Page 11 of Trapped

Copper Mask.

“Fuck you,” I spit. I try to get up, but my drugged state makes my movements slow and sluggish. Instead of pushing myself onto my feet, I fall back onto my knees with a grunt.

He chortles, as if I’ve just told him a funny joke. It’s nothing but a scratchy, soft sound that is enough for anger to bubble up inside my panting chest. But there’s also fear, already, coiled together, pounding lightly at the rhythm of my heart beat.

He still hasn’t made a move. Or maybe he has, but my mind is failing me because of the drugs? I can’t be sure anymore. “You are here to eliminate me.”

Cocking his head to one side, he watches me. I’ve got to give it to him, his mask is phenomenal. The warm, tan colour intermingles perfectly with the delicate embroidery that has been threaded into the material. It makes both sides of his cheekbones come out perfectly—both the uncovered and the covered part—and brings out the straight lines of his nose. A true work of art.

“I’m here because I chose you.” He says.

I let out a snort. “Well, you’ve got the wrong guy, then.”

“Oh, yeah?” Slowly, he drops himself to his knees, his eyes still burning on mine. I swallow, trepidation keeping the consistent thrum in my mind going strong.

“Y—yeah.”

I watch him closely, heart jamming in my throat when he starts crawling forward to where I’m still kneeling. Blinking rapidly, I will the earlier tears away and for my sight to clear up. It doesn’t though. There’s no mistake in his approaching, clambering frame as he closes the distance between us. It only takes him a few movements before I back up, my stomach coiling tight. “Stay the hell away from me.” Fuck, even my voice stutters. He must hear it too, because his lips curl up. “I mean it.” Clambering up in an attempt to prove my words, I only stumble a little bit this time, before I get back to both feet, swaying heavily.

“It will get worse,” Copper Mask murmurs from where he is now gazing up at me. Sitting back on his haunches, he straightens his upper body. His black cloak is casually swept over his shoulders, showing off his developed build and wide chest. The hood is securely wrapped over his head, covering his hair. As I look at him, panic nibbles at my insides. “The disorientation,” he explains.

I don’t say anything, just continue to stare at him. My thoughts are faltering, riddles and flutters occupying my mind. Who is this guy?

“And then it will get better,” his lips tug into a smirk. “Soon now, mon papillon. Soon you’ll be mine.”

“W—what?” Fuck, my brain needs to do something now. I need to stop this madness. “I’m not available,” I blurt. “To be chosen, or to be f—fucked.” I hate how my tongue stutters over that one word.

Copper Mask tilts his head back and lets out an obnoxious laugh. Then he returns his gaze at me, his lips still smiling. “Didn’t your father teach you to respect your superiors?” He crawls forward, and I jump back, nearly tripping over my own feet, which makes him laugh even louder.

“You’re not my superior,” I snap, the words once more drumming inside my head. Fuck, he’s right. It is getting worse. The outside darkness flickers, and my knees feel wobbly when I turn around and flee.

“Over here, sir!” A bodyguard urges me with a gesturing hand, and I follow him blindly, the vision of Copper Mask on his hands and knees one I don’t wish to recall ever. But as I hobble over the sand trail, the memory of that mere sight causes something to tighten in my stomach. Something that has nothing to do with fear.

4

ARSÈNE

Even in his current state, Robin is still snappy. Confused, yet furious. Wobbly, yet surprisingly lithe as he makes his feet move—thump, thump—onto the soft ground on the sand trail. The drugs are kicking in, the effects on Robin pleasing me. Apparently it doesn't take more than my magic cocktail of Tizanidine, Antihistamines and a tiny bit of LSD for him to stagger and hallucinate. Freaking delectable, is how he looks, the way he slowly but steadily unravels in front of me.

The background check confirmed what I already thought of him. An unfettered soul born into the wrong family, with a dad desperate to force him into the iron fist of Saint-Laurent. But my little butterfly wants to flutter his wings and fly.

That’s not going to happen. Although I won’t let anyone else but me wrap him in silk after I’ve come and claimed him. After all, that’s what this game is for.

The Wicked Games.

Me and my brothers like to hunt our prey. We like to chase them down and claim them as ours. Just because we can. And if you think that’s unethical, just look around you and inside this world. We live in a hierarchical society, fighting in our own corner every day.

Ahead of me, Zin, one of my two bodyguards out here tonight, gestures for Robin to head to his left. Who says I can’t play a little before I get to devour my snack? My chosen one.

When I watch him obey with pathetic, sluggish movement, I chuckle under my breath. I wasn’t lying when I told him that we’d soon be there. Soon he’ll run into the finest threads I spun especially for him. Glistening with Thor, the best superglue I could find, to make it strong enough to catch a human. For the most fascinating, snappiest guy I’ve ever met.

Become mine, and with that, the artist you want to be.

Under my proverbial wings. Yeah, my cock likes that idea, already swelling inside my boxer briefs, pretty much the only garment I’m wearing under my cloak tonight, per the rules. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket I call Elder Jacques, who confirms what I want to know: two participants are already eliminated. And with one more hour to go, it’s showtime.

“How’s he doing?” I ask when I pass Zin, who dips his chin like the endless professional he is.

“He is out of his mind, sir.”

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