Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Twenty Six: Getaway

A/N:

Trigger Warning: violence, gore, blink-and-you'll-miss-it hint at sexual assault

Nails at the ready, you reached up towards Masky's wrists and latched on.

Your face screwed up with pain and exertion as you dug them in, skin crawling with the contact as you pushed his sleeves up and scratched down his arms, drawing blood. The man grunted, jumping away and finally taking the pressure off of your throat.

"WHORE!"

The relief was only momentary. You only just had time to dodge, thumping to the floor as he took a vengeful swing at your skull with the forked end of the bar. You screamed as it connected with your thigh, instead. If it weren't for your black work jeans, too thick for the weather, it would have embedded itself into your leg. Man, that was going to leave one hell of a bruise.

You scrambled back as Masky advanced again.

"You're fuckin' funny, (y/n). Acting like your pathetic fuckin' brother's still alive. Lying bitch."

You rolled as he swung the weapon again, metal thunking heavily off the tile. What the hell was he talking about?

"Brian was supposed to kill both of you, did you know that?"

You could have guessed, but you didn't see why it mattered. Especially not as you were focused on scrambling your way back up to your feet, avoiding his manic swings. He could easily embed the thing in your guts right now, but instead he was taking the more brutal approach of trying to batter you to death. You could see why Brian didn't like him.

"Hey, hey!" the man kept swapping between furious shouts and sadistic purring. You weren't gonna lie, it was both pathetic and terrifying. "Answer me when I'm fuckin' talking to you, useless bitch!"

If he wanted an answer, you'd give him one. On your feet now, you aimed a kick at one of his shins. It connected, pain searing through your foot. Probably worse for him, though. Worth it.

"Why didn't he, then?!", you grunted.

Following up as he took a step back, you aimed a knee to his crotch. He was faster, though, whacking you brutally in the ribs with the crowbar and shoving you backwards by the neck. You stumbled over the coffee table, almost flying into the TV as you fell lamely back to the ground, landing flat on your ass.

Masky roared, "He's a lazy fuckin' pussy! Never does what I tell him! Always wants shit his way."

His way, as in, not killing people if it could be fucking avoided?

This guy was batshit insane with needless rage. You'd bet he had serious daddy issues.

You could see what this was about, now. Masky's poor fucking fragile ego, apparently. He wanted to kill you just to spite Brian, because he didn't do what he was told. You found yourself with another small shred of respect for the man in question, though you doubted (and hoped?) you'd never see him again.

You didn't have time to crawl far back, before Masky's foot was on your stomach. Digging in, unbearable. You bit back a scream of pain, straining your abdominal muscles to try and claw at his leg again. You couldn't reach, though, needing to focus as he swung the crowbar at your head, once, twice. Both times, it narrowly missed. You felt the pointed edge graze your cheek, cold metal fierce on the bone.

With a grunt of animalistic rage, he squatted down over you. Boot on your stomach, knee on your chest, hand reaching behind your head and tugging your hair backwards into the floor harshly. You felt your skull bash against the tile, letting out a pained yell.