Chapter 3 #4
We stare at each other for too long. It’s too intense.
His gloved hand twirls the knife between his fingers before placing it in front of me. “It’s yours.” He brushes the handle.
But I already knew that in the bathroom because I constantly check my pockets. I guess he likes souvenirs. I still pretend to shove my hand into my pocket to grab my knife in vain.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.” He cocks his head to the side, waiting for me to reach out and grab it.
“Why did you kill him?” I ask.
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Only two so far.”
I have a stun gun in my thigh bag that I’d be happy to use, and I bet he has a gun in his. But deep down, I know it’s not the look of a madman; it’s the look of someone who fights for something worth fighting for. A purpose.
I just need to find an angle that will get me somewhere.
I eat the gap between us until the tip of the knife presses against my chest and breathe the unapologetic air he exhales.
The rain intensifies, and a series of thunder rumbles ominously.
“If I were one of the killers, don’t you think I would be killing you by now?” He continues to play with me, for now.
“They only kill the sacrificed.”
“True,” he nods, “but I bet they can make an exception for you.”
“Maybe instead of threatening me, do it.” I press myself a little harder against the knife. It stings. But it’s nothing compared to the pain I live with daily. “Was he one of them?”
“Sadly, no, just mine.” He slightly pulls the knife back as if he doesn’t want it to harm me, and I knit my eyebrows together.
My curiosity piqued.
I slowly open my thigh bag. “So, you show up to parties and kill innocent people?”
“He is far from innocent.” The amusement in his voice turns to irritation. His eye contact is unwavering, and I watch his pupils dilate like a lost echo that shudders within me.
My fingers curve around the stun gun. “How so?”
He clicks his tongue three times. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.”
“There are way too many secrets in this place.” I gaze into his eyes, trying to uncover a fraction of the truth.
“Everyone has secrets.” He gazes at me as if we are the last two survivors in a world reduced to ashes.
“Then I’ll be the first to seek answers. And I have so many questions.” Despite my inability to see his expressions, his eyes are enough to determine that he may be my answer or at least assist me in finding one.
“What if you don’t like what you hear?” He drags the knife slowly across my collarbone.
I drop the gun back into the bag. “It’ll be up to me to decide, but at least I’ll know the truth.”
“What is true? The truth often lies.” His voice sharpens. But the sincerity in that statement makes it hurt even more. “Does death seem appealing to you?” His eyes roam down my body and return to meet my unfazed stance.
“It’s not the worst thing that can happen.” I eye him back.
“No, it’s not. It usually saves you a lot of heartaches.”
I break into a smile. “Spot on.”
“You know most people would be scared shitless right now, but not you.”
“Surpriiise,” I drag out the end of the word.
He suppresses a chuckle and looks me dead in the eyes until his expression shifts, more like energy, into something far more sinister.
“Run.”
His blue eyes command before the words sink in.
It takes me a few seconds to move my feet, but once they start moving, I do exactly that—I run.
Not because I’m scared, and not because I can’t fight back with years of martial arts training under my belt, but because… I can’t.
His existence feels like a slap in the face from the universe. It’s like a dish served cold and fucking humorless.
Is he just a fragment of my imagination, or is he real?
The wet pavement beneath the soles of my boots reflects the line of streetlamps as I run farther away, creating a substantial distance between me and him.
My leg slips into a puddle that splashes ankle-high off the ground.
My soaking wet clothes challenge me, but I push through, even as the road blurs beneath me.
Halloween is already a death sentence in this city.
I just can’t shake the fact that he sounds and looks like my husband.
I can’t do that to myself anymore, and that’s why rule four exists.
I have to get used to living in a world without him, rather than being delusional about the possibility of seeing him.
I run until my feet are numb, stopping to catch my breath beside a tall wrought-iron gate. I pant heavily, and before I have a moment to recover, darkness envelops me.
“Shh, get inside the van.” The man orders in a low, commanding tone as he fixes the bag around my head and drags me inside. He doesn’t push me or threaten to kill me. He guides me until I lower myself onto the seat.
“The package is in transit,” says a second manly voice from the passenger seat, buckling up his seatbelt.
I recognize their voices from the party.
The van smells like aftershave, cigarettes, and something sweet… like candies.
“Winona Bishop, we’ve been watching you for a week,” the first voice says playfully from the driver’s seat. “Are you ready for your exile?” He asks, flicking a lighter switch against what I assume is a cigarette, searing the thin silence between us.
“Sure.” Whatever that means. “Why aren’t we moving?”
“We’re waiting for someone. He’ll be here in a minute.”
Music blasts through my headphones as I draw in my room.
The door is locked. My mind quiets while I complete a sketch, adding a few more strokes to accentuate the flower hanging between the man’s teeth.
He pulls at the metal chains around his neck, choking himself, as blood the color of darkness spills down his throat.
I turn off the music when the door behind me bursts open, smacking the floor with a harsh bang. I’m out of the chair in seconds, spinning on the balls of my feet.
My bodyguard stands there, chest heaving as he scowls at me with those radiant eyes of his. Even when he’s angry, he remains the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.
“I banged on your door for minutes. I thought something had happened to you.” He grits out between harsh breaths, taking intimidating steps toward me, but I stand tall and don’t bow my head down.
He grabs my headphones, yanking them off my head. Enraged, I fist his shirt, twisting it in my tight grip and pressing his chest enough to feel his wild heartbeat.
“What is your problem? I listened to music and could barely hear my own thoughts.” I fire at him, taking zero bullshit. “That was the point.”
He slides a sandwich onto the desk behind me. I hate that he can be both infuriating and caring at the same time, because then I have nothing against him. I haven’t had anything to eat for hours, and he knows that.
Looming over me like some massive jerk, he dips down, inching toward the pointed look on my face. “You didn’t answer. I couldn’t risk it.” He presses his forehead to mine.
Heat fills my chest, and I hate when it happens around him. I want to surrender it, succumb to it, pursue it with my grabby hands, and kiss it until it burns for me.
“Next time, text me,” I say dryly instead.
“Please answer me when I check up on you.” His eyes flick to the drawing on the desk behind me, shimmering with pride, and I memorize every millisecond that ticks away.
“I don’t owe you anything,” I bite, even when I don’t mean it. I want him to follow me wherever I go, but I also want him to keep chasing me, not because he’s my bodyguard, but because he can’t resist me.
“You don’t. But when I knock, you answer for me,” he replies calmly, exchanging air with me and making my heart skip a few beats. “Are you okay?”
I immediately avert my gaze because I’m not.
“What’s wrong?” He uses his soothing voice that eases my stiff body in seconds. “Talk to me. This is how you feel?” He thrusts his chin outward, drawing my attention to my drawing.
“This is how you feel,” I respond, locking our gaze again.
He swallows thickly, flicking his eyes between me and the drawing uncomfortably, as though I had exposed his secret.
“You’re trying so hard to push me away, but then you pull me back in when I’m drifting.”
He blinks.
Eyebrows twitch and pull together.
His jaw tightens.
“I can’t…” he stops, contemplating his next words and assessing my curious eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. “Because I’m not here to entertain you, I’m here to watch over you.”
“You already do both,” I say, feeling him press against me slowly.
“You’re the good guy and the bad guy in my story who denies me orgasms, so if you’re just here to watch over me, maybe you should stop getting closer.
And maybe stop paying people to spill booze on random guys who hit on me.
” My voice is low, smoky, and charged with desire.
I watch with amusement as his beautiful, taut features soften when he recalls what I’m talking about. Then, the tips of his mouth curl up into a mischievous grin.
“I know I’m your favorite villain. You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you? So easy to forget, but you’re already caught up in my web.”
“You’re not easy to forget. My eyes are blessed every time you walk by.” I stop my stupid mouth from rambling and nibble on my bottom lip.
I feel intoxicated by something I can’t quite describe when he’s this close. Through hooded eyes, I still capture a flame dancing in his blue pools.
“Oh yeah, that’s what I am to you?” He lifts my chin with his thumb while the rest brushes my throat. He probably feels my rapid pulse, knowing everything I say is a lie. Arching his brows, his eyes cut straight through me. “Am I turning you on, is that it?”
“It was just a slip, so don’t get too excited.” I gulp. “I’m horny if that wasn’t obvious, and you’re the only one my age that I’m allowed to be around.”