Page 19 of His Trick

The haunted house loomed ahead, painted black, fog rolling at the edges. It was a literal house, broken and abandoned, likely for the fucking hunt itself. That was the Hardings, flashy fucking perfection.

But this house.

It feels safe, my little space. It had some anonymity. Nobody here will see me falter.

I shoved my way into the haunted house, hoping the lights, actors, and noise would cover me. But none of it worked, not the ghosts, the chainsaws, the jump scares, or even the strobe lights—none of it was blurring what I’d left behind.

The air inside was thick, reeking of the tacky fog machine and the sweat from multiple bodies coming and going for hours. My shoulders brushed the plywood, the painted black walls, and the floor creaked under my heavy boots.

Laughter echoed behind me, then screamed ahead, but my pulse didn’t match theirs. I was so fucking on edge. My stupid cock throbbed in my pants. The females’ screams were too potent in my mind to ignore.

I didn’t know why I couldn’t shake it…the prickling at the back of my neck, the sense of eyes tracking me everywhere I went. It was paranoia, probably. That was what I had to tell myself.

This shit was constant in the maze. The weight felt alive, like gravity had a person in it that I couldn’t see. My chest tightened, my breath catching in anticipation.

Someone is here. Someone is watching.

I forced my pace, shoved the door open, and let the fog swallow me. Strobe lights flashed, fake screams sounded, and props swung at my head. I should‘ve laughed with everyone else. Should’ve joined the game. Kept up the mask and maintained my control. But my skin itched, and my ears rang with that silent scrutiny.

I didn’t know where he was. I had caught glimpses in the maze. He was wearing a mask. The eerie smiling face was practically reflecting every time he looked at me. Was this some kind of hazing, a newbie initiation? I had to stop this shit before I killed someone.

It can’t fucking be him. He’s gone, and good fucking riddance.

And yet, I felt him. In the corners, the reflection of the cheap mirrors replicated my bare chest, leather-coated legs, and masked face. Every fucking shadow. He was there.

I walked through the fog, telling myself it was just nerves, that I was imagining things. If it was some punk trying to haze me, I couldn’t let them get to me. I had to ignore this bullshit and keep moving forward.

At this point, I was too deep into the intricate layers of the haunted house. I couldn’t walk back even if I wanted to. The screams outside were jarring enough, the fucking giggling, and bodies slapping around created a physical itch on my fevered skin. Despite my assurance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was tracking me for a darker reason other than a simple hazing. They were measuring me, testing me.

I happen to be an amazing student, asshole. Bring it on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of something. A shadow detached from the rest of the haze-laden air, deliberate in his movement. Most of the actors were outside, the only masked man in here was me…and him. My pulse hit my throat, my gut tightening in angry flips of annoyance. My dick was pulsing in time with my rage, and I sighed.

“I hate you,” I said aloud, smacking at the prop with enough force to cause it to deflate. It only made my pulse pound harder.

I didn’t notice how long I’d been in the haunted house. I didn’t notice the fake screams anymore. Only the presence that lingered with every new level of the house. He remained unseen, waiting, studying, watching me unravel in ways I wouldn’t admit, even to myself.

I rounded a corner, fumbling past a swinging prop skeleton, and froze. The fog felt heavier here, almost pressing against my skin. My chest tightened, my muscles tensing, ready to run again. My pulse slammed against my temples like a drum.

He was here. He was close.

I felt it before I saw him. The shift of air behind me, the gravity that pulled low in my stomach, thudding right to my dick.

A hand caught my wrist. Hard. Rough. Not just there, but demanding I react to the pull.

I spun, my chest slamming into a wall, breath torn from me, and then his mouth was near my ear.

“So cute how you run from me, Sunshine,” Carrington murmured, his voice a razor cutting through the sound of cheap speakers and warped sounds of laughter. “Considering you have everyone around here wrapped around your little pinky, you must have a pretty big ego, huh?”

The heat of his breath slid down my neck, too close, too intimate. Fury burned through me because of my body’s fucking reaction to him. My hips jerked forward, blood pooling lower, and traitorously.

“You watch the rest of us play a game, but you? You are picking which character you want to be, aren’t you?”

The shocking clarity of how well he truly had read me was as angering as it was…enlightening.

“What part will you play now?” he whispered, silk over steel. “Docile, scared boy?”

I struggled against him, gripping the wall, trying to tell myself it wasn’t real. That no one could possibly know what I was thinking, what I was feeling. My face burned, my stomach twisted in barely containing my rage.