Page 7 of Masked
He glances down at it. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Before anyone has a chance to react, the Cowboy grabs the stranger’s finger in a tight fist. With an upward twist of his wrist, the stranger’s finger makes an ungodly popping noise. The sound is followed by a harrowing screaming into the night, against the thunderous clouds above and the echo of the alley.
But the blood curdling screech is seized in the cowboy’s grip. He latches onto the stranger’s mask, crushing the plastic to muzzle him.
“Make another sound, partner, and it’s gonna get a lot worse for you,” he repeats the stranger’s words. Against the instruction comes a muffled cry against the Cowboy’s gloved hand.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The Cowboy releases the finger, replacing his grip on the stranger’s neck. He drives his face forward into the table once, twice and a third time for good measure before releasing him.
The stranger flops back in his chair, dazed, bloody but dead quiet. Heaving air into his longs, in the brief respite of the Cowboy’s onslaught.
The cowboy hops over the fence and walks over to my side. He offers me a hand. I take it. He adjusts our positions until I’m standing behind him, before loosening the umbrella and letting the rain wash over the stranger.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
I have a thousand questions, but somehow this small action seems to be the most confusing to me.
“Gotta wash the blood off the tiles somehow,” he says. “Might as well let nature’s shower take care of it.”
Just like that, I’m hooked to another man I don’t know. Something tells me, I should stick close to this one.
Not for protection this time . . . No.
But because my body suddenly wants.
And what the stranger could not satisfy, maybe this Cowboy can.
3
RICKON
“Honestly, this whole night feels like a fever dream,” Taylor says. “Like I’m stuck on a rollercoaster and no matter how hard I scream, no one’s letting me off.”
We’re at a bar inside. Far enough from the main stage that the music’s thump, thump, thumping doesn’t interrupt us much. Thought it wise to bring her somewhere safe after the events outside.
She’s shaken but who can blame her? Scared, alone, and cornered. Rattled by what that piece of shit was going to do.
But I’m here now, and she’ll never have to feel fear like that again.
“From where I’m sitting, looks like fate’s smiling down on you,” I say, lazily melting into the soft cushion backrest of my bar stool.
Taylor hasn’t left my side since. Followed me to the pisser and waited outside the door. Held my hand through the crowd so we wouldn’t lose each other. Keeps brushing her leg against mineto make sure I’m not some apparition that could vanish at any second.
Glued to my hip, just the way I want her, and all it took was doing what I do best.
“How do you figure?” She asks, angling her face toward me.
As I stare deep into the crystal pools of her eyes, aching want pulses in my loins. Almost placid in the calmness of conversation, but the first stirrings of what’s to come. I’m surprised I’ve managed to hold out this long with how she burrowed her way into my head.
Things are only going to get worse from here.
“I’m a cowboy by day,” I pinch the rim of my hat and tip my head forward. “And a carnie worker at night. Job market as it is, can’t rely on a single income.” Taylor chuckles at the stupidity of my joke. A good sign. “How about I help you off this wild ride and take you on another, instead?”
The subtlest of remarks, so inconspicuous she might not even realize my dirtier intentions. She’s been through too much to dive straight in. Most of it by my hand, sure, but that’s not gonna stop me.
“I’m intrigued,” leaning forward in her chair, I get a glimpse of her cleavage. Salivating at the sight of her soft, milky pillows, I have to force myself to listen to what she says next. “What kind of ride are you thinking?”
She hasn’t looked away from me since I spoke. Watched me staring at her tits and hasn’t batted an eyelash. As if she wants me to gawk, lose my mind for her . . . fall to my knees and worship at her feet.
