1. Jasmine #2
Violent disgust rolls through my body, like a hand reaching up to my throat from inside my body. I gag and slam a hand over my mouth, forcing down the rising bile along with the terrifying, cold realization of what’s about to happen.
“So come on…” Smelly walks forward, waving his handgun around like it’s some kind of prompt, then he presses the barrel to my collarbone and slides it down until the weapon strains against the buttons keeping my shirt closed.
“Take it off. Or I’ll take it off for you.
And trust me…” He leans in close so I get a faceful of his stinking, ashy breath. “I won’t be gentle.”
I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of obeying, but the alternative sounds even more horrific.
A lump forms in my throat and, with violently trembling fingers, I reach for the buttons on my shirt.
Oh God. I’m going to die here. I’m actually going to die here .
I can scarcely feel the buttons with how cold my fingers are.
Smelly’s eyes narrow with glee as the first button of my shirt pops free.
He steps back, crossing his thick arms across his chest and dragging his fat, slimy tongue across his lower lip.
Every single inch of me recoils in disgust, but I move on to the second button.
Suddenly, a rapid explosion of muffled pops fills the air.
It sounds like popcorn exploding in the microwave a few rooms away.
Smelly spins around and exchanges a look with Skinny, who lazily shrugs one shoulder.
The pops get louder, but it’s difficult to decipher exactly what they are.
Each one makes me flinch the louder they get and then, in a flash, the room is full of commotion.
Scarface is sprinting toward me at top speed, Smelly is yelling in a language I don’t understand, and Skinny is fighting to get the handgun out of his ankle holster.
Several other men melt from the shadows, and words fly around me that I scarcely understand while my pounding heart feels like it’s about to break right out of my chest.
I pick up on a few words—Yakuza, Jasmine, and something about a traitor, but everything else is a blur.
Then the door I was dragged in a few minutes earlier explodes off its hinges and sails halfway into the room.
As it lands with an almighty crash, a large muscular man charges into the room and flies over one of my captors.
He lands gracefully, without much noise, and shoots the guard twice in the chest with a silver handgun.
Then he’s on his feet again, sprinting right toward Skinny who’s taking terrible shots at him.
The newcomer closes the gap incredibly quickly and moves like water flowing around rocks.
One minute he’s sliding on the ground, shooting straight to take out Skinny’s knee, the next he’s in the air putting two bullets in his skull and landing softly as Skinny crumples to the ground, dead.
I blink and the newcomer is gone, diving behind a couch and shooting out several of the lights.
In the explosion of glass and sparks, he’s gone again and this time, he reappears behind Scarface, who paused his approach of me as soon as Skinny died.
He shoots him twice in the back, and Scarface’s dying screams end abruptly when the newcomer removes a knife from his hip and drives it into Scarface’s throat.
“You motherfucker!” Smelly roars, firing multiple shots toward the newcomer. The gunfight is explosive with bullets flying around me in every direction.
I should move, but fear keeps me rooted to the spot like a statue. I can barely breathe, can barely think or move. I keep my hands clutched in my shirt to keep it closed while sobs tear from my throat, and I wait for the sweet relief of a bullet hitting me and ending this nightmare.
I close my eyes, silently apologizing to my mother and father for not being strong enough, for not taking them seriously about how much danger I could end up in, for not being a better daughter.
Then, a shadow falls over me and I open my eyes expecting to see Smelly.
It’s not him.
It’s the newcomer.
He stands a full head and shoulders taller than me, with thick muscles bulging under sweaty, honey-olive skin.
They strain for freedom under a black tank top that looks a size too small for his build.
Thick, black hair sweeps back from his forehead, leaving a few stray strands to kiss his brows when he tilts his head down and looks me right in the eye.
His almond-shaped eyes are like warm, dark butterscotch, and the only feature I can see as the rest of his face is hidden behind a simple black balaclava.
I blink and tears leak down my cheeks.
The stranger leans alarmingly close, and as I breathe in a mix of sweat, copper, and something smoky, he winds one large arm around my body and sweeps me right off the ground.
Just in time, several bullets from Smelly land where I was just standing.
The stranger lifts me like I weigh nothing, and my stomach lurches at the sudden change in state.
Rapid bangs from the newcomer’s guns are much louder now, so I slam my hands over my ears, but just as I’m about to close my eyes, I find a better distraction.
The newcomer’s arms are covered in black ink. At a glance, it looks just like black swirls and stripes line his arm from shoulder to wrist, but as I stare at them, more becomes clear. Each swirl isn’t just a black line
One is a dragon winding around his bicep breathing fire, another is a phoenix. One is a snake, one is a deer leaping over a line of forest trees. One swirl is actually hundreds of butterflies leading all the way up to his shoulder.
Both arms are the same, though in this insane situation, I can’t tell if they share the same tattoos. The stranger spins me around and my stomach lurches once more, and then suddenly, the shooting stops. Peering past the stranger’s thick bicep, I spot the cause.
Smelly is on the ground, choking and gurgling on blood pouring out of his mouth and a perfect, circular hole in his throat.
“Don’t look.” The stranger speaks in a low, velvety smooth voice as he raises his weapon to Smelly’s head.
Despite his instruction, I do look.
I want to see him die. I want to see the moment life leaves his disgusting body.
The stranger’s finger hovers on the trigger for a few long moments, watching Smelly drown in his own blood. When he pulls the trigger, he shoots him in the chest several times rather than the head, which makes his death a bit slower.
Exactly like he deserves.
The silence is almost as deafening as the gunfire, and I’m convinced this man must be able to hear how loudly my heart is beating; at the very least he must be able to feel it.
But who is he?
He holsters his weapon with a soft snap of leather, and then he looks at me once more with his dark brows pinched in concern. Fear returns to my thoughts as the implications of who this man could be become so overwhelming. Just because he killed the others doesn’t mean he’s going to help me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, as if hearing my own thoughts. “I’m here to take you home.”
Home .
Such a thing feels alarmingly unfamiliar after this entire ordeal. The stranger scoops me into his arms fully this time, bridal style, and carries me through the compound with strict instruction not to look. An instruction I disobey by sneaking glances over his shoulder.
There are bodies everywhere. Not a single soul has been left alive, and while the sight should disgust me, I feel relief. Whoever these people were, they can’t hurt anyone ever again.
“Careful,” the man says as we approach a fire exit door covered in peeling red paint. “It’s cold outside.”
“What…What about the others?” I croak, sneaking a glance up at his gorgeous eyes. Eyes that beautiful must mean his face is utterly to die for, if only I could see it.
“I’m not here for the others,” he says firmly. “Someone else will take care of them.”
He came for me, and only me? Who the hell is he?
The door shoves open on creaky, rusty hinges, and as the first bitter gust of winter air washes over my body, the stranger tightens his arms around me.
Such incredible warmth radiates from his body that the bitter cold air is just an afterthought, although I marvel at how he can wear so little in the depths of winter.
I want to keep staring at him, but as he trudges over the snow-covered ground, the weight of what happened begins to settle into my chest like a growing ball of pressure. Instead, I tuck my head under his chin and nuzzle into his throat where it’s the warmest.
I don’t know this man. I don’t know who he is or where he came from.
But I feel safe.
And that brings an entirely different wave of tears.
I’m sniffling and swallowing down sobs by the time we reach a sleek black car parked on the edge of the property, where a man in a black suit holds open the door.
Warmth and soft classical music waft from inside the vehicle, but the thought of leaving the safety of this man’s arms for a car feels daunting.
Without thinking, I tighten my grip on the stranger’s arm.
“Don’t worry,” he says, dropping slowly down to his haunches and placing me into the back seat. “You are safe now. This car will take you back to your family, okay?”
Had I more strength, I would have said more to him, but the only thing that bursts past my trembling lips is, “Who are you?”
He doesn’t reply. He stands, pauses, and then leans down to press a fleeting kiss to my hairline. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Oh my God .
In that moment, an overwhelming crush explodes to life in my heart as the skin where his clothed lips pressed tingles from the contact. My heart races faster and faster as he leans away, steps back, and gently closes the door.
There’s a woman inside the car who I recognize as one of my mother’s assistants, but I barely register her even as she covers me with a blanket and rapidly assures me that I will be back with my parents at the hospital within thirty minutes.
My focus remains on my rescuer. He stands like a black knight in the snow with the wind whipping his hair in all directions, and his eyes fixed firmly on the car as we drive away.
I don’t know who he is, but I know one thing.
I’m going to marry that man.