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Moans and whines floated on the cool night air. Muffled by trees and further covered by the sounds of the waking night life, there was no real worry of being overheard, and that was exactly why Frank had chosen to give in to his lust right then and there.
After one too many close calls, he’d decided a break was in order to keep the Legion safe. Leaving Ormond for a months-long road trip across the US had taught him a lot about killing, and about not getting caught. Now, he was heading back home. Of course, he still had to rest for the night, so while safe in the secluded backwoods of Washington, he let himself blow off some steam.
When he’d stumbled across a pair of campers in the middle of the woods, it had started as blood lust, then the red hot rush of excitement as he cut them both down. It had been weeks since he’d last killed, and he’d been craving the high of adrenaline and endorphins he got every time he plunged his knife into some unsuspecting victim.
Two in one go was more than he could have hoped for when he’d decided to look around an abandoned camp ground for a place to sleep for a night or two. Now he had a car, some extra food, and some cash and credit cards. That would help get him started on his way back to Ormond, once he got across the border back to Canada.
Those things were barely a passing thought before Frank was finding a tree to lean up against, one hand snaking down the front of his pants to rub at his throbbing pussy. Killing always made him wet, but the thrill of what he’d just done had been too much to put off entertaining. Fingers still slick with another’s blood slid over his swollen clit, a moan spilling out of him.
He couldn’t wait to get home, to share that thrill of spilling blood with the Legion again. Couldn’t wait to kill in his own hunting grounds once more; To properly christen Ormond with a tide of blood and chaos. Fingers slipping into his cunt, he gasped and moaned, back arching off the tree behind him.
Still clenching his knife in his other hand, Frank raised it to his face. Blood smeared across his mask as he pushed it aside, allowing himself a better view of the red staining his arms and chest.
The sight only made him more excited, and he ground down on his fingers like they were a real partner. Shit, he was half tempted to tug his pants down a bit and use the handle of his knife. The very idea of it made his stomach twist with heat, hips jerking, grinding and humping against his palm as he came. Taking a minute just to breathe, he finally put his knife away. Tugging his hand free, he zipped up his pants before taking a better look around.
The first camper had gone down where he found them, but he’d had to chase the second one a decent way before finally slicing through his side. The wound had been enough to knock him down, making it all too easy for Frank to stab him several times.
Surrounded by trees, Frank couldn’t say he had a very good idea of where he was in the woods, but he wasn’t worried. Finding the end of the trail of blood left behind during the chase, he began following it back the way it had come from. It wasn’t difficult with as much as there was, but the deeper into the woods he walked, the more he got the feeling he wasn’t entirely alone.
Unsettled, Frank found himself looking over his shoulders as though a cop was suddenly going to be trailing behind him. He knew he was alone. He had to be. There had only been two campers and he’d killed them both. Even if the first man hadn’t died right away, he’d certainly have bled out by now. It had to be an animal or something.
The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end by the time he got back to the first body, but there he was. Laying face down in a pool of his own blood, just as Frank had left him. Still, it felt like someone was watching him!
Glancing around, Frank tried not to look bothered. There was no one there. There couldn’t be. He was just being paranoid. Feeling the downswing as his hormones settled. Yeah, that was all it was. Just… weird post-nut clarity or something.
Shrugging it off, he collected everything he thought he could use into one backpack before slinging it over his shoulder. Finding the small hiking trail he’d originally been following when he’d first spotted the hikers, he decided to follow it a while to see where it would lead. With any luck, he’d find a cabin or something. Four walls and a roof had to be better than sleeping in the car he’d soon be ‘borrowing’ to make his way back up to Canada.
Walking for what felt like close to an hour, he was about to turn around and head back when the forest abruptly ended, leaving him standing on the edge of a large, open area. A huge, rundown tower stood tall in the center of the clearing, broken mine carts and old rails scattered around the cleared space.
A few hundred feet back was the base of a large, forested mountain, a boarded up mine shaft still visible under the slowly encroaching growth as nature returned to reclaim what was always hers.
Well… He could see why they didn’t try to set up camp there in the coal tower. It looked like it would collapse any day. But, it was shelter, and that was good enough for him to march up to the boarded windows and attempt to peer inside.
He couldn’t make out much, but it did look like there was a bed shoved into one corner. That would work, Frank decided, before slowly walking around the building. Finding the actual door, he managed to shove it open, knocking a thick layer of dust down on top of his head.
Shaking it off, Frank tossed the backpack into a corner before placing his mask inside and kicking off his boots. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever slept, but the feeling of someone watching him still hadn’t let up. Laying on a cot, he tried to ignore it for a while. Tossing and turning, the malicious feeling only grew stronger and he finally gave up.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he listened closely for the sound of another person lurking around the abandoned coal tower. He knew America had a lot of serial killers, including some very infamous legends, but he wasn’t really worried about someone trying to kill him. He highly doubted they’d expect him to know how to fight back, or even more unlikely, to enjoy hunting them down instead.
Rising, he slowly moved around the small room. There wasn’t a lot to look at. Just a couple of broken book shelves, a small table with an old, wrinkled photo in a damaged frame, and a few boxes of dusty tools and rusted pieces of metal.
Picking up the photo, Frank studied it for a moment. It was water damaged and bleached by the sun, but he could tell it had once been a woman and a child. He couldn’t tell if it was a girl or boy, but when he flipped it over, he found a small note penned on the back.
‘Katherine and Evan MacMillan - MacMillan Manor- Summer of 1–98’
The year was smudged too badly to make out, but the way the woman was dressed made him think it was probably from a good hundred years ago. History had never been his strong suit, but from what he could still make out, her dress looked like late eighteen-hundreds wear to him.
“Evan Macmillan?” Frank murmured. He knew that name, although not well. One of the infamous American legends, although he’d thought the man was just a myth. Flipping the picture back over, he snorted. “Just a scary story, huh? Your ghost supposed to be haunting this place or something? No wonder no one wants to try and camp here. Pathetic.”
A shiver ran down his spine as he put the photo back and he let out a harsh sigh. It wasn’t really cold out, but there was a strange chill in the air.
Deciding to take a walk to try and calm his nerves, Frank yanked his boots back on before stomping out of the building. There was no one else there! So why the hell should he be worried about being quiet? He was the leader of the fucking Legion, a name that would soon be infamous around the world.
Still… the moment he stepped out of the cabin, it definitely felt like someone was watching him. He could feel eyes on him, but he couldn’t see anyone around! Squinting through the shadows hanging between the tree trunks, he tried to pinpoint the cause. Something to give away a person trying to hide in the brush so they could slip away unnoticed. There was nothing there, but he was still unsatisfied. Someone else was at the camp with him. His instincts were never wrong…
Turning towards the edge of the forest, he froze. There, just inside the treeline! He’d seen a figure quickly moving behind a tree and out of sight!
Grabbing his knife, Frank held it low by his hip as he began walking towards where he’d seen the figure. So someone had been watching him. But for how long? How much had they seen? Had they watched him kill? Had they stuck around to enjoy the show afterwards as he’d desperately fucked himself against a tree?
Baring his teeth in a snarl, the Legion leader stalked into the woods. Some little pervert wanted to watch him getting off? He’d slice them into tiny pieces and feed them to the crows!
Pausing for a moment when he reached the area he’d seen the figure disappear, Frank listened for any signs of them. A branch snapped a few yards away, and he sprang forward, lips twisting in a feral grin at the idea of one more kill. One more notch in his belt. One more–
A body stepped out from behind a tree, moving directly into his path. Skidding to a stop on the fallen leaves and twigs covering the forest floor, Frank stared in open mouthed shock. If that was the person who’d been watching him… he might actually be in real trouble.
Towering over him, the man was built like a truck. A cleaver cobbled together from twisted, sharpened metal hung from a pair of hooks embedded in his shoulder, allowing him to dwarf both Frank’s physical stature and his weapon. There was a strange irony to the situation, but it was lost on the young man. Instead, his moment of shock quickly turned to fury, and he lunged, knife arcing through the air.
To his shock, the masked man made no move to stop him, nor did he make a single sound when the knife plunged into his chest. Bone mask covered face tilting down slightly, he eyed the knife for a moment before backhanding Frank across the face.
The blow was so fast and hard he didn’t register hitting the ground until he was being dragged upright by the front of his jacket. Swinging blindly, Frank’s poorly aimed punch met nothing, wrist caught and yanked over his head as his back was slammed against a tree. Vision spinning, he clumsily lashed out with his free hand. That one connected with a solid body, but he was left with the feeling it had done more damage to him than to his attacker.
Frank shouted as the hand in the front of his jacket disappeared, only to clamp tightly around his other wrist a second later. Arm yanked over his head, both wrists were quickly transferred to one hand. When he tried to wiggle free, fingers squeezed tighter and he gasped from the pain. Christ, if felt like the guy was going to break both his wrists with one hand!
Then again, he probably could, Frank thought as he looked up at him.
Despite the cool night, he was only wearing heavy boots and dark green coveralls, revealing an upper body that was nothing but solid muscle. A small patch of blood was slowly growing across his heavily scarred chest, staining the area around the knife still stuck in his pectoral muscle.
It wasn’t a bad hit, but it was far from fatal. Frank had missed his heart by several inches, thrown off by his size and initial apathy at being attacked. Something about him seemed familiar, however, and the young man found himself squinting slightly as he studied the battered mask looming over him.
Glittering black pits stared back at him, unblinking and full of loathing. Raising his unoccupied hand, he didn’t look away from Frank’s face as he wrapped his fingers around the handle of the blade sticking out of his chest. His hand dwarfed the blade, making it look more like a toy than a deadly weapon as he effortlessly pulled it free.
Head tilting slightly, he looked down at the knife for a moment before tossing it over his shoulder.
Jerking and thrashing, Frank howled, “That’s mine!”
The man let him struggle, not the least bit bothered by his attempts at escape. After a few minutes, he slapped him across the face again. That time, he used the palm of his hand instead of the back, and it wasn’t nearly as hard. It was still enough to sting, and to get his attention.
Panting, Frank stared up at him. By that point the shock and anger were starting to wear off, leaving him with a sense of dread. The Trapper was a myth, right? The photo he’d seen had been of a child who would have aged and probably died decades ago. Even if he had survived somehow, shouldn’t he be over a hundred years old?!
Evan, as Frank found himself mentally addressing the man, stared at him for a moment, eyes roaming over his blood stained clothes and weakening attempt at a defiant sneer.
Flinching when his free hand started to move, Frank expected to hear the quiet sound of a blade being pulled from its position on the Trapper’s back, followed by the searing sting of a cleaver slicing through his prone body. Shit, was that really how he was going to die? Hacked apart in the woods by a myth?!
White hot rage flooded Frank’s body at the very idea. He was the leader of the Legion, and he wouldn’t die like that. With a renewed sense of determination, he yanked his arms down as hard as he could. He must have caught the Trapper by surprise, as he was able to get his hands free before the larger man could stop him.
“Get fucked,” he screamed, shoving Evan’s midsection with both hands. It barely budged him, but it startled him enough that Frank was able to duck around his retaliatory swing and make a break for the woods.
He didn’t see his knife, so he kept running, trees blurring in his periphery as he tried to find the path back to the coal tower. He would have gone for the campsite, but the car keys were in the backpack he’d foolishly left behind when he’d gone to try and convince himself he was alone.
There was a bellow behind him and he nearly tripped. That sounded more like a wild animal than a man! Did the Trapper have a dog? Or a bear, judging from the sounds of the crashing and snarling hot on his heels.
Glancing back over his shoulder sent a jolt of cold dread through Frank’s chest. It wasn’t a bear. It was the Trapper, and the man was charging after him like a mad bull, crashing through the brush without slowing down and practically carving a whole new path through the woods.
Why the hell did they even call him the Trapper?! He was carrying a cleaver! So unless all that metal shrapnel sticking out of his arms was because he’d gotten caught in some kind of trap, it was a stupid fucking name!
A sudden flurry of movement and sound to his left startled Frank, and he tried to redirect himself before a huge brown shape exploded from between the trees. Something slammed into him, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground. The sound of pounding hooves trampled past him, before there was a metallic snap and the sound of a horrific scream.
Scrambling up onto his hands and knees, Frank whipped his head back and forth, trying to figure out what had just happened. When his eyes finally landed on the source of the horrific cries, he froze.
The chase through the woods had startled an elk out of the brush and into a small clearing only a few yards ahead. It was very fortunate for Frank, and incredibly unfortunate for the elk, which had immediately stepped into a large set of metal jaws.
The bear trap had snapped closed, crushing the animal's bone from the force. Its continued struggling and thrashing had only helped the terrible metal teeth sink even deeper into its flesh, lacerating and tearing through fur and muscle, leaving the leg mangled beyond repair.
‘That could have been me,’ Frank realized, nausea churning in his stomach.
Green clad legs appeared beside him and he jolted, looking up as the Trapper walked right past. His path into the clearing was an odd, almost zig zag, and Frank’s eyes widened. Just how many of those jaw traps were in the field?
Only stopping when he was standing over the downed elk, Evan reached up and took the cleaver off his back. Then, without a hint of hesitation, swung it downwards with a thud. The wounded animal went silent and limp, and the Trapper turned to stare at Frank.
Time seemed to stop for a moment. Blood dripped from the cleaver Evan held loosely in one hand, each drop splattering against the tall blades of grass as they swayed gently in the cool night breeze. Then, he took a step towards the brunet and the world zoomed back into a rush of adrenaline and split second decisions that could mean the difference between escape… or death.
Frank could feel every beat of his heart, hear the blood rushing in his ears as he sprang to his feet. Turning, he thought he could easily dart back down the makeshift path the Trapper had made, but he only found more trees. The elk had sent him rolling further than he’d thought, and combined with his near panicked state, his sense of direction was completely shot.
Hesitating before bolting into the woods again, Frank realized he had no idea if there were more traps under the brush or between the trees. He might try to leap over a fallen log, only to find himself landing feet first in a set of rusty steel jaws.
Heavy breathing reached his ears and he shot forward, but it was too late. The collar of his jacket pulled tight across the front of his throat, and he choked as he was yanked off his feet from behind.
Air rushed past him and for a moment he felt weightless. Then, his back hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him prone and wheezing on the forest floor. Turning his head slightly to avoid sucking in rotten leaves and dirt as he gasped for air, Frank flinched when he realized just how close he’d come to landing right on top of a bear trap.
A hand clamped around his ankle and he let out a startled shout, trying to kick it away. He was yanked across the ground, further from the trap but closer to the killer, who reached down to curl a fist in the front of his jacket. Pulled off the ground, Frank was shoved against a fallen log, nearly bending over backwards as it dug into his back.
Raising his hands over his head, Frank instinctively squeezed his eyes closed as he braced for a fist or blade to the face. Instead, fingers curled over the front of his pants, tugging the button open and zipper down before he could fully register what was happening. Jolting, his head snapped up to stare at Evan’s masked face.
“Hey! What- what the fuck are you doing?!” he demanded, face flushing. It was clear to him now that the Trapper had been the one watching him, but it still raised some serious questions. How long had he been watching? How much had he seen? He’d been so absorbed by his post kill high, he hadn’t even considered that he was being observed while he got off.
The Trapper growled at him. Not just a grunt or a word rumbled in such a way it could be considered a ‘growl’. No. The man actually snarled at him like a wild animal. The sound made Frank’s breathing hitch, eyes instantly focusing on the jagged teeth fixed into the mask's jaws. There was a human mouth behind those terrible bone teeth, but the sounds coming out of it were anything but…
Fingers dug into his hips and he gasped, understanding what the Trapper was getting at even without having it explained to him. The brunet stiffened, a different kind of fear coiling around his spine like a snake. Even if Evan had seen him and watched him masturbate, did he understand what he’d find if he pulled his pants down? The idea that he was expecting one thing and might react with even more violence when he didn’t find it had the Legion leader squirming again as he tried to pry himself out of the iron grasp on his waist.
The Trapper just laughed, the sound a deep, guttural rumble that made Frank’s knees shake a little. Then, without warning, the bone mask was pressing into the side of his neck, sharp teeth scraping over thin skin as the man inhaled deeply.
Frank gasped, head tilting back in an attempt to put space between them, but only exposing more skin for the killer to graze with his teeth. And tongue.
The hot, wet glide of a tongue over his jugular had the Legion leader’s breath hitching as a startled, almost questioning whine spilled past his lips. He wasn’t sure if the Trapper intended to rip his throat out with his teeth… or fuck him. In a twisted sense, both idea’s sent a strange thrill through Frank. He’d never considered himself prey before, but being hunted and caught by another killer was… strangely exhilarating.
Blunt nails scraped over his skin, pushing his pants down past his hips. Wincing when the cold night air met his sensitive cunt, he gulped when fingers dragged across his thighs, closer and closer until…
The Trapper rubbed the pads of two fingers, slowly and deliberately over his swollen clit, a deep growl of satisfaction rumbling in his chest when Frank shuddered against him. Oh, fuck. Fuck, he was still so sensitive from before. Still wet too, both with his own slick and the blood he’d so carelessly smeared across his skin. Teeth scraped over his neck again, harder that time, but still not enough to draw blood.
Frank grit his teeth, tilting his head back more as his mind and body sent him conflicting messages. It felt so good, but he might die. He wanted to run, but he wanted more. He wasn’t prey, yet some primal part of him wanted to feel the beast’s teeth and claws as it took its fill from him, and he from it.
Before he could sort out the confusing haze of give and take in his mind, he felt his feet leave the ground. Bark dug into his back as he was pushed upwards against the fallen tree trunk, fingers digging into the back of his thighs as his legs were pushed apart.
Hot breath puffed over him, chilling quickly in the already cool air. It made him shiver, and a low laugh reached his ears. Frank started to lift his head to look down at the man between his thighs, only to jolt so hard he bounced the back of his skull off the tree underneath him when he felt a wide, wet tongue lap over his folds.
It happened again, that time accompanied by a low growl. Unlike before when he’d been running for his life through the woods, it wasn’t a murderous, threatening sound. Well, it wasn’t murderous at least. But it was hungry, like a starving bear that had finally found a meal.
The tip of the Trapper’s tongue prodded at his clit, swirling around it before flicking cruelly over the engorged nub. Frank couldn’t stifle the cry that left him, every nerve in his body burning with unrestrained need.
One hand left his body, but he paid it no mind. All he could focus on was the tongue lapping more deliberately between his lips, spreading them open until something thick and wet was burying itself where his fingers had been only an hour before.
Razor sharp teeth pricked his thighs, drawing blood in hot beads against his skin, but he barely noticed. Lips, human lips, pressed and sucked between his legs, tongue lapping hungrily at his cunt as if to catch every bit of slick as it gushed out of him.
Christ, he was already cumming and the Trapper had just barely started. From the feel of it, he had no intentions of stopping yet, either. If anything, Frank cumming so easily under his tongue only spurred him on more, and he buried it inside him.
Back arching, Frank’s hands scrabbled at the tree underneath him. He would reach for the man between his thighs, but he couldn’t get his arms to cooperate, so instead, he sank his nails into the rough bark and held on. A growl vibrated through his body and he moaned, eyelids fluttering and legs twitching as the attention to his body remained intense and targeted.
Spit and cum coated the inside of Frank’s legs, mixing with light swirls of pink as pin prick sized drops of blood were diluted by the combined wetness. Still, the Trapper’s tongue continued to lap over him, swirling inside him every so often before his lips would close over his clit again to suck on the abused flesh.
Tears were starting to build in the Legion leader's eyes, entire body trembling as he came for… Shit, he honestly didn’t know. It might have been one long, continuous climax, or it might have been multiple, smaller orgasms strung together in a torturous stream of pleasure meant to satiate the Trapper’s unrelenting hunger.
Just when Frank was sure he couldn’t take anymore, Evan pulled away with a low, content growl. Strings of saliva and slick still hung tantalizingly from his mask, lingering evidence that his face had just been buried in the brunet’s dripping pussy. Swiping his tongue over his lips, he stood, and the Legion leader only just realized he’d been kneeling so he could better feast on the meal that had so haplessly wandered into his home.
Barely able to lift his head, Frank’s vision was pulled into sharp focus when he noticed why and where the Trapper’s other hand had been. Towering over his prey, the killer had a tight grip around his cock, fingers pulling slow strokes from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. Pulling the skin back so the head of his cock was fully unsheathed, he prodded at the entrance to the brunet's cunt with an impatient huff.
The only thing Frank could get out was a thin, “Oooh, god,” before searing heat was burning between his legs. Fingers pressed into his thigh, forcing him to keep his legs apart as far as they could go as the Trapper pushed into him with a deep, throaty groan of his own.
Panting and gasping, Frank nearly sobbed as the feeling of fullness in his belly grew and grew. It felt unending, like his body was going to split at the seams. Still, his body would accommodate the Trapper’s girth, whether he thought he could handle it or not.
Fingers wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms over his head and away from Evan’s chest. He hadn’t even realised he’d been pawing at him until he was being held down, one hand keeping his hands over his head, the other pressing a dark bruise into his thigh as the bone mask dipped closer to his face.
Without warning, the Trapper dipped down, licking and biting at Frank's lips, pushing his tongue past them to explore the inside of his mouth. He tasted every inch he could reach, mapping out the Legion leader’s mouth with a hunger that bordered on feral.
With a slight pull back, then one last push forward, he sank his cock into the soft, tight heat inch by excruciating inch. That time, he didn't stop until he was fully sheathed, his heavy balls pressing against Frank’s ass. He stayed still for a moment, making sure his captive could feel every throbbing inch of him, before starting up a hard, rough pace.
Frank cried out with every thrust, only for the sounds to be swallowed by the mouth locked over his own. Tears leaked from his eyes as his body was molded and shaped to perfectly squeeze the thick, unyielding length stretching him open. The heavy weight of the Trapper’s sack slapped against him with every movement, sending a shock through him each time. White hot pleasure and pain mingled as one as rough fingers rubbed between his folds, exploring the seam where his body and Evan’s became one, all while the man pumped into him with a dominating, aggressive pace.
The kiss abruptly broke off, strings of saliva still briefly connecting them as the Trapper snarled, teeth bared behind his mask. His cock pulsed inside Frank, and he keened as a very different heat flooded his insides.
Slowly grinding his hips into the smaller man, Evan seemed all too pleased by the pathetic whimpers and mewls it pulled forth as he rode out his orgasm. Hands exploring the brunet’s body, they rested briefly on his hips again before roughly rucking his shirt and jacket up under his chin.
Fingers played over the scars on his chest, sending an almost electric tingle through his body. Moaning quietly at the sensation, Frank howled when a tongue flicked purposefully over one of his nipples. Almost immediately, an arm wrapped around his back, pulling him off the log and lifting him up so the Trapper could lick and suck on the sensitive pink buds.
Still impaled on his cock, Frank’s squirming and trembling only served to excite the killer more, and his slowly softening shaft hardened inside him again.
It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn’t enough. Frank could feel himself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, but it felt different from before. Just out of reach, yet tortuous with how close it was to consuming him entirely.
Face as wet as the inside of his legs by the time the Trapper was satisfied that he’d done all he could to please himself with the Legion leader's chest, he unceremoniously pulled out of him. Instead of letting him go or making any move to leave when he set the man’s feet back on the ground, he grabbed the back of his neck and bent him over the fallen tree again.
Feeling something firm and wet press against his ass, Frank whined. Although he’d never been fucked in the ass before, he was too tired to argue. Not that he was particularly opposed to the experience, he was just concerned about how the Trapper would even fit…
When the blunt head of his cock pressed against his dripping slit again, Frank’s eyes widened. A second later, spit slicked fingers were pressing into his clenching hole at the same time his pussy was once again stuffed full. Stars exploded in his vision, sounds leaving him he didn’t know he was capable of as Evan’s fingers pumped into him in opposite time of his thrusts.
Babbling and sobbing from the overwhelming sensations, he choked when a hand slipped around the front of his throat. Head yanked back, he could just make out the white of the Trapper’s mask as he studied his face. Something hot and wet dragged over his cheek, tasting the salty tears streaking his skin.
A feral growl spilled from between the mask's jaws before it once again disappeared from view somewhere above him. The fingers around his neck remained, making sure he stayed in place over the log as his ass and cunt were both claimed from behind.
Then, finally, the building wave in Frank’s gut crashed down on him, pulling a scream unlike any he’d made before from his raw throat. His walls clenched and spasmed around the Trapper, milking every drop of cum his second orgasm had to offer and then some. The brunet barely noticed, entire body shaking and brain so full of cotton he wouldn’t have been able to notice if an actual bear came charging out of the woods at him. A hand patted his ass and he whimpered, unable to even lift his head to look back and check what was going to happen to him next.
Nothing, as it turned out, aside from the Trapper taking a step back.
The sudden emptiness in Frank’s cunt made him whine, and he heard a dark laugh behind him. He didn’t even have the strength to try and brace himself for any blow or strike that time, but once more, he needn't have worried.
After a moment of silence in which the only sounds he could hear were the quiet rustle of the wind through the trees, heavy boot steps crunched past. Raising his head, Frank blinked moisture from his eyes in time to see the Trapper walking past, the dead elk slung over one shoulder, his blood stained cleaver back in place on the hooks embedded in the other.
Watching him disappear into the woods, Frank let out an exhausted sigh before sliding off the log to collapse in a heap on the ground. Rolling onto his back, he laid on the forest floor for a good twenty minutes before he felt like he’d regained enough strength in his legs to stand without falling over.
Getting to his feet was a bit of a struggle, made worse by the fact that his pants were still shoved down under his ass, and now he had dirt and leaves stuck in the drying mess all over his thighs. Brushing himself off the best he could, he finally managed to zip himself up before hobbling in the direction he’d seen the Trapper leave with his fresh kill.
Yes, following him was probably stupid, but Frank hadn’t just been laying there trying to make sure his soul was still in his body for the past twenty minutes. He’d been trying to figure out how the fuck to get out of the Trapper’s territory in one piece, especially now that he knew about the hidden bear traps. He’d eventually concluded that following the same path was the best hope for finding either the coal tower, or the campsite. The Legion leader was confident he could get back to the car he was planning to use from either location… Assuming he could get to one alive.
Staggering through the woods with a lot less stealth and a lot more crashing and cursing than he would have liked, Frank finally stepped into clearing around the coal tower. Freezing for a moment when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he quickly looked around. He knew for a fact he was being watched again, and that time, he knew by who…
Although he didn’t expect to see the Trapper, wherever the hell he was watching from, Frank was even more surprised by what he did see. His pilfered backpack, a flashlight, and a gallon jug of water were sitting by the path back to the campsite.
Looking around again, more for traps than their appropriately named maker, he hurried over to the pile of goods. Checking the flashlight, he let out a sigh of relief when it turned on, safely illuminating the path forward. Checking inside the bag, he was extremely relieved to not only find his mask and the car keys, but his knife as well.
The message was clear, and he quickly slung the pack over his shoulder, grabbed the water, and started for the car without looking back. Frank could feel eyes on the back of his neck the entire way, but he didn’t dare stop or turn around. Finding the car right where he’d expected it to be, he quickly checked the tires for damage before tossing everything into the passenger seat.
All but flooring it out of the gravel lot, Frank didn’t even check the rearview mirror until he was miles down the road, and the feeling of being watched had long since ceased. Safely on his way back home to Ormond, he let out a tired laugh. The others were never going to believe the story when he told them…
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