Page 11 of Fright Night (Twisted Holidays #3)

TEN

OAKLEY

“Trickster.”

I’m sleeping. Definitely sleeping. Hearing my Knox-given nickname crooned in my ear is simply in my mind and he’s not here.

He wouldn’t dare sneak in again.

Oh, who am I kidding? In the last forty-eight hours alone, he’s crept into my bedroom to jack off onto my back while I was asleep, broke into my house after spending the entire night tormenting me, and then stalked me to a restaurant.

Yet again, there’s a feeling of being watched; the prickle of something being off , even before discovering the proof. That’s what’s drawing me from the sweet bliss of slumber and away from the darkness.

Or…that’s what’s supposed to happen, but as my eyes open, it’s to ongoing darkness. Really dark, accompanied by the sensation of cloth resting along the bridge of my nose.

A blindfold?

Fucking asshole.

I go to move, only to realize too late my limbs are stuck. Legs in a wide V, arms the same, and when I try to bring them in closer, something around my wrists tighten.

“What the hell did you do to me?”

Silence.

I’d be more scared if not knowing the presence is Knox, and that he wouldn’t risk our parents’ wrath by doing any permanent damage to me.

Huffing, I drop my head back onto the pillow. “At least remove the blindfold.”

The bed shifts with movement, and a second later, the cloth is shockingly pulled off my head and tossed aside. The scrap of black resting beside me is my sleep mask from my side table, used infrequently.

Then a face appears, attached to a form crouched over me—and that same mask from the video covering his face. All dark except the sewn mouth and two Xs for eyes in a fluorescent orange.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” That was not what I expected . “What the fuck is wrong with you? You have some serious maniacal genes, I’m telling you.”

Being yanked from sleep and forced immediately into high alert by the horror movie copycat hovering over me was not necessary. Regardless of being aware who’s behind the mask, no one needs that kind of heart attack in the middle of the night.

I jerk against what I now see is rope tied around my wrists and ankles, and it worries me he managed to do so without me waking. My body was knocked out that hard?

Or he drugged me, which I wouldn’t put past the psycho.

“Untie me.” I jerk my limbs, attempting to punch and kick him, but the rope only gives a few inches of leeway, which means nothing happens other than a few awkward knees into his legs.

He remains mute.

“Why do you insist on not letting me sleep a full night?”

More silence.

Huffing, I shift, realizing too late our position. With myself stuck on my back, Knox is in complete control, able to lower or lift himself as desired. And he’s chosen to be low; the roughness of his jeans rubs against my core, my shirt having got pushed up at some point.

Note to self: start wearing pants to bed. At least, I’m wearing panties. Small miracles.

“You gonna talk?”

His head tips to the side, revealing a strip of skin above the collar of his shirt.

A streak of white in a dark room, matching the creepy orange from his mask.

For a second, it feels like I’m in a horror movie, where the masked serial killer stares to freak out their victims while planning their attack seconds before enacting it.

Heat builds in the base of my stomach. Terrified of the fact, yes, but also intrigued.

Ugh, not the time.

“You’re being weird. And annoying. And an asshole. Keeping me awake all night last night wasn’t enough? Because of you I had the longest day of work today.”

Still silent.

My body tingles again, but this time with less pleasure than earlier.

“Can you please say something?” Something I never thought I’d beg of him. “This is irritating.”

It’s like talking to a damn wall.

“Knox, this isn’t funny. I’m exhausted.”

Maybe it was my words, maybe it was something else, but he finally moves.

Shifting forward, he reaches for something on the bedside table, and as he returns, his index finger trails down my bare arm until reaching my chest. There, he reveals the switchblade in his grip, which he flicks open with a low whoosh that sounds similar to the blood rushing through my ears.

Panic seizes me and I curse the binds. “Uh, Knox?”

He brings the knife down, making my breath quicken.

Aware there’s only inches of space, I lift my hips, attempting to buck him off.

It’s a feeble attempt that accomplishes nothing but rubbing my core against the hardness between his legs.

An effect we’re both clearly aware of, based on the low rumbling that seeps from behind the mask.

Clearly, I’m dumb for thinking that would have worked.

Because you wanted to entice him, the slithering voice of my unwanted consciousness taunts. You wanted to see how he’d react.

Ignoring the way my thighs crave wrapping his waist and rocking on him, the knife continues advancing towards me until I’m forced to stop moving or risk being cut. He positions the blade’s tip at my collar and uses it to drag the material lower.

“Wh-what are you doing?” My body stills because moving won’t end well for me.

There’s no answer but a nick into my shirt.

“Knox. Stop.” My plea is punched out between short words and even shorter breaths—both an effect of two contrasting feelings. “Please. This isn’t funny.” Begging him makes my tongue sour, but I’ll suck all the sourness from the word until my mouth tingles if it gets him off me.

He slices into my shirt until reaching the dip between my breasts. If he keeps cutting, my breasts will end up on display.

To Knox.

Why does that seem appealing?

Knox, who still isn’t showing any sign of speaking.

Wait…what if this isn’t Knox? The thought punches into my gut, as sharp as the blade against my skin.

He said he’s staying with a friend and that he had people checking on me. What if this is one of them, sent on Knox’s command? He’s staying quiet because it’d give away his voice.

If this isn’t Knox, it’s a stranger pinning me down.

Kneeling between my legs.

Holding a knife to my chest.

Slashing my clothing.

About to see my breasts.

If this isn’t Knox, it’s a stranger who’s broken into my house in the middle of the night

Oh god.

If this isn’t Knox, then who the fuck is he?

Just as terror clamps hold and I contemplate the possibilities of winning a physical fight, considering the ropes, the blade is tossed to the side. The body above me shakes with laughter and he slides that mask up to the top of his head.

Knox is laughing while I’m still trying to calm my racing heart. His amusement is an obnoxious noise from a mouth belonging to a fallen angel. Beauty and sin competing in one body.

He reaches forward to cut through the ropes, his thumbs sweeping over the marks they’ve made, causing me to wonder when exactly he did all this and how long I’ve been tied up.

Once freed, I immediately bring my legs close and swing to the side, getting off the bed and towards safety, over by the window.

His eyes, now uncovered, track where my shirt’s hem hangs just past my hip, making me wish once again I opted for pants.

“You’re an asshole. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You should have seen your face. Might be the best part of tonight. So far, anyway.” He flips until he’s seated on the edge of the bed, his legs spreading lazily as hands prop him up. “Wanted to see how far I could take you.”

“What does that mean?”

He stands so abruptly, my back slams against the window pane. Suddenly, he’s right there—looming above me, trapping me against the wall. I shove into him for space, knowing full well his strength will win over mine.

He strokes a finger down my cheek. My eyes flutter shut, waiting for my stomach to knot with the familiar feeling of distaste that accompanies anything Knox does.

Any second now it’ll happen.

Instead, something else clusters in my stomach. Something that makes my arms feel weak. Something that speaks to the unwise, dangerous crush I once had on my stepbrother. The same kind of feeling flowing through me when he was holding the knife moments ago.

“Hm.” His deep rumble cuts through my wandering and unwelcome thoughts. Probably good. Fantasizing about the crazy stepbrother doesn’t say solid and well thought out plan.

“Hm, what?”

“You ask a lot of questions. That’s new.”

“What do you mean, new?”

His eyes sparkle in the light it somehow finds. “Exactly. You used to be a lot…quieter. Scared of me.”

My feet shift over the hardwood, which chills my toes. “Time changes shit. You should know best.”

“Never said it was a bad thing. Fuck, it makes me happy. Proud. Be loud. I crave it.” His words cause my fingers to curl, my brain finding hidden meanings in them. “No, I was thinking about how…enticed you are when nervous.”

My heart thumps so loudly, I’d be positive he could hear it. I need to deny his claim, so he doesn’t know the truth.

“See? You can’t even lie to yourself.” Harsh laughter fills the room. “Because I’m right.”

“No, uh…” Way to formulate an argument.

“It’s nothing to be upset about, Trickster. It’s normal. Fear makes hearts race, blood pound, but how a person reacts to that is different for everyone. Some people run away. Others…”

He trails off with a sucking noise on his teeth, and being so distracted by his lips, I don’t notice the way he grabs my waist until he’s lifting me like I’m a ragdoll. In the same motion, he whirls me around until suddenly, I’m flat on my back on the bed.

Helpless—again. Pinned to the bed—again. Arms hauled above my head, he presses my wrists together and cuffs them into place with his unyielding grip.

“Let me go, Knox,” I demand between breaths.

I’m a submissive to his games. The bed wraps me up as Knox’s knees frame my hips, his hands coming down by my head. He reaches to the side and returns with the knife as his smile is slow and thought-out, eyes moving between the blade and me.

“Others…” he continues his earlier point like we haven’t moved on from that conversation. “Others respond with desire. Guess which way you do.”