was in shambles before his release. Now I’m the one hoping I can make it through the night.