Page 242 of Hateful Games

I’m pushed in the opposite direction.

Deeper into the maze.

Driven by adrenaline and a heavy dose of fear, I race ahead. Him chasing after me with unhurried steps. The sinister energy rolling off him in waves. It leaves me frightened. But my brain, conditioned to feel arousal, doesn’t sense the eminent danger.

Why the hell is it so dark?

My eyes find it difficult to adjust.

Every now and then, I hear the screams and hoots from the people dancing below. The vibrations and thumping of the music. So close yet too far to hear my cries for help. My right hand connects with another doorknob and it unlocks.

Stepping inside, it’s vacant with no furniture with low lightening. I see the ceiling and I’m in some sort of a manufacturing plant or a basement with cylindrical pipelines running back and forth.

It’s eerie.

A second too long which I spend studying the room turns fatal when I sense the man’s body heat behind my back a little too late. Strong hands span my waist and pick me up in the air. Their grip doesn’t loosen even as I scratch at the skin without mercy.

“Let me go!”

“Not so soon.”

His voice is so low that I almost don’t hear it. Does he think my fright is part of the cat-and-mouse game we’re playing? I struggle harder until the stranger drops me back down. I whirl around and swallow the gasp at the sight of the white Ghostface mask with hollow black eyes and elongated mouth. His face is completely covered. A black hood is pulled over his head but there’s no mistaking his powerful body beneath the zipped-up jacket and black washed-out denim. I’m no match for this beast.

A scream traps in my throat.

Even as my pussy dampens.

Two contrasting emotions fighting for dominance. I back away and slam into the wall. Wetting my dry lips, I whisper, “I want to leave. Back away.”

His head tilts. “Not the safe word.”

His throaty murmur—still too low to give away his real voice—momentarily distracts me. Slowly, my jumbled brain processes his words. Shit. In my haste, I completely forgot to read the invite. He mistakes my silence for the opposite and closes in on me.

I’m frozen.

A deer caught in the headlights.

“Run.”

I don’t. Instead, I blurt out like it’ll save me, “I’m married.”

Undeterred, he bends down inches from my mouth and repeats, “Run.”

He slaps his palms above my head. With a shriek, I duck underneath him and dash down the hallway. Looking over my shoulder, I see him simply strolling in my direction casually with the confidence of a man who knows his sacrificial lamb is trapped.

The creepy yet sexy Ghostface mask taunting me.

Scaring me.

Daring me.

Speeding as fast as possible, I slip into another closet-sized room. Just two more hours I need to evade him and then I’ll be free to escape. Shucking my annoying heels which give me away, I shove them into a corner and duck out into the deserted hall.

He’s nowhere.

I hear a humming. At first, I assume it’s from the DJ below but then I recognize what it is.

He’s whistling.

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