Page 35 of Scaredy Cat
“You don’t know what I need or want,” I accuse, trying and failing to jerk to my feet. He easily keeps me in place, and I wonder just how strong he is that he can keep me on my knees with just a hand in my hair.
His hum is thoughtful, and I turn my phone light a little, trying to get a better look at him. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” Without warning, he jerks me to my feet, shifting his grip so he’s holding onto my wrists behind my back. “You know the stories about Mill House, right? Of course you do. That’s why you’re here.” He’s almost conversational as he forces me to walkfurther into the barn toward the workshop area across from the old, broken stalls.
“Obviously,” I hiss, trying to drag my feet in the dirt, but he barely seems to notice.
“Everyone always focuses on the scary, demon-infested basement. But you and I, we know better. We know that there was just as much action out here. Do you remember what Jeremy Lane did to his wife, Persy?”
Knowing what he’s talking about certainly doesn’t bring me any comfort. If anything, it makes me fight him harder. I kick and snarl, hissing and lunging like a cornered animal about to meet its death. My phone drops to the dirt, but I can’t pick it up when he’s still steering me toward the workbench.
“Stop!” I demand, though it comes out as more of a plea. “Please! Please, I didn’t do anything to you!” Not only that, but I don’t want to die. Especially in a way that would mimic what a deranged psycho did to his family. “I don’t even know you!”
“You don’t,” he agrees. “And you’re right. You’ve done nothing at all to me.” He suddenly whirls me around, dragging me close and trapping my arms between my body and his. With one arm wrapped around my lower back, he leans in with a soft, satisfied sound, until the eyes of the wolf-skull are only inches from my own.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a whole list of things I want to do to you. And I’m going to take my time going through each and every one. Now”—his hands trail down my sides and I squirm, once more trying to break free—“why don’t you be a good girl and tell me what Jeremy Lane did in here, hmm? You’re the more entertaining of the two of us. And honestly? You probably know the stories better than I do, don’t you, Persy?” The way he says it sounds like praise, like he’s proud of me and being an encouraging boyfriend instead of a psycho about to end my life painfully.
“I don’t think I want to tell you,” I whisper, fingers flexing as I continue to squirm and writhe against him.
My stalker only chuckles, and he leans forward to kiss my temple like I’ve said something cute. “So mistrustful of me, aren’t you?” he teases. “When all I’ve done is given you what you want and stood up for my pretty little Scaredy Cat.”
“I think that stops winning you gold stars when you hold me hostage and torture me in a dilapidated old barn.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but he isn’t angry, judging by his snicker.
“I’m only holding you hostage if you don’t want to be here.” I don’t know how to take that. There’s no way I couldwantto be here, especially when he spins me around to shove me against the worktable, bracing myself on my forearms against the old, creaking wood. “Now tell me the story.”
It’s not a request. Not with the growl in his voice and the way he continues to hold me in place. One hand goes to my hair, his fingers combing through it in a mockery of affection. Though if he’s pretending, he’s certainly good at feigning tenderness while holding me here.
Taking a breath, I close my eyes, once more testing to see if there’s a way for me to get out of this. My feet slide and scrape in the dirt, though I can’t even slither to the ground with the way he’s holding me in place. The reality of how trappedI am just serves to make my insides feel like they’re melting, as if at least part of me can save itself from my stalker’s intent.
“H-he brought her to the barn,” I murmur, each word leaving me like it’s being dragged from my lips. One hand trails down my spine, pulling a shudder from me, the other still in my hair. “She begged him not to kill her. She promised she’d do anything. Please don’t make me go into detail,” I add with my eyes shut tight.
“Because you’re afraid, since I have you here in the same place she was killed?”
“Because that feels a little disrespectful,” I shoot back.
He laughs, full-throated and amused as hell. “Poor little Scaredy Cat. You don’t have to lie to me. You’re afraid I’ll do something awful to you.” He moves his hand from my back and it slams down on the wooden table next to me, fingers curled against the wood. He leans in close when I flinch, his body pressed flush to mine. “But, baby girl, I’m only doing exactly what you crave.” His hips arch, grinding against my ass, showing me his growing interest in the situation.
My heart races in my chest, a thrill of fear and anticipation shooting through me, though I try to tell myself that all I feel is the fear. “Stop,” I hiss, writhing against him. But he takes it as encouragement to grind back against me.
“No,” my stalker tells me almost sweetly. “Youwantthis. You want me to take you right here, right where it happened.”
Immediately I shake my head as much as I can with his fingers tight in my hair. “Are you joking?” I demand, trying and failing to jerk upward. “That’s fucked up. I’m not?—”
“You’re more fucked up than you’ve ever admitted online. But that’s okay,” he coos. “You just need someone to help you admit it. That’s why I’m here, Persy. To show you just how fucked up you really are. Youwantthe fear.” His hand that’s not in my hair moves, and he flips me over suddenly, lifting me as he does so I’m on my back on the table, and a yelp escapes me.
The world spins around me, but even with me facing upward, I can’t see anything in the darkness of the barn. Now that the sun’s set, it’s almost pitch black, with only the light from my phone somewhere on the ground throwing out strange, angled illumination that only sometimes catches the edge of his mask.
“When I make you come, do you think you’ll see stars, or the ghosts of all the people who died here?” my stalker muses casually.
“You’re not—” He grabs me by the throat, pinning me down, forcing my gaze upward into the darkness.
“I am,” he assures me. “And don’t pretend you don’t want me to. Don’t fucking pretend when I had you so wet for me in The Darkness, and so interested in Dusk House.” He presses closer, standing between my forced-open thighs. His free hand trails down my leg, almost comfortingly, before moving back up.
Suddenly he moves, hopping up on the table and crawling over me, poised like a predator about to tear into its prey. My breath catches in my throat, stuck there, and a rush of cold, intoxicating fear rushes down my spine, along with the heat of arousal that pools between my thighs.
“It’s okay to be afraid of me, Scaredy Cat,” my stalker purrs when he leans close. Deftly he grabs my hands, and before I can think to stop him, he has both of them above my head, with the metallicclinkof cuffs closing around my wrists.
“N-no. I don’t want…” I yank at my hands, trying to pull them back down, but he’s wrapped the chain of the cuffs around something, though I can’t tell what, that’s preventing me from pulling them back down.
I’m trapped.
