Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

“Michael,” I gasped, my throat thick with fear. “Let me go.”

He stepped closer. “How do you know I’m Michael?”

I blinked, dropping my head, unable to look at him. My eyes fell on his hand holding mine. My skin burned so hot, I wasn’t sure if I was on fire or freezing.

I swallowed the tightness in my throat. “It feels like you.”

But he leaned in, making my violent heart pound even harder, and whispered, “You don’t know what I feel like.”

Then he reached up and grabbed my school necktie, yanking my body in as he pulled the tie roughly, loosening it, and slipping it over my head.

“What are you doing?” I breathed out.

But he didn’t answer.

I narrowed my eyes, watching him as he pulled the tie apart and walked around behind me, holding it over my eyes.

But I pushed it down, turning to look at him. “Why?”

Why did I need a blindfold?

“Because you’ll see more with your eyes closed,” he answered.

And I stood still as he fastened my tie around my eyes, his fingers touching my hair.

He let go of the tie, but I still felt his chest at my back, and I swayed an inch, feeling my equilibrium shift. I almost wanted to smile, feeling the butterflies in my stomach.

“Michael?” I said softly.

But he remained silent.

I breathed faster, feeling overwhelmed with the sensations. The scent of the hemlocks and red maples mixed with the cool sea air and dying leaves rushed me along with the light breeze that chilled my cheeks.

My nipples hardened, and every hair on the back of my neck stood up. What was he doing?

“Michael?” I said more quietly. I was starting to feel dumb.

But he still didn’t say anything.

My heart started pounding, and I clutched the hem of my skirt, fighting the heat between my thighs.

I swallowed, slowly turning around and holding up my hands, finding his chest and placing my palms on him.

“You can’t scare me,” I told him.

I felt his hand take mine and pull it off his chest. “I already do.”

And he walked around me, pulling me after him. I jogged a few steps, coming up to his side and holding onto his arm, trying not to stumble as we waded through the weeds, rocks, and uneven ground.

I tightened my fingers around his hand, the coarse skin of his palms feeling so good. What would his hands feel like on the rest of me?

“There’s stairs,” he warned, cutting off my thoughts. I slowed, stepping up and finding my footing.

“Come on,” he urged, leading me up. After several steps, the sunlight coming through the blindfold faded, and I knew we were inside.

The dank smell of rain and rot from years of neglect surrounded me, and I turned my head, trying to locate the echoes of voices all around. I followed Michael, walking slowly as I figured the floors were filled with debris.

Male shouts and cheers came at me from the left, and I listened, hearing them laughing and cheering. Grunts and groans followed, and I gauged that the fight was still going on.