Page 78 of Ghost Hunted

I don’t think I’ll be able to forget those masks as long as I live. I’ve seen them before. I think they took my Jane. And now… they’re back for me.

I don’t have time to react before the black mask reaches his hands toward me. A terrified sob escapes my throat, and he drags a finger up and down the side of my face, wiping away my tear.

“Hi, crybaby.”

The word jolts through me. Crybaby.

“What... who are you? I don’t get it.”

“That’s okay, baby. You don’t have to get it.”

He pulls me out entirely and throws me over his shoulder.

“Hey!” I cry out, anger taking the place of confused fear. “I’m not a sack of flour! Put me down!” Smack. “Hey! Asshole! Give me back my bazooka!”

I feel him shake under me, and I can tell he’s laughing at me. It makes me furious. I’ve killed people. I don’t know how many—a whole lot. And this asshole thinks he can spank me. This asshole thinks I’m funny.

I kick against his chest angrily, trying to hurt him. I want to hurt him so bad. But he must be made of pure metal or something, because none of my kicks do a thing to him. He doesn’t try to stop them, either, his hand merely digging itself into my ass.

And then his fingers find a spot on my butt cheek, and… pinch.

Oh, fuck. It hurts, but that’s not why my senses are on fire. I’ve never experienced such an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu before.

Tell me who owns you. Who owns you, Lia? Tell me who owns you!

“Lia…” I breathe, just as the masked man tosses me in the front seat of a car.

He pauses, his fingers threading through my hair. And then he murmurs, “Good girl.”

Those words should have me seeing red, but as he walks around to the other side, I suddenly really want to be his good girl.

“Let’s go home, baby,” he murmurs. “Ready to go home?”

23

Lia

I’ve been staring at him—or rather, at his black mask—for a while by the time I speak again.

“Take it off.”

“Hmm?”

“Take off your mask. I know you’re not one of them. Tell me who you are.”

He doesn’t answer, only stroking the side of my face with a gloved finger. “I like it when you’re tied up, Lia. I like it when you’re helpless for me.”

“I don’t want to be helpless for you,” I tell him. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He removes his hand from me, putting it back on the steering wheel. “You don’t need to know who I am. And you’re about to be a whole lot more helpless, baby.”

“I want my bazooka. They took it. Can you get it for me?”

He’s still wearing his mask, but I could swear I hear his smile. “Uh uh. Brats don’t get bazookas.”

“I really need it, though.” Tears prick at my eyes again, and he glances at them. Or at least, I imagine he does, since I can’t see his face. “I don’t know what I’ll do without it. I’ll go crazy.”

“I think you’re already a little crazy, don’t you?”