Page 82 of The Taskmaster
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I called out, following her.
I wanted to take my time, build her adrenaline and stalk her through this maze until she was begging me to find her and fuck her.
I turned left, but she wasn’t there.
“Which way did you go, Little Killer?” I walked to the end of the hallway. “I can smell your fear. I’ll smell your arousal soon too.”
I listened carefully, and her panted breaths were coming from the right, so I followed them, taking a knife from my pocket and scraping it against the wall. “One, two, The Master’s coming for you,” I sang. “Three, four, I’m gonna fuck you on the floor.”
I took the remote out of my pocket and hit another button. The sound of cackling screams reverberated off the walls, and I heard her scream too.
“Did that frighten you?” I tilted my head, stopping myself from reminding her of the rules. She needed to trust that I wouldn’t hurt her. But in doing that, I’d have to break character, and I really didn’t want to do that.
Instead, I hit the button to activate the rainstorm sounds, and then I pressed for lightning.
“There’s a storm coming, Abigail. Are you ready to get very, very wet?”
I reached the end of the hallway and stopped. Her breathy little pants had turned into moans, or cries, I couldn’t tell which, with the other sounds around me. But whatever they were, they fucking turned me on.
I started to walk towards where I thought she might be, announcing into the darkness, “Do you know what I’m going to do when I catch you, Little Killer?” I paced slowly forward, telling her, “I’m going to pin you down, rip your fucking clothes off, and fuck you so hard you’ll be begging, but it won’t be for me to stop, it’ll be for more.” I kept walking forward, following the cries. “Are you ready for that? Are you ready to take my big cock in every fucking hole so many times you pass out? To feel my hands holding you down, covering your mouth so you can’t scream. Are you ready to submit to me like the filthy slut you are?”
My heart was beating fast, thumping against my ribs like it wanted to burst free. My cock was hard, and I was aching to find her, catch her and pin her to the floor, the wall, I didn’t fucking care, I just needed to be inside her.
And then I turned the corner, and I found her...
Curled in a ball.
Her head in her hands as she whimpered.
And when she lifted her head to look in my direction, the pain of utter terror on her face nearly fucking broke me.
I pressed the remote to turn the lights on and went to her, crouching down and pulling her into my arms.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” I told her. “Remember I said to trust me. I’d never hurt you.”
She couldn’t speak, she was sobbing so hard, so I picked her up, carrying her in my arms out of the maze to a back room where I usually sat when I was playing games of a different kind.
There was a small sofa in the corner, and I laid her on it, stroking her hair and trying to calm her as best I could.
“What’s happened?” I asked, knowing full well this reaction wasn’t normal. “Why are you so frightened? You know me, Abigail. You know I’d never hurt you.”
She was starting to calm down, but her breaths were still ragged, and she shook like a leaf.
“I... I want... I need... to go home.”
I felt like my whole body was shredded from the inside. Like someone had taken the sharpest grater and sliced every inch of me until there was nothing but pain. I’d have done anything for her. If anyone else had hurt her, I’d have cut their throat to make them bleed, then sliced their chest open and cracked their ribs apart. Ripped the heart from the chest and thrown it at her feet while it was still beating. And even that wouldn’t have been enough to avenge the things that’d been done to her.
But what could I do now?
How could I fix this when the person who’d hurt her was me?
Chapter Forty-Three
ABIGAIL
Ihad spent years fighting my demons. The fact that they still had their filthy claws in me made me angry, indignant, and scared that I’d never be free.
What was supposed to be a primal game of cat and mouse had twisted my brain, making it a fight for survival. The voice that shouted hadn’t been a voice I recognised at first, and then, as my mind started to play tricks, it became his voice. Not Isaiah’s.
