Page 49 of The Trick

Wincing, I part my dry lips. “What the fu–?”

My words are cut off by his hand over my mouth. I hate how I’m still half out of it, yet his harsh, possessive touch feels soothing against my skin even as he’s stifling my ability to speak.

“Shh,” he whispers into my ear, sending an unpleasant chill down my spine. “I just wanted to tell you how seeing you unconscious, surrounded by so much death, makes me realize what a beautiful corpse you would make,” he hisses before sinking his teeth onto my lobe. His mouth feels like fire on my cold skin. “Plus, when you’re dead, you wouldn’t have the ability to run that fresh fucking mouth of yours,” he adds, his words like venom to my system.

I want to shout at him, I want to tell him how pathetic he is for drugging me so he can get his tongue between my legs but I’d be lying. He’s only doing what I’ve always wanted. To be taken, chased, pleased at any cost. Only difference is I told him these things before I tricked him. Now it feels like he’s using all my fantasies against me, all so he can get the last laugh.

I remain on the ground, pinned beneath his touch until his warm breath abandons my ear. Ignoring the dizziness that feels like it's rattling my head, I somehow muster enough strength to switch from my back to my side. Slowly, I roll over to my stomach and, once I move onto all fours, my nostrils are suddenly met with the oddly familiar scent of freshly carved pumpkins.

Finally, I feel enough energy to open my eyes. Though the moment they open, a cruel sense of déjà vu slaps me across the face.

Before me, on a patch of dirt, nestled in a pile of leaves, is a pumpkin. Its two lopsided eyes with a small triangular nose giving way to a crooked, jagged smile make it a damn near perfect replica of the carved pumpkin from the opening credits ofHalloween.

The lit candle that flickers inside the carved pumpkin brings a smile to my face, though it’s short lived. The longer I focus my gaze on the jack-o-lantern the more I’m able to see the small red font that reads “FinalGirlsRock_666”,which makes my stomach churn.

Working through the pounding in my head,I lift my hand, inching it toward the printout that is taped just beneath the jagged mouth of the jack o’ lantern. Before I can grasp it, my vision is obstructed by a large black boot, covered in specks of pumpkin guts and leftover seeds.

His throat clears and the raspy echo of his baritone voice lingers in my ears, stealing my attention from the pumpkin.

“Want me to read it to you?” He whispers from above me. His voice is so naturally deep, his attempt at a hushed whisper is heard loud and clear. I swear I canfeelhis words travel through me and straight to my damp center.

My lips part. An inhale disguised as a gasp sounds, making the cool autumn air feel like a wad of cotton balls is being stuffed into my mouth. I clear my throat from the trapped, dry air that has lodged itself in my windpipe when a throaty groan emerges from Maddox. It’s faint, but loud enough to come off as effortlessly sultry as it sounds possessive, and it only makes the disorientation I have been feeling worse.

He kneels before me, reaching his palm to the small piece of paper.

“Too bad, I’m going to read it anyway. Maybe this will give you an idea of where tonight is headed.” He licks his lips, centering his gaze on the paper.

I swallow hard finally feeling like I can speak. “No,” I protest through gritted teeth, chest heaving as I try to get enough energy to rise from where I’m rocking on hands and knees.

An angry groan rumbles from his throat, and he lifts my chin so I’m forced to look at him. The blueish green of his irises look like a flickering candle in the dead of night. The years old paper crinkles slightly in his hand as his fingers curl against it, crumpling it against where his calloused palms have my chin captured.

“No, is such a dirty word. Don’t you think?” He sneers.

I ignore him as I try to break free from his grip, but it only makes his smile only widen. His alluring stare sears into me as he waits for a response, but I don’t give him one. It’s this very encounter that he truly gets off on, that’s his kink. The banter, the push and pull, the hatred. That’s what he wants, and I won’t fucking give him that satisfaction, not when he has a fucking knife in his other hand, and I’m on the ground, trapped beneath his touch, defenseless.

“Are you ready?” he groans, curling his fingers tighter against my jaw. His thumb swipes against my cheek and, although his touch is rough, his warm, intense hands feel like a flame that is slowly beginning to melt the ice-cold front I’ve worked so hard to maintain around him.

I try to signal my feet to stand up and release myself from his hold, but I can’t. The longer he pinches my cheeks together and looks into me with his hypnotizing gaze I remain still, under his spell just waiting for him to make a move in this never-ending chess match we have found ourselves in the last fifteen years.

He arches his pierced brow before clearing his throat to speak.

FinalGirlsRock_666: You know carving the skin of a pumpkin is much harder than carving actual skin…

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Oh, I know. Human skin is much more delicate, all it takes is the tip of a knife and just the slightest bit of force

“Stop!” I shout, interrupting him. My voice echoing against the gravestones that surround us. My stomach sinks as nausea spreads to my mouth because I already know what’s next. All these theatrics of his, they all serve one purpose and it’s to punish me for what I did to him.

“Come on, I was just about to get to the good part,” he shrugs, letting me go.

Working through the grogginess I still feel, I rise from the ground and lift my hand, swiping it in front of me to reach for his knife, but he inches back before transferring his already towering height to the tips of his toes, gaining another inch and a half on me. “Give it to me!” I groan, jumping up to where he now has his hand raised higher, taunting me.

“Mmmm, you sound so good when you beg,” he licks his lips, releasing a throaty groan that again travels to my center. “Not so fast,” he clicks his tongue, moving higher onto his tiptoes. “If you want this, I’m going toreallyneed to see you beg for it. On your hands and knees.” The playful tone in his voice is gone and, in its place, a domineering command.

“Fuck no,” I grit, huffing an angry sigh, trying once more to jump up and get it, but it’s useless. His outstretched hand paired with his height makes it impossible. My gaze travels up to where the knife taunts me, swimming through the sea of veins and ink that define his muscular arms. Fuck, he looks so damn sinister, so damn fuckable. But beg? To him? As fucking if.

Shifting my weight to one hip, I cross my hands in front of my torso.

“Always so fresh,” he scoffs. “Come on, little hellcat, show daddy how bad you want the knife,” he sneers but I don’t budge.

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