Page 8 of His Trick

I wanted to hear it break, just like their fucking necks.

The women kept touching me.

Their hands fumbled over my ass, looping their fingers into the cheap handcuffs hanging off my belt loops. The heat from their hands felt like a physical burn, and I hissed, stopping in front of them, only for them to run into me. Their useless bodies smashed into mine like a brick wall of hate before they fell to the ground.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me…” I hissed, letting the threat blanket them, waiting for it to cement in their eyes.

My mask was slipping, not the white smiling one on my face, but the façade. The illusion of the sweet, controllable man these women wanted to exploit. They thought I was no different than the others, that I was just a complacent fool begging to bring their fantasies to life.

It made me angry.

The pathetic notion that anyone could make me submit was laughable, much less these drunkards.

“Oh, c’mon! You are a masked man, Baby. Don’t you want to take advantage of us poor, innocent girls?”

There’s an idea. These horny fuckwits wanted to be used?

Fine, but I hated sex. Sweaty, nonsensical flopping was not a particular interest. However, the pleasure that was earned from sexual encounters made replacing it with pain that much more worth it.

“How rude of me, ladies. You are right. Head down that pathway, and you’ll find the reward you seek.”

More fucking squealing.

Fucking hell, slaughtering a pig was less of a racket than these banshees. I was happy my mask was firmly in place because I couldn’t resist the curl on my lip at these animals.

“Oh, em gee! Rai-Rai. We’re gonna get fucked by a masked man.”

You have no idea how right you are, stupid whore.

We were far enough now that there were no cameras in the area. The perimeter cut off due to my cheap ass father wanting to save every penny he was able to. Mother told him he should have everything covered for safety and assurance, but he never listened. His ears were as plugged as the bimbos he fucked on the side.

This was my hunting ground.

The trail led to the lake by the cabin. No one came this way. The other actors knew better than to corral anyone this far from the center of the maze. This was the outskirts, a windy trail that lay forgotten. The cabin was beneath my family’s standards. A memory of their poverty, yet one they couldn’t quite let go of. It was where I was born, and where I brought others to die.

My escape.

My sanctuary.

When the women saw the lake, they froze, eyes wide in a dreamy-like state, their liquor intake addling their brains. “Oh my god, how pretty!”

Pretty indeed. It would be a beautiful view to die seeing.

Their incessant squawks were not as deafening out in the open. The maze had held their voices inside, like being inside a glass bowl.

Suffocating.

They stared at the stars above while the sounds of fake squeals and roaring monsters began in the distant arena.

“Oh fuck, Kiki. We’re missing it!”

The black-haired woman, Rai, shushed her friend, finally noticing the lake’s stillness by the cabin. Her friend was slightly more sober, but it was clear who was in charge.

“Why don’t you get more comfortable?”

It wasn’t a question, and any hint of charm was void in my voice. The girls noticed, and the one in front stiffened, her eyes wide, breaths shorter than before. I let my gaze linger on her, tilting my head, and I felt her panic finally bloom.

“What…what do you want?” she whispered, voice trembling.