Page 17 of Wanna Play A Game?
He chuckles and pulls something out of his pocket. It’s…makeup?
I stare at it.
“I have a pretty specific look I’m going for.” The man grabs a bottle of something. “Sexy, hot, sleek. Primer. Close your eyes.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl. He can’t just do whatever he wants with me.
The man shakes his head and uses one hand to cover my eyes. I jump as a cool mist settles over my skin.
“It burns the eyes,” he says softly. “Pick your battles.”
I stare at the man as he fishes in his lap for something else.
“Is that…a beauty blender?” It’s the first question I allow to slip by, and I kick myself for it.
“Yep.” He holds it up. “Don’t worry, it’s clean. New, actually.” He grabs what appears to be foundation. “I think I got the right shade. I had to guess from the cameras in your apartment.” He dabs a little on my hand and makes a satisfied grunt.
I continue to stare at him. Well, the only parts I can see. His neck is tanned, and the skin looks soft. He has a V-neck on, and I see more tattoos peeking out. He holds the beauty blender out to my face, pausing to see what I’ll do. I picture grinding his face into an oven burner, but I sit still.
The man dabs the makeup gently over my face. I stiffen when he gets close to my eyes, and he slows down, carefully applying it. He’s so close I can hear him breathing behind the mask. His hands smell sweet…almost like syrup.
He’s a coward, hiding his identity. I glare at him. “Why don’t you take that off.”
“So anxious to see me?” He leans back to get something else.
“No,” I huff and look away.
He works for a bit. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. What are his plans for me? Get me dolled up so he can kill me while I look pretty?
Good. At least I’ll look nice for my time on the news. Not that there are a lot of people who will miss me. Fuck, my cat will.
Oh my god, he’s going to die locked in my apartment.
“Listen…” I pause, unsure how to say it. “I’ve already been gone…I don’t know, a few hours. I have a cat. He’s stuck at my house with no one to take care of him.”
“Halloweiner,” the man says.
My leg twitches. He knows my cat’s name. Oh, that’s right. He invaded my privacy. Sent me creepy texts and stalked me. “You have no right.”
He chuckles and says in a low, gravely voice, “Bunnies run, predators hunt. That’s how it works.”
I shiver. He sounds so sure.
He rummages in his pile.
I clench my teeth. “The least you can do is make sure someone takes care of him.”
The man looks up at me, and I catch the light of his eyes behind the screen of the mask. They’re blue and ringed in dark lashes. He looks at me sincerely and says softly, “Already taken care of, bunny.”
My jaw is so tight it hurts. The room grows solemn. I know this means he doesn’t plan on letting me go. Against my will, tears form behind my eyes.
“Eyeshadow next,” the man grabs a pallet with nude colors and leans toward me with a brush.
Of course, the fucker wants to look at my eyes right as I cry. I jerk my head back.
“Easy,” he mutters. His voice is calming. “Gonna have to close those pretty eyes for me.”
Flashbacks of my grandmother screaming at me to close my eyes flicker in my mind. Without thinking, I mutter, “Please, no.”
