I guess it would be fun to play a character. An opportunity to let my own mask fall for the night.
But what if it was too hard to put back up the façade when it was over?
Nervous energy flooded me, and I reached into my pocket and squeezed my pain stimulation toy. It was hardly a release, but I needed to get this damn edge off. Usually, only two things got me off the edge when I was like this, sex…and killing. I couldn’t go hunting right now. If I cancelled on Xanthy, I’d be the fish on the spike.
I rolled down my window and squinted past the harsh floodlights shining in my face. A guard of little words grunted when I said my name.
“I’m Shiloh Anderson. Xanthy Harding is my girlfriend. She signed me up as one of the stupid masked men.”
Another grunt.
“I know I’m late, but my girl will put my balls in a vice if I don’t make it there quickly. Help me out here, friend?”
Caveman speak was apparently all I was getting from this man. I couldn’t see shit past the light anyway, so I was surprised when the plastered-on charm had the smaller version of the hunt’s gates opening wide for my SUV.
“Thank you. Have a great night.”
Would a man so quiet stay that still when a blade dissected his liver?
Sprayed paint guided me to a spot with my name, and I killed the engine. Chest tight, I rehearsed excuses I knew Xanthy wouldn’t buy, but would forgive anyway.
She always did.
That was the problem.
Her forgiveness was instant, too easy, like I hadn’t let her down at all. A simple kiss that left her breathless, and more empty promises I never met would be the bandage she needed to repeat the cycle.
Being here, in her own territory, would be harder. I didn’t know this ground. I hated not knowing my environment. Maybe I could use anonymity to my advantage and snoop around the maze to better understand the area. There were clearly fucking cameras everywhere I looked, but there had to be blind spots, didn’t there?
The corn maze loomed in the dark beyond the mansion in front of me, lit in patches by strings of orange bulbs sagging between poles. Men and women alike screamed somewhere deep inside the rows, and laughter pitched high enough to confuse the sound with real fear.
My stomach knotted at the sound.
Fear was too potent.
Why must I act like a fucking addict and line my eyeline with nothing but the dealer’s best poisons?I shouldn’t have come.
But Xanthy wanted me here, and when she wanted something, I caved, every time. Not because I loved her. I didn’t know how to love. Sure, the sex was good enough, and her presence kept things interesting.
But the real reason I had to be on my best behavior was that Xanthy was the epitome of a good girl. The rich socialite‘s daughter, who oozed perfection and normalcy, I needed her to keep me hidden in plain sight.
I needed her mundane wants, her elaborate ideals, and the kind of vanilla bullshit sex that I was already afraid to push too far.
Xanthy was safe because she embodied the very mask I hid behind so I didn’t slip into what was truly underneath.
I spotted her leaning against the side of the mansion, arms crossed, her black, silky hair catching the light. When her gaze landed on me, I braced for the sharp tongue lashing she had waiting.
But it didn’t come.
She pushed off the wall, her beautiful smile lighting up the area. She was walking away from a space that reminded me of some form of costume-changing station.
There were chairs, mirrors, costumes, buckets of fake blood, masks, and lines of people in all forms of scary, drinking beer, cramming food in their mouths, and glaring at me as I walked from my vehicle.
This was a drama nerd’s wet dream.
Xanthy wasn’t glaring, though. She was grinning, her relief outweighing her irritation at my fuck up.
“You’re late,” she said, tugging me down for a kiss before I could respond.
