Page 47 of Unholy Masks

The needle slipped into Mason’s neck, and he flinched, his hand flying up in delayed shock. “What—” he jerked up with a scream and blinked as Ryden pushed him inside the door.

I leaned against the door frame, watching the scene unfold with satisfaction. “Nice to meet you again, Mason.” I locked the door with a chuckle, the metallic click echoing in the room.

“Why are you so shy after coming all the way to meet me, Mason?”

“Wh—who the fuck are you?”

“Let’s see what you brought for me,” I said as Ryden searched his pockets. He pulled out a white pill. “Ah, roofies. Should we offer him some?”

“No, no, please. Who are you?”

“I’m just a better monster than you, Mason,” I said, opening the small zip-lock bag, fingering the pills—pills that would have become another woman’s death sentence. He struggled and thrashed and begged, and it fueled the thirsty demons within me.

The panic in his eyes, the way his lips trembled, the way his body twisted in desperation and fear. It was intoxicating.

I pried his lips open and pressed the pills between his teeth, pushing my hand over his mouth. He whimpered against my palm.

“Swallow. You don’t have a choice.”

He shuddered.

“You took away their choices, didn’t you?” My voice was steady, calm even, though my blood roared. “You made it impossible for the women you raped to resist you. To refuse you. You took their power, their voices, their control.”

I leaned in, watching as panic twisted his face. He struggled against Ryden, but it was useless. Of course, it was.

Mason had only ever been strong when his victims were weak. His power came from stripping them of theirs, from turning them into nothing more than dolls in his sick, twisted games. Beyond that? He was just a man. And a weak, pathetic one at that.

His mouth opened, and he let out a desperate wail.

“It’s your turn now, Mason.” I smiled, tilting my head. “Karma is a fucking bitch.”

His body convulsed harder, his breathing ragged, eyes darting between us. Fear was finally sinking in now.

Ah.

This was what it felt like to be in control again. To hold a life in my hands, fragile as blown glass. His life was now mine.

Ryden was right. I needed this.

“This, Mason,” I murmured, “is that bitch coming to collect.”

“Pl—please.”

“And the best part?” My smile widened. “She’s just getting started.”

As he finally quieted, his fight leaving him, I took a step back with a sigh.

“See. It’s easy, isn’t it?”

Ryden chuckled as he let Mason go. His body fell to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. He was nothing now. His ego, his clever little schemes… all of them were useless.

After a few seconds, Mason stilled.

We dragged Mason toward the back door and lifted him into the car. We drove to where it all began, where I caught Ryden murdering Phil.

“It brings back memories,” Ryden said, his eyes beautifully evil. “Oh, how I hated K.Y. Wolff.”

“I want to see you like that again. No restraints, no masks. Just you, enjoying yourself.”