Page 30 of The Trick

My suspicions are confirmed when I hear Glinda’s stern voice flow through the speakers.

“I apologize, everyone. It looks like there has been a mix up with who gets the evening with this year’s Katrina.”

And so, it begins.

CHAPTERTWELVE

I don’t know how it’s possible that in the five thousand six hundred fifty-seven and a half days (and counting) that my steps have trailed hers, she finds ways not only to be more devious than the day prior, but even more stunning than all her days before.

I’d put money on the fact that no one in this room, aside from myself and maybe her best friend, Delilah, whose harsh glare feels like it’s searing its way past my mask, would guess that someone as delicious as Blair Van Tassel could be so deceiving. I also bet no one would guess that her deceit spans further than what most would even fathom. Take this evening for example, here she is practically glowing up on stage mere hours after poisoning an innocent man to death. A man whose death would have, once again, been pinned on me if I didn’t intervene. Which I will be reminding her of once I get my hands on that pretty fucking neck of hers.

No one—and I mean absolutelynobody—knows her like I do. It’s why year after year I’ll keep coming back for more until one of us finally snaps and puts the other out of their misery. Judging by the way Blair’s fists are now clenched at her sides, I have a feeling tonight just might be that night. Lucky me.

I continue to stare at her through the small eye holes of my mask, admiring the way her body shines beneath the overhead lights. Even the bead of sweat that slides down her forehead makes my tongue dance in hunger, wanting to lick every glistening inch of her.

Biting down on my lip, I try to fight the immense urge I have to rush the fucking stage and take her, here and now, whether she likes it or not, with all these people watching but I’ll refrain…for now.

The things I have in mind for tonight require patience. So, instead, I will take pleasure in knowing that the evening shethoughtshe was going to have, with whoever thought they were winning her for the night, is about to go up in flames. Kind of like how my entire life has since her and I have declared this unending war against each other.

I lean back in the chair and the creaks echo against the walls of the now quieted room. Slowly, I turn my attention from my little hellcat, who stands center stage staring at the bartender, Glinda, standing next to an apprehensive looking DJ, as she and everyone else wait for the inevitable to commence.

The microphone in the DJ’s hand scuffs against his lips, hesitancy written across his brow. His eyes widen, nudging his neck forward at Glinda like he needs to double check he is allowed to speak what she just whispered to him. I don’t miss the way Glinda pauses to meet my masked gaze in the sea of people, shooting me a venomous look, before nodding to the DJ, motioning for him to speak.

“Um, hold on folks,” the DJ mutters into the microphone, again looking to Glinda for direction. While they mumble something amongst themselves, with the microphone away from where eager ears can hear what they are saying, I look back to Blair. She huffs an exaggerated sigh causing her onyx bangs to lift upward and shift from her equally dark stare. It’s so adorable when she is mad. I can’t wait to see how pissed off she will look when she hears that this year’s Horseman Duel Costume Contest had a little hiccup.

Gliding my palm up my thigh toward the cool leather strap of my leg harness, I smirk beneath my mask, because wouldn’t you look at that. My little hellcat’s flustered stare is trailing where my hand is now stationed near my groin. Slipping my thumb in the metal ring of the harness, I twist my wrist upward, so my fingers raise to a subtle wave before I tap them on my leg. Wishing she would strut off that stage and come sit on daddy’s lap so I can spank her for being a bad little psycho killer.

As if she can read my thoughts, her expression grows more enraged, as she bites down on that plump bottom lip of hers trying so damn hard to stay composed. Taking advantage of her gaze on me, I decide to send a subtle greeting her way. Gliding my palm near my crotch, I watch as her eyes widen the closer my hand gets to where my dick is pressing against my pants. I curl my palm, pressing all but my middle finger in.

Her icy stare is so irritated by my snarky little “fuck you” that I swear I can feel each of the barbells that pierce my shaft turn to fucking ice the longer her cold gaze is locked on me. She must sense the way my cock stiffens from her stare because my little hellcat swipes her tongue at her lips, trying to disguise a grin.

That’s my bad girl.

Though our moment is interrupted by a screech that echoes from the speakers as the DJ breathes into the microphone. “Ugh,” he mumbles again, still unsure of what to say.

An ever-frustrated Glinda, throws her hands up in the air, tossing me another glance that makes Blair’s look warm and welcoming. She mumbles something under her breath before stepping toward the DJ and snatching the microphone from him. He looks immediately relieved that he doesn’t need to make the announcement Glinda is about to make.

“I apologize everyone, it looks like there’s been a mix up with this year's Horseman Hollow Duel,” Glinda announces. The moment the words leave her mouth, boos sound from everyone sitting in the crowd. The noise is so loud that it’s almost impossible to hear what Glinda is saying next. Not that I’m paying attention anyway, all I can pay attention to is the supple meat of Blair’s thighs rippling against the confines of her fishnets with each step she makes toward where Glinda is addressing the rowdy crowd. Seeing her throat held captive by the collar that starts the intricate web of leather that hugs her body tempts me to press the control button I have on my ring and amp up this evening. But I will be patient, because any second now she will learn she is mine for the evening, to do as I please with.

Glinda brings her fingers to her thin lips for a whistle, which, surprisingly, silences the room. “Now I realize this is very disappointing but there was a clear miscommunication this year on the staff's end, and for that, I apologize,” her voice is full of agitation.

More audible boos than before, this time reminiscent of angry football fans, erupt before the pathetic excuse of a Headless Horseman rises from his chair, the one whose shitty costume apparently won him a night with my Blair. Vexed by the sheer audacity of this scumbag, I use this as my cue to rise from my chair and follow.

“Bullshit!” the man shouts. “She’s mine. I won her fair and square!”

Did this pea coated, pathetic waste of space, whose mere presence is an insult to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and all Halloween costumes that ever existed in the history of forever, just fucking say what I think he did?

That she,myBlair, is his?

I don’t fucking think so.

My vision tunnels in molten anger as I glide to where this prick has the audacity to be pointing his finger in Glinda’s face. She is merely the begrudging messenger, but I have no problem telling this asshole myself that this year’s Katrina is mine andnothis. Now standing behind where his back is turned, drunkenly berating Glinda, I lower my hand to his shoulder which stiffens upon contact, tapping it forcefully.

He turns around, immediately forced to look up to where I stand almost a full foot taller than he is. His lips part, but he becomes distracted by the writing all over my mask. His glassy eyes swing back and forth in an attempt to read one of the many messages I have plastered on it. Everything written on my face is only meant for Blair and I to understand and no one else. Despite our size difference, he puffs his chest outward in a sad attempt to preserve his dignity.

“Can I help you?” he asks, voice trembling.

“Your name?” I ask.

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