Page 14 of No, You Hang Up

“Come on, Kaira. Let’s play the game you were too afraid to continue on the phone. Only, I think I’d like to make a few modifications for my benefit. I hope you don’t mind. I’m just”—he tilts his head again, and I think the move would be endearing on someone other than a masked probable-murderer—“selfishthat way.”

seven

Trembling in the man’s grip, my legs are braced in the middle of my hallway, and my arms are up defensively between us. I don’t know what to do, especially with how tightly he’s holding onto me. I jerk back experimentally, but his hands don’t budge, and I don’t go far.

“Kai.” My preferred nickname comes out of my mouth as a breathy whisper, though I have no idea why I’m telling him.

His head tilts almost adorably, though I can’t see his eyes behind the mask. “What?” he asks, voice less menacing and more curious than before. His grip loosens, just a little, and I falter with a slow exhale.

“I hate it when people call me Kaira. It’s what my parents call me and…” I trail off when I realize I’m rambling, and I press my lips together until it stings and reminds me just how chapped my lips are. “Kai,” I repeat.

“Kai.” He says it slowly, rolling the simple nickname around in his mouth like he can taste the edges of it. “All right. I can humor you, I suppose. I think Kaira is cute, and I was sort of sold on it—” He dodges back when I take advantage of his looser grip and aim a punch at his mask. “Oh no, no, lovely girl,” the man purrs. He’s only a few inches taller than my five-foot-six, putting him at about five-eleven, if I had to guess. He’s definitely within range of me being able to punch his face.

If he doesn’t dodge or just stop me.

“You’re only making this game more exciting for me,” he growls, the words accompanied by a soft snicker. “You—” he breaks off when I lunge for him again, though this time he doesn’t dodge my blow. Instead, he uses my momentum to twist me around in his arms, pulling a yelp from my throat as he yanks me against his chest. “You’re a deliciously feisty thing, aren’t you?” he coos, and the plastic of his mask slides coolly against my face as he pretends to nuzzle my cheek.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, heart pounding.

“No, I think this is where you beg,” he hums. “I’m pretty sure this is where you start whining for me not to kill you. Where you promise you’ll do just anything for me to let you go. Don’t you watch your horror movies, Kai?” he admonishes, and the hand that isn’t locked like an iron bar around my shoulders slides down my front, fingers splayed against my shirt.

I don’t whimper. I refuse to let myself make any noise that he’ll enjoy. Even though it won’t help me in the least, I want to remain as unaffected by him as I can.

Well, as much as I can now that he knows I’m terrified. I have just spent the last few minutes hiding from him, I consider ruefully. And I’m definitely not acting brave at the moment.

“Horror is predictable,” I snap instead as I search for any way to hurt him, or to get away from him. Since he has my phone, I know that’s a lost cause. But my inherited house isn’t at all that big, and the front door isn’t so incredibly far that I definitely won’t make it.

I just…probably won’t.

When I manage to grab his wrist and try to yank him off of me, the man literally just laughs. He doesn’t go anywhere. Doesn’t even really budge. “Horror is predictable,” he agrees easily. “This is the part where you beg, or the part where the audience realizes that you’re the final girl for them to cheer for.” He drags me back against him, hips flush to mine, and leans down to murmur against my ear.

“But I can promise you, darling girl, that you’re nobody’s final girl. There’s no cheering for you. And I won’t be the one lying on the floor with a knife in my chest when morning comes.”

For just a second?—

I can’t?—

Breathe.

My head fills with the mental sight of me on the floor, exactly how he’d said. With a knife in my chest as I struggle and choke for air. I can almost feel the blood trickling down my lips as I stare up at my textured, white-washed ceiling.

“I don’t want—” The plea comes to my lips just as the man jerks backward with me. His steps are confident and he doesn’t stumble as he pulls me around to shove me through the open door of my bedroom.

“Stop!” I snarl, kicking out to wedge my bare foot against the doorframe. “Let go of me!” I won’t beg, and I don’t let my tone sound faltering or pleading. “Let the fuck go of me!”

“No.” He chuckles. “I actually think I won’t. What are you going to do, lovely girl,huh?” With a quick shove, he forces me to stumble across my rug until I can straighten and spin quickly to face him.

I snarl out a few curses, my fists balled at my sides so my fingers don’t shake. “Why are you doing this?” I demand, as I scrutinize him in the warm light of my room. He’s no longer holding the knife, but I can see the hilt of it sticking out of a sheath on his belt.

I’m definitely not safe, but I knew that.

“Uh, hello?” He sounds snarky and a bit like a high school mean girl as he places his hands on his waist, all but cocking one hip to the side. “You called me, remember? Please don’t tell me you have amnesia like that girl in50 First Datesbecause I am not mentally equipped to handle that kind of shit.”

He’s…joking. He’s literally makingjokesright now, and even though I shouldn’t, I want to cackle at the stupidity of his words. I don’t, because that would make me hysterical and hysterical girls don’t escape murderers.

“You’re insane,” I murmur, not in a terrified, incredulous way. Just as a fact.

Because really, this man is insane.

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