Page 43 of Haunted

“The anticipation is almost better than the act itself, don’t you think?” He tilts his head, and the red mask glints in the candlelight, making it gleam like fresh blood. “That moment when you realize there’s nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide, and your body starts preparing itself for what’s coming.”

Those exposed eyes crinkle at the corners, suggesting he’s smiling behind the mask—a wide grin I can’t see but can sense in his words.

“Your investigative mind must be fascinating right now,” he muses, his grip shifting to press my wristagainst the stone wall. “Cataloguing every detail, trying to find weaknesses, plotting escape routes that don’t exist. But here’s the thing about brilliant minds—they’re so much more fun to break.”

The musical quality never leaves his voice, making every word sound like a lullaby sung by the devil himself.

“Tell me, what story will you write about tonight? Oh, wait—you can’t write anything at all, can you? That pesky little NDA you signed.”

Unadulterated rage floods my system, washing away every trace of the confusing arousal that had been clouding my judgment.

I wrench my knee up again, this time angling differently to avoid his grip on my thigh. My shin connects solidly with his groin, and Xavier doubles over with a sharp grunt of pain.

His hold loosens for just a second—but a second is all I need.

I tear away from the wall and sprint toward the door, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone. The red silk clings to my sweating skin as I pump my arms, every muscle screaming with desperate energy.

Almost there. Almost?—

Agony explodes across my scalp as Xavier’s fingers twist brutally in my hair, jerking me backward so violently that my feet leave the ground. I crash against his chest, my back pressed to his front, and immediately freeze in shock.

He’s as hard as a rock—the thick length of his erection presses against my lower back through his leatherpants, and I can feel how the fabric strains to contain him. He’s breathing hard against my ear, but not from pain—from arousal.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, his voice rougher than gravel. “Run from me again. Fight me harder.”

My kick to his balls didn’t diminish his desire—it inflamed it.

Before I can process this horrifying realization, Xavier spins me around and shoves me toward the padded bench. My knees hit the edge, and I tumble forward onto the worn leather surface.

“No, no, no?—”

I feel the cool leather against my overheated skin through the thin silk. Xavier’s weight settles partially over me as he reaches for the restraints.

The first leather cuff encircles my left wrist. Xavier tests for the proper eyelet, ensuring it is tight enough that I can’t slip free but not so tight that it cuts off circulation. Then my right wrist is secured in the same way, ensuring that he stretches my arms wide across the bench’s surface, limiting my range of motion to nothing.

I kick frantically as he moves to my ankles, but the bench’s design works against me. My legs dangle on either side, and Xavier easily captures first one ankle, then the other, securing them to the bench’s legs.

Spread wide. Completely helpless.

“Perfect,” Xavier murmurs, his hands trailing down my restrained arms. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

I turn my head as much as the position allows, tryingto see him, but he moves behind me, where I can’t track his movements.

“I bet you taste incredible,” he says conversationally, his fingers tracing the edge of the red silk covering my ass.

His touch skims higher, following the curve of my spine.

“And after I’ve had my fill of you,” Xavier continues, “you’re going to return the favor with that smart mouth of yours.”

I struggle against the leather restraints with everything I have, muscles burning as I pull and twist. The buckles don’t give at all. My wrists are going to be raw and bloody, but I don’t care. I have to keep fighting.

“Let me go, you sick bastard!” I snarl over my shoulder, putting every ounce of venom I possess into the words.

Xavier just chuckles. “Such dirty language from such a prim and proper young lady.”

More footsteps are audible near the doorway, making my blood turn to ice. Two more figures appear at the entrance—both wearing masks similar to Xavier’s but in different colors. One sports a silver mask, while the other wears a black one. They’re both tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating the same dangerous energy.

“Well, well,” the one in the silver mask says, his voice carrying an amused drawl. “Looks like Xavier caught a prize.”

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