4. Myles #2
They might be watching me, but that doesn’t mean they can control me, and I’m feeling weirdly triumphant when I slip my feet into my sneakers and head out of my room.
The cool evening air feels nice against my heated skin, and the steady thump of my feet hitting the concrete gives me something to focus on as I run down one of the many paths that snake through the campus.
The school has multiple sports facilities, including indoor and outdoor tracks and the best treadmills and gym equipment that money can buy, but I’ve never once used them. I hate treadmills, and running around in endless circles is almost as bad as being stuck in one place.
I’d rather not run at all than do it indoors or on a track, but thanks to the storm we had last night, the path in the woods is a muddy mess, so I’m stuck running through campus until it dries out enough for me to use it again.
At least there aren’t many students out right now. It’s almost the end of dinner hours, and with exams starting next week, the usual slew of parties and events has slowed to a trickle.
A loud crack to my left makes me jump and almost stumble. Hastily, I look around, but there’s no sign of anyone near me.
My chest tightens, and I quicken my steps. Is it the figure I saw in the woods? Are they out there watching me?
I’m just running past one of the many utility sheds scattered around campus when three figures clad all in black jump out from behind the shed.
The ambush is terrifying enough, but the black tactical balaclavas with a white printed skull on the lower half of their faces are literal nightmare fuel, and I trip over my own feet as the three figures rush toward me.
One of them grabs my arm before I can fall and hauls me off the path with a hard yank that sends a jolt of pain through my shoulder. I try to pull free, but the other two are already on me, and they drag me behind the shed.
“Don’t even think about screaming,” one of them snarls as they shove me against the side of the shed.
The impact is hard enough to force the air from my lungs, and I’m too shocked and winded to fight back as two of them pin me against the shed and the other gets right up in my face.
Their masks are as terrifying as being outnumbered and overpowered, and I stare at them in horror as they surround me.
Is one of them the person who’s been watching me? Did I just sign my death note by not taking this seriously?
“We have a message for you,” one of them says.
With their mouths covered and my brain frozen from fear, it’s impossible to tell who’s speaking, and I look wildly between them, my chest heaving as I try to slow my breathing so I don’t hyperventilate.
A message? Does that mean they don’t want to kill me? Or is killing me the message?
The guy in the middle, the one who isn’t holding me down, wraps his hand around my throat, and it’s then that I see all three are wearing thick black leather gloves.
More fear and panic ricochet through me as the guy squeezes hard enough he almost cuts off my air.
He lifts his other hand, and the flash of light glinting off the metal blade of the knife he’s clutching makes my heart skip a beat as my blood turns to ice water in my veins.
The guy lets out a throaty chuckle, and static shimmers in my vision as the lack of oxygen mixes with my terror, and I can only hang there, helpless and petrified, as their laughter surrounds me like a noose.
Before I can fully give in to my panic, a flash of movement behind the trio catches my attention, and the guy holding the knife falls backward with a choked scream as a black-clad figure drags him away from me.
I gasp when the pressure on my throat is released and gulp in some shallow breaths as the figure throws my assailant to the ground with enough force that he flies almost six feet before hitting the grass with a hollow thud .
The two guys pinning me to the shed whirl around just as the new figure stomps a heavy black boot down on their buddy’s hand.
The crunch of bones breaking makes my stomach roil, but I can’t look away as he kicks the knife out of my assailant’s crushed hand, then delivers a firm kick to his side that sends him rolling on the ground as he curls into himself in pain.
“What the fuck!” one of the guys still pinning me to the shed screeches.
The new figure spins around to face us.
He’s not wearing a mask, but his oversized hood hangs low over his face, obscuring it from view.
A lightning-fast jab to the screeching guy’s face sends him tumbling to the ground with a pathetic cry as he clutches his bleeding mouth with his gloved hands.
The guy still holding me freezes, and that gives the hooded figure all the time he needs to grab him by the throat and throw him away from me. He lands in a heap, and a kick to his ribs sends him tumbling back to the ground when he tries to get up.
I should run, but it’s like my legs aren’t connected to my body anymore, and instead of taking off, my knees give out and I slide down the wall of the shed, my eyes glued to the scene in front of me.
One of the men who attacked me, the one with the knife, lurches to his feet and lunges at the new guy, his injured hand cradled against his chest. The hooded man calmly dodges a wild punch, then catches his arm when he winds up for a second and flips the guy over his shoulder.
He hasn’t even hit the ground when the other two rush the hooded guy, their fists flying as they attack in a flurry of punches and a few wild kicks.
I’m frozen in place as he fights them off with a practiced grace that should scare the piss out of me, but it doesn’t. It’s actually a bit…exciting.
Shaking my head at how insane that thought is, I scramble to get my feet under me. I’ve just managed to get up on my knees when one of the guys pulls a gun out from under his sweater.
I freeze, my entire body glitching out as I stare at the sleek, black weapon. I’ve only seen a gun one other time in my life, and the rush of fear that hits me is so strong it steals my breath.
The hooded guy whirls on him and pulls something out of a flat holster at his side so fast his hand and the object are a blur. Is that a knife?
Time seems to slow down, and I watch in horror as the hooded guy brings his arm back and throws the knife before the other guy can get a shot off.
The world snaps back into real time as the knife flies across the distance and deftly sinks into the meaty part of the other guy’s shoulder. He lets out a gurgling scream and tumbles to the ground.
I let out my own choked scream. Who the fuck is this guy? And how the hell did he manage to not only pull a knife, but throw it with such deadly accuracy before the other guy could fire his gun?
Ignoring the chaos around him, the hooded guy calmly walks up to the man he launched his knife into and knocks him out with a punch to the side of the head.
Still moving like he has all the time in the world, he yanks his knife out of the guy’s shoulder and wipes the blade on the other guy’s pant leg to clean it off, then calmly slips it away.
Jesus fuck, that was savage.
I fall back on my ass as he stands and advances on the other two assailants as they limp and flail in a desperate attempt to flee. He catches up to them easily and takes them out with two quick hits, dropping them to the ground like dirty laundry.
The effortless way he knocked all three of them out sends a shiver up my spine. He could have done that as soon as they rushed him, but he drew things out and purposely fucked them up first.
A tickle of fear moves through my chest, but I feel weirdly calm as he steps away from their unconscious bodies and turns his hood in my direction.
I should run. I know I should run, but I’m frozen in place as he strides closer to me and stops a few feet away.
Dusk has fallen, and I can only stare up at him as the dimming light and amber hues of sunset create a backdrop of light that makes him look like some sort of comic book villain as it bounces off him and gives him a backlit glow.
Everything about him was designed to incite the maximum amount of fear possible, from the way his face is hidden under the shadows of his hood to his fitted black clothes that emphasize his big, powerful body.
He should terrify me, but he doesn’t.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice deep and a bit raspy.
Half dazed, I touch my fingers to my throat. My neck is tender, but other than that and a sore shoulder, I think I’m okay.
Dropping my hand, I nod, not trusting that I can talk without my voice cracking like a preteen right now.
He extends his hand toward me. “You were never here, understand?”
I nod again and slip my trembling hand into his. His grip is strong, and his skin is warm as he pulls me to my feet with way more care than I expected. He even holds on to me for a few beats once I’m upright to give me a chance to get my balance.
“Go,” he orders when I stand there like a statue.
Something about the tone of his command breaks through my shock, and I sprint away from the carnage. I must look insane as I race down the paths to my dorm, but I just dodge the few students I pass and don’t slow down until I’m through the wide-open front gate of Boone House.
When I’m safely in my room with the door locked, the reality of everything that just happened hits at once, and I walk over to my bed and sink down on it, my head spinning with thoughts and questions.
Were those guys going to kill me? Or were they just trying to scare the piss out of me before giving me their message? They had to be working with the Kings. There’s no way I’d have two different groups after me. Right?
Was the guy who saved me the same one who’s been following me? Is he who I saw in the woods the other day?
If it was the same person, what the hell is his endgame? Why did he stop those guys and beat them to a pulp? Why didn’t he just let them finish the job? And if those guys were Kings, does that mean the hooded guy isn’t?
Blowing out a long breath, I fall back on my bed as all the energy seems to drain out of me at once.
I was attacked tonight, possibly almost killed. But instead of ending up in the school morgue, a guy in a hood saved me and told me I was never there.
That’s fucked up enough, but the part that I can’t wrap my head around is how I was half hard when he helped me stand up—and how my dick still hasn’t gone all the way back down.
What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me?