32. Madelyn
MADELYN
“That was the stupidest thing you could have done, Madelyn,” the deep voice calls out in the distance.
I tug at a piece of fabric guarded by a glow-in-the-dark skeleton as a white row of lockers is revealed underneath it. I get under the fabric and cover myself with it.
It’s a medium weight which means the visibility from behind it isn’t great, but it’ll do for now. If I stay still and control my breathing, I may have a chance.
While waiting for my stalker to show up and teach me a lesson, I do what I should have done before I walked in irresponsibly. I take out my phone, now at twelve percent battery, and dial Kayden’s number.
It goes straight to voicemail, and my heart sinks.
If he did something to Kayden—if he got to him—I swear I’ll—
Metal screeching brings a lump to my throat and interrupts every single thought.
He’s here. Near. And despite my minimal visibility, I see him. The glowing mask and…something else.
I’m rooted to the lockers behind me. The metal is digging into my back, but I don’t care because that sound wasn’t just anything.
Squinting my eyes, I get my answer. He’s got a knife, and he’s running it along the lockers in front of me. The blade glints in the darkness.
He’s going to slash through the entirety of the decorations to get to me.
He gets to the end of the row and stops. I observe him, holding my breath.
Soon, he approaches my side of the lockers.
“Come out, come out.” Devon’s deep, machine-generated voice sing-songs as he saunters this way.
The edge of his blade is pressed against the metal of the lockers, sending a shiver down my spine.
I don’t move.
I close my eyes and suck in my stomach, praying, hoping that even if he slashes through me, he’ll barely touch my skin if I’m standing like this. Maybe it’ll just be a thin line on my stomach, not enough to draw much blood.
He isn’t going to kill me, is he?
One second, two seconds, three seconds. No matter how long it feels I’m waiting, the moment doesn’t come.
Where did he go?
I open my eyes and jerk back, flattening against the lockers.
Neon red Xs—complete with a stitched smile—stare deep into my soul through the black fabric. They’re so bright that it’s easy to spot them.
“I think you dropped something, wifey.”
In his hands, though I can’t see well, there’s a piece of distinctive white fabric. Dangling from his finger as he swings it back and forth.
Wait…Does he not know I’m here? Was his face on mine a mere coincidence?
He has to know after the shriek I almost let out when I saw him, and the slight bump of my head against the metal.
“God, the smell of your arousal is making me even harder.”
I gnaw at my lip, ignoring the sensation running through my body implied by his words.
My panties. They’re the damn panties I disposed of on the way here.
“I can smell you from miles away,” he says, remaining rooted by my side. “Especially now that you’re not wearing any panties. I’ve got your scent memorized, my wife.” He sighs. “God, you smell so sweet. I bet you taste even sweeter.”
He grips the panties and stares in my direction again.
I hold my breath, pressing a hand to my mouth.
Squinting my eyes shut, I pray. Please, God, don’t let him stab me with that knife. Please make him miss.
Soon, a sturdy object pushes its way between my legs through the black fabric I’m covered with. I open my mouth to scream—and no sound comes out. Whatever he pushed against me isn’t hurting me; there’s no sharp end to it. It’s round and hard.
He drags it up, and it presses my skirt to my folds, the friction giving me both pain and pleasure.
A whimper slips away.
Fuck.
Now he knows he’s found me.
“There you are, my wife.”
He slides the object up and down along that same spot, causing the bottom of my skirt to eventually lift.
I should not do this. But all I can think about is what’s bubbling up inside me. My yearning sex. The rush of this situation. Being locked in this way by him.
With both hands, I lift my skirt higher. The combination of the fabric that I’m hiding underneath and the object against my bare pussy causes a soft friction that makes me thrust myself forward.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asks.
This time, he rubs the round tip in a well-calculated circle, mimicking a thumb, pressing against my clit.
He’s aware of what he’s doing, what game he’s playing.
My moans are undeniable now. My body arches forward, speaking with actions and asking for more.
“Use your words, my wife,” Devon demands. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
I don’t speak, letting him bubble up with frustration as I keep grinding myself against the fabric and the round tip of the object he’s teasing me with.
A rip grabs all my attention and I freeze. A slash through the fabric first, then a large hand pulling it apart, revealing half of my body to the cold air.
To hell with the charity event decorations. This place will need a serious touch-up before tomorrow.
He rips the rest of the fabric in a straight line, and I’m face-to-face with the tall, dangerous, stranger with the neon mask who’s been taunting me for weeks. Pressing the blade of the knife to my jugular, forcing the fabric of my choker tighter into my skin.
He’s not putting enough force to cut me—it’s a warning. Don’t move. Don’t slip away.
I flatten myself against the lockers, shivering at the sudden coldness of the metal.
“Cat got your tongue, Rebel?”
The blade hangs to that same spot, right below my chin. “N-no.”
“Then tell me what you want. Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
I bite my tongue, focusing on keeping the knife where it is, and not accidentally cutting myself with it. Adrenaline spikes along my veins. I can’t break. I can’t give in to him.
“Aww, why are we being shy all of a sudden? I know my wife’s got dirty thoughts.” He breathes heavily. Pressing his forehead against mine and pinning me to the lockers with his body. Those red Xs fill my peripheral vision.
“I’ve got your diary, remember? I know you complain about how vanilla your life is. If you want flavor, I can give you flavor.”
I don’t want to say it.
I’m pursing my lips tight so words don’t escape. But he’s standing too close and I’m almost breathing the same air he is, despite the mask between us. My legs press together, creating a nice friction that makes me say stupid things.
“You’re all talk and no action, hubby.”
He cackles. I mentally slap myself.
The edge of the knife dances along my throat and travels down my chest, stopping in the middle of my blouse, threatening to rip it open.
“Have you ever been ravaged against the lockers by a masked man?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Not yet,” he says.
I swallow saliva. What happens next is something I never thought would happen.
The blade says goodbye to my neck and hello to my hand.
He hands me the knife.
“I’m gonna trust you here, my wife,” he says. “So you see I’m on your side.” The end of the knife is pressing against his own palm. The handle is pointing at me. “Make a slash through my mask, so I can taste you.”
“Are you asking me to literally carve a smile on your face?”
He laughs. “You’re a fast learner. I’m glad to see that.”
I scoff, nerves releasing from my body. “You’re really fond of that mask, aren’t you?”
“It keeps things exciting.”
“And hidden.”
Why does he insist on hiding? What could be behind this stupid mask?
I won’t lie. The look is attractive. I’m fond of masks myself, and the neon ones are my favorite. A personal kink of mine.
The thing is, this man is using it not to please me, but to hide himself. The face, the voice, it all needs to be disguised.
Why?
Why don’t you want me to see you, Devon?
We can have it without overcomplicating things. Without threatening or killing others. He could have asked me out like a normal person.
“Why does it have to be so complicated?” I ask, knowing damn well I won’t get the response I’m looking for. “I want to see you and hear you. Is that too much to ask?”
“And I want to taste you, my wife. Stop dancing around the fate you’re condemned to and slash the mask.” There’s a certain annoyance in his tone, even through the voice modifier. “All I wanna do is make your dreams come true. You’ve got the power, Maddy.”
It’s true—I do have the power. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. One move and it could be over.
I close my palm around the knife, finally taking it away from his grip.
Without a second thought, I swing it forward and land on his arm.
I slam it into his skin and twist.
He groans at the unexpected move.
I had no idea that skin would be so thick and bone so tough, and I struggle to push the knife further.
I want to harm him, slow him down enough so I can escape. Give him a nice reminder of how I’m not a toy. Not the little lamb he thinks of. Not so innocent after all.
But I don’t want to kill him.
“Fuck, my girl.” A cackle scrapes his throat. He grabs my neck and pins me against the lockers again, forcing me to let go of the knife, now stuck in his arm.
“Bad, bad, girl,” he says. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He tilts his head, alternating between staring at me and at his arm with the knife.
“Now, pull it out.”
I don’t move.
He tightens his grip around me. “I said, take it out.”
The way he’s choking me, barely leaving enough space for me to breathe, makes the darkest side of me take over. My pussy clenches.
I know I shouldn’t like this control, the way he’s commanding me, claiming me.
I grab the knife, and with a swift move, I pull it out.
He snatches it back and quickly exchanges his hand necklace for the blade, now coated in dark crimson.
“Roll up my sleeve,” he orders.
He doesn’t need to say it twice. I take the sleeve of his hoodie and push it up.
A gasp escapes my lips as I see the medium-sized wound that decorates his toned arm. It is a thick gash, blood pooling around it. It doesn’t spill, though. The cut isn’t deep, but I did some damage.
Still, he isn’t fazed. His sole focus is on me, on giving me the punishment I deserve.
“Perfect,” he says, his face curved to his arm. “It’ll do.”
What is he talking about?