The Man Behind The Mask Book Novels & Stories

We talked and laughed, sharing stories and getting to know each other better. Just as we were in the middle of our conversation, the door creaked open, and a tall, dark-skinned man walked in. My head instinctively turned to greet him. Just as I raised my face to greet him, I felt a jolt of recognition run through me. It was the same guy from the masked party! I couldn't believe it; I had unmasked him in the washroom while we were kissing. I didn't know I'd remember his face ever again.

“We’ve neutralized your followers and disrupted your plans. There’s nowhere left for you to run.” “Oh, there are always places to run,” the mask man replied, his eyes glinting behind the mask. “And new plans to make.” Without warning, he pressed a hidden button on the underside of his desk. The walls began to shift, revealing a secret passage behind him. He took a step back, moving towards the opening. “Until we meet again,” he said, his tone mocking. “Next time, I’ll be ready.” Ram and Nand lunged forward, but the passage sealed shut before they could reach him. They exchanged a frustrated glance, knowing that their adversary had slipped through their fingers once again.

“You keep saying you don’t want to go through this alone. But when it matters, when the choices can wreck everything, you still do it alone.” I felt my chest tighten. “I was trying to protect you.” “Protect me?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “No. You were protecting yourself from being judged. From being questioned. From me seeing the parts you don’t want anyone to see.” “Bruce.. ” “No.” He shook his head, already backing toward the door. “I can’t do this if you keep holding back. If you’re not honest with me, then what the hell are we doing?”

I snap back, just as the door swings fully open. The man in front steps inside, holding a cattle prod, its metal tip gleaming ominously. He moves just enough to allow another man to enter, who silently sets a jug of water down on the rickety table before turning to leave. “Wait!” I shout, my voice sharp and urgent. The men pause, glancing back. “We will negotiate. What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep my tone calm despite the tension in the air. The man at the front turns his masked face toward me. His expression is hidden, but his posture radiates control. “We want nothing,” he says, his voice distorted, processed through some kind of modulator. It’s deliberate—a calculated move to ensur

Chapter 97: The one I met at the Operation Garett’s Point Of View My mind would not take it initially. My grip on my gun tightened, and my eyes were on the man struggling with my men. He wore no mask, no disguise. Just him—Thorne. I felt as if the ground below me had disappeared. My whole body went rigid, my chest barely rising for air. I had a mask over myself, my identity hidden, but my hands shook. What the hell is he doing here?

The younger man in the sleek black mask had already slipped away after one last satisfied look and a low, possessive whisper. He waited a minute inside the bathroom, adjusting his ornate crimson mask and smoothing down his shirt. The mask had stayed firmly in place the entire time, even during the most intense moments. It had hidden his face completely while he was on his knees and later bent over, moaning against the cold tiles. That anonymity had made everything sharper, more dangerous. He washed his hands at the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and stared at his masked reflection for a moment. A respectable, composed man by day, reduced to a desperate, moaning bottom in a public sta

I barely had time to breathe before I felt strong hands grab me from behind, dragging me down the narrow passage of our house as the knife dropped from my hands . My heart leapt into my throat, panic rising like wildfire. And then I saw him. The mask man. “Miss me?” His voice was low, teasing, almost dangerous. Before I could answer, he pulled me into his chest, hugging me tight. “I just love seeing your reactions,” he whispered. “Even at the church the other day I wanted to see your face.”

“I can protect him from you.” The masked man’s head shifts, just a little. “I’m not the one he should fear.” Ezra doesn’t flinch. “Take one more step toward him and I’ll rip that mask off your face.” A strange silence follows. Then the masked man whispers: “If you do… he’ll see the truth.” Ezra lunges. The masked man moves faster, retreating toward the front door, footsteps silent. The door opens by itself, wind rushing in. He steps backward into the darkness outside.

"Anyway, that one's yours." I nodded and turned toward it, then stopped mid step. A man was lying across it. He looked completely at ease, one arm tucked behind his head, shirtless, a black mask covering the left side of his face. Dark hair fell loosely over his forehead, just messy enough to look like he'd rolled straight out of bed and somehow still made it work. The corner of his mouth curved into a lazy smile as he lifted one hand and waved at me, unhurried, like he'd been waiting all along.

He bend down to pick the note book and perused through it. The content made the masked man look back at the still man on the floor. His eyes shone, depicting some admiration and awe in them. It was such a pity that the unconscious man who is probably almost dead was not part of them. He would have been an asset that could make their organisation more lethal. The masked man decided to go back to check on the figure lying on the floor. He soon stood above the figure. A few seconds passed by as he analysed the man's body . If he could say to himself, the man's back was sexy . Was his face sexy too? He wondered.