Page 91 of Wicked Games

I stumble into the room, my arms flailing as I try to stay on my feet. My attacker is back on me in only seconds and shoves me against the wall. This time I’m able to brace properly, and I avoid bouncing my head off the drywall, but I can’t stop the air from rushing out of my lungs as I get partially winded for the second time in a matter of seconds as my chest once again takes the brunt of the impact.

I gulp in a few gasping breaths as my attacker spins me around and slams me against the wall.

“Don’t even think about moving,” he growls and jams his forearm against my chest. His voice is familiar, but I can’t place who they are.

A knee presses against my dick, and I go limp against the wall. I can handle getting the wind knocked out of me, but having my dick and balls crushed isn’t something I can bounce back from.

My attacker isn’t that much bigger than me, and like most people I saw wandering around, he’s shirtless and wearing a pair of white linen pants that are slung low on his hips. His mask looks like something a hockey goalie would wear, only it ends just above his mouth instead of covering his entire face.

It’s too dark to see what color his eyes are, and the mask covers enough that I don’t recognize him from just his mouth. My eyes fall to the sigil-like tattoo on his left pec, and I commit it to memory in case I actually live through whatever is about to happen.

My biggest worry when I left my room tonight was that Killian would catch me breaking his rules or that someone in the house would realize I’m not supposed to be here and I’d get in trouble.

It never occurred to me that whoever is trying to kill me would have an invite.

My attacker leans more heavily against me, and I drag in a gasping breath as I assess my chances of escaping.

The room is usually used for small gatherings like committee meetings or study groups, but all of the furniture has been taken out of it, and there’s nothing in the empty space I can use as a weapon or to try and get away. My attacker might be close to my size, but he’s strong, and I doubt I can shove him off me without getting my dick crushed.

I’m still weighing my options when he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a small square compartment that looks like it was taken out of a pill caddy.

Using the back of his hand, he knocks my mask off. It falls to the floor, and he shifts his knee and jams it into my stomach hard enough to force the air from my lungs again.

I draw in several gasping breaths as he pops the pill case open and jams his knee harder into my stomach. The added pressure makes it impossible to pull in another breath.

My mouth falls open as panic sets in, and I’m so disoriented I can’t even fight as he puts the pill case against my lip and tips the contents into my mouth.

Two pills land on my tongue. He covers my mouth and nose, cutting off my ability to breathe.

“Swallow,” he growls and releases some of the pressure against my stomach. Reflexively, I grab at his arms and try to pull him off me.

He just leans against me harder, and all I manage to do is scratch his arms a few times.

I try to shift the pills to the inside of my cheek, but I’m moving on instinct now, and instead of getting them out of the way, I reflexively swallow them.

“Did you swallow them?” he demands in that same growly voice.

I nod as best I can.

He pulls his hand off my mouth. “Open and show me.”

I don’t fight and open my mouth, sticking out my tongue.

“Lift it.”

I do, and he ducks down as he makes sure that I really swallowed the pills.

Seemingly satisfied, he lets go of me and steps back.

I slide down the wall as my legs give out. My chest and stomach ache, and my lungs feel like they can’t fully expand.I’m able to breathe, though, and I spend the next few seconds gasping and gulping down air as he stands over me like some sort of sentry.

“Don’t even think about puking them up,” he says in that same growly voice.

“What did you give me?” I croak as the reality of the situation finally hits.

I just got drugged, and I have no idea what I took. Is this the guy who’s trying to kill me? Is his plan to make me overdose so no one suspects I was attacked, that I’m just a dumbass doing more than I can handle?

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He crosses his arms and glances at the door.

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