Page 35 of My Masked Stalker
“Jesus, Stan,” the man holding me mutters, slowly walking us out of the bedroom. “Fucking knock her out, will you?”
What? No! I renew my struggles, catching something on a low table and knocking it to the ground. Glass shatters and water spills, but my assailants continue like I’m just a buzzing fly. When I look down, I spot black panther peonies on the ground, the petals rumpled from the floor, water and black shards glistening up at me like diamonds. Or blood.
“Yeah, yeah, hold her still, for fuck’s sake,” Stan speaks from behind us, and I can hear a zipper opening. “I can grab the ketamine or knock her out with my gun if she keeps being a brat.”
“Please, stop! What do you want?” I ask hysterically, finally finding my voice. “My boyfriend will be back any second!”
Stan and his partner laugh at that, like I said something amusing instead of the real threat it is.
“Hear that, Jim? She’s calling him her boyfriend. She should be thrilled we’re taking her away from here. But women are fucking stupid, aren’t they?”
Jim snorts, shaking me like I’m a ragdoll. “Any woman associating herself with you is, that’s for sure.”
“Shut the fuck up and hold her still, asshole.”
That’s the last thing I hear before there’s a prick at the side of my neck and the edges of my world grow gray before they turn to black.
∞∞∞
My head feels stuffedwith cotton. Sounds echo weirdly as they bounce around my skull, some too loud, some too muffled, disorientating me further. The air smells wrong too. Nothing like the soothing scent that was just in my nose. It’s like damp concrete, musty furniture, and a coppery smell I don’t want to identify.
When I roll to the side, something sharp digs into my wrists. Zip ties. My stomach lurches as memory crashes back—the door, the men, the needle. I’m not in my apartment. I’m not even in the apartment my stalker brought me to. I think I’ve been kidnapped by the men who are after him.
I finally manage to open my eyes. The room is dim, one buzzing strip light overhead, throwing shadows across bare walls. Somewhere nearby, water drips in an endless, mocking rhythm.
A voice cuts through the haze. Male, cold. Amused.
“She’s awake.”
Boots scrape against concrete, slow, deliberate. My pulse stutters like a trapped rabbit’s. When I blink up, I see a man with a shaved head. Dread skitters down my spine. I don’t think it’s a good sign they’re now letting me see their faces.
The man squats to my level, his gloved hand brushing my cheek like he owns it.
“Cross is going to burn the whole city down for you,” he murmurs, almost tender. A faint accent shines through, like he spent years in this country and worked on losing it. “And that’s exactly what we want.”
I try to shrink back, but there’s a wall behind me, and I’m like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. His hand slides down my chest while his expression stays unchanging, an infuriating little smirk on his lips. Tears spring to my eyes when he grabs my breast and squeezes uncaringly, like he’s releasing pent-up aggression onto my body. With his other hand, he grabs my thigh, fingers digging into my flesh. I’m acutely aware that I’m only wearing Killian’s boxers under his hoodie.
“I’d love to find out why Cross is so obsessed with you,” the man says off-handedly. “Do you have a magic cunt, little girl?”
He uses both hands to roughly spread my thighs, then, before I can react, presses down hard onto my pussy, like he’s trying to enter me through the boxers, with his gloves still on. I sob, trying uselessly to squeeze my legs together, but I’m off-balance and overpowered, absolutely helpless in a way I never was with Killian.
“Please, stop, I don’t want this!” I cry, feeling like I’m about to lose control of my bladder. I don’t want to know what he’d do to me if I peed on his hand.
“Viktor,” a voice booms from the shadows behind the reach of the light. “Do not stoop to Cross’ level. Have more class than an uncouth gun for hire, would you?”
Viktor grunts and reluctantly lets me go. I wish my arms were free so I could wrap them around myself, curl up into a little ball like a hedgehog.
“To be continued,” he hisses for my ears only. “Once the merc is dead, we’ll have no more use for you. You’ll be all mine.”
As Viktor’s steps echo and fade, overpowered by the buzzing of the light and the dripping of water into a puddle, I start rocking and muttering a prayer. I pray for Killian to find me.
21
KILLIAN
“You need to give me something, brother,” I growl at Ethan. His eyes stay locked on the wall of screens in front of him, his fingers tapping away on the keyboard. It’s been four hours since I realized Emily is missing. Four hours since I last took a full breath.
“I’m doing everything, man,” Ethan mutters distractedly. “Facial recognition scans for Emily came up empty, so I’m checking for any known Black Ash associates within ten blocks of your apartment.”
