Ghost finally releases me, and I remain motionless on the bed, attempting to gather back any strength in my body that I can find. About a minute must pass before I feel his leather gloves caressing my face.
“Mine,” he claims me. “You are mine.”
And with that, he unties the belt of his costume that has acted as a blindfold from around my head. Slowly opening my eyes, they adjust to the light, and my heart drops the moment I notice Jason and Michael in the corner of the room.
“Wait,” I rush out, quickly sitting up and closing my legs, trying to cover myself. “They were watching?”
Ghost turns to face me, pulling on his menacing Scream mask before I have the chance to see his face.
He nods.
I blink up at him in silence, shocked.
After turning to his friends, Jason and Michael, he gazes down at me once more. “You’re upset,” he observes. “What part of dark fantasies doesn’t involve having other guys watch as you get that sweet little cunt of yours eaten?”
My lips part, and my stomach flutters. I can’t find the right words.
Ghost steps closer to the bed, and reaches down, lightly stroking my hair. “Just because you’re mine, little Quinn, doesn’t mean I won’t share,” he says. “But only if that’s what you want.”
Many thoughts cross my mind, and I get that warm, fuzzy feeling that I can’t seem to get enough of. Is this what I want?
Yes, I scream at myself.
When suddenly, the door slams open. Several people stumble into the room, all guys dressed as football players, and they fortunately fail to notice as I quickly button up the bottom of my bodysuit.
The moment they acknowledge our presence, and that this room is occupied, a sly look appears on their faces. It’s immediately clear they have gotten the wrong idea about what has just taken place.
Jason makes his way beside the bed where Ghost stands tall, and on edge.
“Hell yeah,” one of them exclaims.
“What’s going on in here, boys?” another one asks, his tone threatening.
“A damn good time,” another one drunkenly slurs, closing the door behind him. “We taking turns on her?”
Jason immediately grasps my arm, pulling me to my feet, and practically tosses me behind them to shield me.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Ghost asks.
But something is wrong. Very wrong. From the calm and collected tone of his voice, it almost comes out as a challenge. His entire demeanor changes in an instant, as his hands ball into fists at his sides.
And he’s ready.
Ready to hurt them.
Or worse.
“No,” I loudly gasp, pushing past Jason and standing in front of Ghost, blocking his way. “I want to dance.”
He looks down, fixating his attention on me. Yet, he remains silent. Unsure.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking his large, gloved hand and linking my fingers through his.
The football players stare at us as we walk by, completely dumbfounded, and I pray that they keep their mouths shut for their sake as I open the door.
We make our way through the doorway, until one of them laughs. “Whatever. We’ll find her later and have our own fun.”
Ghost and Michael turn around, barging back into the room, as Jason stands with me in the almost empty hallway, on guard. Fists are flying, shouts echo over the loud music, and my heart drops the second I see Ghost holding one of them against the wall.
The sharp, silver knife is pressed against the guy’s throat, and everyone becomes paralyzed with fear. He leans closer, Scream mask beside Football Players ear, and although I can’t make out what he says, I know it’s bad.
The guy’s face turns blue, and it’s evident he’s on the verge of being sick.
He holds up his hands, trembling. “I’m sorry,” he exclaims. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, louder, cowering before him.
Ghost lowers his hand, putting away the knife, and finally, I can breathe again. Despite the thrill of having three guys protecting me from vile, drunk frat guys, there isn’t any part of me that believes if I wasn’t standing here, this wouldn’t have gone differently.
The hit comes much quicker than I could have expected. With tremendous force, and just one blow, Ghost’s fist collides with his nose, an eerie crunch sounding on impact.
Football Player stumbles backward, drops to the floor, and cradles his now bloodied face with his hands.
The moment his friends make a move to have his back, he shouts at them. “Leave it alone,” he instructs, not moving an inch. “Just leave it alone.”