Chapter 12

I don't know how it's possible that in the five thousand six hundred fifty-seven and a half days (and counting) that my steps have trailed hers, she finds ways not only to be more devious than the day prior, but even more stunning than all her days before.

I'd put money on the fact that no one in this room, aside from myself and maybe her best friend, Delilah, whose harsh glare feels like it's searing its way past my mask, would guess that someone as delicious as Blair Van Tassel could be so deceiving. I also bet no one would guess that her deceit spans further than what most would even fathom. Take this evening for example, here she is practically glowing up on stage mere hours after poisoning an innocent man to death. A man whose death would have, once again, been pinned on me if I didn't intervene. Which I will be reminding her of once I get my hands on that pretty fucking neck of hers.

No one—and I mean absolutely nobody—knows her like I do. It's why year after year I'll keep coming back for more until one of us finally snaps and puts the other out of their misery. Judging by the way Blair's fists are now clenched at her sides, I have a feeling tonight just might be that night. Lucky me.

I continue to stare at her through the small eye holes of my mask, admiring the way her body shines beneath the overhead lights. Even the bead of sweat that slides down her forehead makes my tongue dance in hunger, wanting to lick every glistening inch of her.

Biting down on my lip, I try to fight the immense urge I have to rush the fucking stage and take her, here and now, whether she likes it or not, with all these people watching but I'll refrain…for now.

The things I have in mind for tonight require patience. So, instead, I will take pleasure in knowing that the evening she thought she was going to have, with whoever thought they were winning her for the night, is about to go up in flames. Kind of like how my entire life has since her and I have declared this unending war against each other.

I lean back in the chair and the creaks echo against the walls of the now quieted room. Slowly, I turn my attention from my little hellcat, who stands center stage staring at the bartender, Glinda, standing next to an apprehensive looking DJ, as she and everyone else wait for the inevitable to commence.

The microphone in the DJ's hand scuffs against his lips, hesitancy written across his brow. His eyes widen, nudging his neck forward at Glinda like he needs to double check he is allowed to speak what she just whispered to him. I don't miss the way Glinda pauses to meet my masked gaze in the sea of people, shooting me a venomous look, before nodding to the DJ, motioning for him to speak.

"Um, hold on folks," the DJ mutters into the microphone, again looking to Glinda for direction. While they mumble something amongst themselves, with the microphone away from where eager ears can hear what they are saying, I look back to Blair. She huffs an exaggerated sigh causing her onyx bangs to lift upward and shift from her equally dark stare. It's so adorable when she is mad. I can't wait to see how pissed off she will look when she hears that this year's Horseman Duel Costume Contest had a little hiccup.

Gliding my palm up my thigh toward the cool leather strap of my leg harness, I smirk beneath my mask, because wouldn't you look at that. My little hellcat's flustered stare is trailing where my hand is now stationed near my groin. Slipping my thumb in the metal ring of the harness, I twist my wrist upward, so my fingers raise to a subtle wave before I tap them on my leg. Wishing she would strut off that stage and come sit on daddy's lap so I can spank her for being a bad little psycho killer.

As if she can read my thoughts, her expression grows more enraged, as she bites down on that plump bottom lip of hers trying so damn hard to stay composed. Taking advantage of her gaze on me, I decide to send a subtle greeting her way. Gliding my palm near my crotch, I watch as her eyes widen the closer my hand gets to where my dick is pressing against my pants. I curl my palm, pressing all but my middle finger in.

Her icy stare is so irritated by my snarky little "fuck you" that I swear I can feel each of the barbells that pierce my shaft turn to fucking ice the longer her cold gaze is locked on me. She must sense the way my cock stiffens from her stare because my little hellcat swipes her tongue at her lips, trying to disguise a grin.

That's my bad girl.

Though our moment is interrupted by a screech that echoes from the speakers as the DJ breathes into the microphone. "Ugh," he mumbles again, still unsure of what to say.

An ever-frustrated Glinda, throws her hands up in the air, tossing me another glance that makes Blair's look warm and welcoming. She mumbles something under her breath before stepping toward the DJ and snatching the microphone from him. He looks immediately relieved that he doesn't need to make the announcement Glinda is about to make.

"I apologize everyone, it looks like there's been a mix up with this year"s Horseman Hollow Duel," Glinda announces. The moment the words leave her mouth, boos sound from everyone sitting in the crowd. The noise is so loud that it's almost impossible to hear what Glinda is saying next. Not that I'm paying attention anyway, all I can pay attention to is the supple meat of Blair's thighs rippling against the confines of her fishnets with each step she makes toward where Glinda is addressing the rowdy crowd. Seeing her throat held captive by the collar that starts the intricate web of leather that hugs her body tempts me to press the control button I have on my ring and amp up this evening. But I will be patient, because any second now she will learn she is mine for the evening, to do as I please with.

Glinda brings her fingers to her thin lips for a whistle, which, surprisingly, silences the room. "Now I realize this is very disappointing but there was a clear miscommunication this year on the staff"s end, and for that, I apologize," her voice is full of agitation.

More audible boos than before, this time reminiscent of angry football fans, erupt before the pathetic excuse of a Headless Horseman rises from his chair, the one whose shitty costume apparently won him a night with my Blair. Vexed by the sheer audacity of this scumbag, I use this as my cue to rise from my chair and follow.

"Bullshit!" the man shouts. "She's mine. I won her fair and square!"

Did this pea coated, pathetic waste of space, whose mere presence is an insult to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and all Halloween costumes that ever existed in the history of forever, just fucking say what I think he did?

That she, my Blair, is his?

I don't fucking think so.

My vision tunnels in molten anger as I glide to where this prick has the audacity to be pointing his finger in Glinda's face. She is merely the begrudging messenger, but I have no problem telling this asshole myself that this year's Katrina is mine and not his. Now standing behind where his back is turned, drunkenly berating Glinda, I lower my hand to his shoulder which stiffens upon contact, tapping it forcefully.

He turns around, immediately forced to look up to where I stand almost a full foot taller than he is. His lips part, but he becomes distracted by the writing all over my mask. His glassy eyes swing back and forth in an attempt to read one of the many messages I have plastered on it. Everything written on my face is only meant for Blair and I to understand and no one else. Despite our size difference, he puffs his chest outward in a sad attempt to preserve his dignity.

"Can I help you?" he asks, voice trembling.

"Your name?" I ask.

His bushy brows lower in confusion, which only irritates me more. Not only is this prolonging me getting my girl, but how does this asshole not know something as simple as his name?

I motion my hand forward, prompting him to answer.

Instead, he turns to look at Blair, who is now standing with her hands on her hips, looking as bored by this delay as I am annoyed.

Don't worry baby, daddy's bored too. You'll be mine to fuck with soon. Not this asshole's. I think to myself, letting out a scoff as I tilt my head upward, cracking my neck before readdressing the man who insists on being nameless.

I clear my throat. "I asked what your name is. But if you prefer for me to call you dickwad, I could do that. No problem." I sneer, closing the space between me and this dweeb once more.

His timid eyes scale up my height before he opens his mouth to speak.

"K-k-evin," he stutters as if he's asking a question and not telling me his name.

"Are you sure about that buddy? You sound a bit uncertain." I stop, releasing a cackle.

His spine straightens as he attempts to puff his chest forward, clearing his throat "I think I'd know my fucking name," he retorts, this time with a more even tone.

"Just making sure since you seem to be confused. What makes you think you could even handle an hour alone with her, let alone an entire evening?"

"What makes you think I couldn't?" he retorts, trying so damn hard to sound intimidating, but the man is practically shaking.

Taking another step forward, the tip of my boot is now rubbing against his worn-out sneakers. I inch my neck forward, tilting my head down to look at him. "A woman like this requires a certain madness that you simply don't possess."

I move my gaze to where Blair's face begins to light up from watching this pissing match me and Kevy boy have found ourselves in, all because of her.

Moving my hands behind my back, I weave my fingers together as I move forward, circling him. "You know, Kevin. You insulted me."

"How?" he finally mutters.

Before I can answer, Glinda steps in front of me, moving her hand to my forearm. Clearing her throat, Glinda chimes in, clamping her cold, frail hand on my skin. "Enough," she warns.

"Let go of me," I mutter, but Glinda does not falter.

"No," she deadpans, "You've made your point, now get."

I remain where I am, seething at the sight of Kevin, who is now joined by his drunk frat boy friends.

"You heard the lady," Kevin chides as his equally douchey friends clap, egging him on. "Go on, get."

My fist tightens as I force it forward, breaking the hold Glinda has on my arm. I feel my pulse begin to quicken as I'm becoming increasingly tempted to knock this fucker out.

Kevin shakes his head before, "What's the matter big boy? That shitty mask of yours making it hard for you to hear?" he spits, a literal wad of stringy saliva smacking against my boots.

"Oh shit," Blair exclaims with a devious giggle, bringing her hand to her mouth because she knows that I've reached my fucking limit with this douchebag.

Reaching for the pocketknife I have attached to my thigh harness, I swipe the blade up, exposing the sharpened steel as I stomp over to where Kevin now stands, alone.

"Oh fu–" Kevin begins to exclaim as I wrap my free hand around his neck.

The gasps and shrieks that fall from the mouths of everyone looking only fuel me more as I point the tip of the blade at the center of his throat.

"I'm–" he begins.

"Don't," I seethe, upping the pressure of the blade against his neck.

"I'm s-s-" he tries again.

I click my tongue. "Unless you want me to actually make you the Headless Horseman, I suggest you shut the fuck up."

He nods his head so enthusiastically that the blade nicks his flesh, drawing a bead of crimson.

I release my hold on him, slapping a palm against his cheek. "That's a good boy," I tease.

Knife still in my hand, I move toward where Blair stands with her bottom lip trapped beneath her front teeth. A ravenous expression claims her face as I knew it would. She loves knives, after all. Thepotential for bloodshed is practically foreplay for her tastes.

Clearing my throat, I address Kevin. "Let me school you on how claiming a woman like this goes," I stop just in front of Blair, so the tip of my knife hovers over the small glass vial on her necklace. "Winning a contest doesn't make her yours. It simply makes you an obstacle, one that I have no problem getting rid of if need be. See this Katrina isn't the one that graced your TV screen and she certainly isn't the one Washington Irving had in mind. Trust me Kevin, I'm doing you a favor. You wouldn't last five minutes alone with her. This Van Tassel is mine."

Always has been, always will be.

I tap the edge of the knife against the necklace I gifted Blair, watching the way her chest rises and falls. I can practically smell the arousal on her and, would you look at that? I think I heard a moan.

Easy baby, it's just the tip.

Another inch forward and the knife makes a clinking sound as it taps the delicate glass.

I need to be careful, I don't want any blood to spill from it yet.

"Isn't that right, Ms. Van Tassel?" I ask.

She licks her lips, her seductive expression is all the response I need before Glinda steps in.

"That's enough of this pissing contest." She directs her statement mostly to me. "And put that knife down, now. You made your point." Glinda says, shooing me away like a pest. "Now get."

Glinda turns her attention to Kevin to console him and his friends, so it's just her and I…and a sea of onlookers, but once the DJ finally starts playing music again the heated stares dissipate.

I move my ringed index finger to her cheek and although her skin prickles in response, I know it's not from fear, or at least the kind that most people experience, because fear turns my little hellcat on. And after the night I have planned for us both, there will be more than blood dripping from her body.

Finger still on her face, my thumb rubs at the button on my ring, but what it will do to that contraption she is wearing isn't meant for anyone's eyes but mine to witness, so that will have to wait.

I inhale, watching the way her body and mind are at war with one another.

"It looks good on you," I say, continuing to stroke her cheekbone.

"Oh, your gift?" She says looking down at the harness.

I lower my head, so the mask brushes against her ear. "No, the blood."

Her eyes lower to where my finger is drifting down her chin. I begin to trace a delicate line down her neck working my way across her ample cleavage that spills over her bodysuit, I smile even though she can't see it through the mask.

The way her eyes are locked on my mask, makes my cock hard, thinking of the somersaults her stomach must be doing, reading every mistake she made, hiding behind her days of being FinalGirlsRock_666.

"Well, would you look at that. If it isn't the fucker that's been following me around for the better half of, what, fifteen years now?" she sneers, with an arrogant and devilish grin.

I take a step closer, close the space between us.

"Yep, and now I'm the lucky fucker that owns you for the night," I murmur.

"What was that? I can't hear you," she says, motioning to my mask, just to be a fresh little brat. I know she fucking heard me. Loud and clear.

I lower my palm from her cleavage and down to her hand, squeezing it as I lower my masked face. "Are you scared?"

"Nope. Not even close." She rolls her eyes, trying to keep the smirk that wants to break free. "What's with the weird writing on your mask? Into arts and crafts?"

I groan, increasing the pressure on her wrist. "No. It's there so when you"re forced to look at me, all you can see are your lies and in return, I get to see how turned on you are when you're close to death." I release her wrist and, of course, instead of running away, she simply moves closer to me. Shifting her weight forward, she glides her palm overtop my pants, cupping her fingers at my trapped bulge. An audible gasp from a random patron in the distance is the only reminder that we aren't alone and that we literally have a room full of people looking at us like we're crazy. They wouldn't be wrong. I am many things, and crazy…for her, is most definitely up there on that list.

"Sounds like a dream come true to me," she breathes before, tapping her fresh little hands against where the three ridges of my cock lay beneath my pants.

A laugh breaks through my lips causing a pissed off expression to form on her hauntingly beautiful face.

"Be careful what you wish for, little hellcat."

Dreams are like masks. Sure, they may look good on the surface, but, often, what's beneath them is a nightmare in disguise. It's why psychopaths like myself flock to them. Nothing is hotter than tricking people into thinking you"re something you"re not. Just like nothing is more fun than watching vile little sluts like Blair Van Tassel go weak in the knees thinking that she can handle a monster like me.