Chapter 8
Eight
Sugar Skull
Standing over Zee in her dark bedroom is different.
I'm not used to this.
She doesn’t look at peace.
She looks torn, her face scrunched, her hands in fists as her chest heaves up and down like she’s running a marathon in her sleep.
Or like she’s ready to fight at any minute.
Something about her still looks angelic. A dark angel, her mess of curls sprawled around her head.
My gloved hand pushes a spiral of hair away from her mouth, her warm breath seeping through the leather.
My eyes move from her chest to her stomach, narrowing at a scar along it. Right across her navel. It’s not a scar from a piercing gone bad. It’s a knife scar.
Who the fuck did this, Angel?
Taking off my glove, I lower my finger to the raised groove on her skin. It’s old. Healed. But not that old. I can still see where the knife entered and left. My abs tighten, her soft skin under my touch as I follow the scar with my finger. So smooth. Soft.
Am I really going to be the one to end this?
To end her?
Her mouth falls open, the tip of my finger lingering on her skin.
I want to feel my lips on hers. I want to devour them. I want to claim them so hard she doesn’t remember what life is like without my kiss. Without me.
My cock gets harder as I lean closer, yearning for her touch, begging to be enveloped in her. Before I know it, I’m reaching into my pants.
I know. I’m fucked up. But if you had Zee in front of you like this, I promise you couldn’t resist.
My heart pounds against my chest as my pace quickens, wishing those lips were around it, wishing she could feel what she does to me.
I didn’t touch myself that night. Not in front of her. But now, it’s different.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t—
My eyes land on her tits, her nipples perky and taut as if she knows I’m here. God, I want to hear her moans when my tongue rolls over them, biting them, sucking them.
Fuuuck, she’s so, fucking, perfect.
I stroke myself faster, my dick pulsing against my palm as pre-cum slips down my finger. Inhaling, her scent flows through me as I thrust into my hand, fucking my fist like it was her sweet, plump pussy.
My eyes drop to her thighs before raking up to the patch of hair covering her centre. I thrust harder, thinking about how she’d feel with me inside of her, filling her, taking over every inch of her.
I’m reaching my limit. But, fuck, it feels too good to stop. It’s not like jerking myself off to a video on the internet.
This is special.
She’s special.
Oh, fuck…
A drop of my cum lands against her chest.
It rolls down to her nipple, and I can’t help but pump myself harder.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My toes curl in my sneakers, a shiver running through me.
She shifts.
I freeze.
She doesn’t move any further, but I wait a few beats to make sure.
Another moment passes before I exhale, my eyes falling to my cock, still hard in my hand.
The fuck are you doing?
Part of me hopes she wakes up and asks me to climb into bed with her. I’ll get her to the place she couldn’t before.
She was thinking of me. I know she was.
But that would make things worse.
My pulse hammers as I push myself back into my pants.
If this is the end, if this is goodbye, I need a reminder. A memory. Of us.
Using my phone, I snap a quick photo.
Then another.
My angel.
Stop stalling.
Reaching for the vile in my pocket, my hand shakes as I pull it out.
I never shake.
My eyes narrow on my hand as if it’s not my own.
My gaze shifts back to her.
Too many people have died at our hands.
Why her?
Why now?
Zee stirs again, her fists tightening some more.
I take another moment, standing over my angel.
I’ll finish the job. But not tonight.
Reaching back into my pocket, I replace the vile with a little camera.
I move to the painting hanging across from the bed. It showcases the vastness of the sea. The ocean with its rocky waves. Nothing more.
I place a small, discreet hole in the bottom, settling the camera inside it, tinier than the last.
Moving towards the door, I take one last look at Zee.
Sleep well, Angel.
Downstairs, I pass the sofa on my way to the bookshelf, the memory of last night stalling me. The way she looked when she met her release. The way she responded to my words.
If I stay here long enough, my body will betray me again, and I’ve done enough damage for one night.
Cree-ak.
My head snaps to the staircase.
Creak! Creak! Creak!
“Hello?”
Zee.
My back straightens.
I should leave.
I should remove the wedge from this window and get the fuck out.
But when I hear my name, the name she made for me, all sense leaves me.
“Sugar Skull?”
Zee
Creak!
My hand tightens around the staircase railing, a jump in my pulse.
Do you ever have dreams that feel so real it’s hard to believe it’s not?
I dreamt of him.
Sugar Skull.
He hovered over me, staring into my soul as he stroked his thick, hard cock.
It was as erotic as our first encounter.
It was perfect.
And I’m so fucked.
Who the hell gets off to their intruder jerking one over them?
Giving up some of my habits was a bad idea. I’ve picked up something much more deadly instead.
Creak!
This time, I’m sure awake.
Sweat sticks to my skin, my throat dry and tight.
Someone’s here. I know it.
It’s not Drey. It’s someone smarter.
I heard shuffling from the top of the stairs. Thuds and creaks as if he’s made my home his again. My foot hovers above the floor, my final step beneath me.
The lights go out.
I still.
The moonlight is weak with tonight’s cloudy sky. I don’t care. I’m finding out who this is. Tonight.
Squinting into the darkness, I look for a shadow. The rest of my joint sits between my fingers, the lighter tucked against my palm.
If I'm imagining things, I'll smoke and go back to sleep. It’ll ground me. For now, I’m gripping to it like I’m holding onto my sanity.
It’s darker as I move to the dining room, my steps small and quiet.
My eyes move to the shelf in the living room.
Something’s shifted.
The books I pulled off the shelf are back, including some from my own stash.
Heat slithers up my spine. Then that smell engulfs me.
Leather. Cedar.
My hands shake as I pull the joint to my lips.
What’re you doing?
Get the fuck out.
Don’t be stupid.
Bringing my lighter to the end of my joint, I flick the flame alive.
The room lights up in front of me.
So does his face, that mask in full view.
Holy shit. He’s closer than I thought, his tall, broad figure looming only a couple of feet away.
I straighten my stance and steady my breath.
Pulling the joint to the flame, I light it. Then I take a long, nerve-settling puff.
“Back for another show?” I ask on my exhale. I need him to see I’m not afraid of him, even if that’s bullshit.
Thud, creeak.
Thud, creee-ak.
Thud, creeak!
He steps towards me. Bit by bit.
“Go back to sleep.” His words roll off him. “Or you might die.”
The calm vanishes right out of me when I hear those last words.
I pull my thumb off the fork of the lighter. The flame disappears.
Darkness engulfs us.
I dive to the floor.
My body slides past his as I hustle towards the armchair. I push my hand under the cushion, searching.
Nothing.
I push my hand further, glancing back. I can’t find him in the dark.
Fuck. My muscles lock as it hits me.
The gun isn’t there.
A wave of heat washes over my chest. He must have it.
Run, Zee!
I push to my feet and head in the direction of the front door.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
He’s behind me. His pace is slower, but his strides longer.
I climb on the dining table, his hand skimming my thigh. A shock on my skin startles me as I stumble over my feet.
If I can just get to the kitchen…
But he’s there first, standing in the middle.
He blocks my path to the drawers, stopping me from getting a knife or something sharp.
A car passes the house, lighting up the room.
And his face.
His eyes lock with mine, sparkling before the light fades again.
Thud!
He takes another step. I take one back.
I’m left between the staircase and the living room. Both shitty options. I can’t risk jumping from the second floor. He’d survive it. I won’t.
My gaze shifts to the window, then I rush to it. He follows close behind me, but I get there first.
I tug. And I tug. But this fucking thing won’t budge. I flick the lock and pull on the clasp, but it still won’t move.
You’re about to fucking die.
I abandon the window, and with everything left inside me, I run for the front door.
Something grabs my wrist before my back hits a wall.
"Oomph!"
“Stop running.”
My breath hitches, Sugar Skull in front of me.
“Can’t anymore," I say between breaths. “Is this how you play with all your victims?”
He chuckles, his body moving closer. “Hands up.”
I raise two shaky hands above my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Eyes on me.”
I squeeze harder. I’m not looking down the barrel of a gun. I don’t want to see what’s in store for me. I don’t want to look into death’s eyes.
“Eyes. On. Me.” He’s so close his breath lands on my face. Peppermint. I open my eyes. I still can’t see him. “Turn around.”
I do, my chest tensing. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? Just fucking do it."
“Open the door.”
Wh-what?
I lower my hand, my fist hitting a knob.
Then, for some fucked up reason, I do what I’m told.
When I open the door, more darkness greets me.
“Go inside.”
I’m frozen.
Is he going to lock me in here?
Make me his prisoner?
Don’t do it!
His hand lands on my back, heat spiralling up my spine. With one push, I stumble inside.
He steps in behind me.
Click!
He closes the door.
"Breathe."
Is he fucking kidding?
“I can’t. You're about to kill me."
“Breathe. Please," he says, exasperation in his voice.
Taking in a breath, a weird smell enters my nose. I can’t quite tell what it is before the smell of him engulfs me.
“Again.”
I do.
“Now, tell me three things you can hear,” he says. “Eyes open.” Can he see them? Cause I sure as hell can’t see his. He urges, “Three things.”
“Okay! Just a second!” I share his exasperation, focusing.
The house whistles again, wind seeping through the walls.
“The wind.”
My heart pounds in my ears.
“My heart.”
“Good."
"Your voice."
He takes another step closer.
I step back, something stopping me from going further. A wall. Or… a shelf?
He takes another step before his hard body presses against mine. A shaky gasp leaves me. He packs some serious muscle. It’s hard not to imagine what Sugar Skull might look like underneath that mask. Underneath his clothes.
Silence drags between us, the small space getting warmer by the second.
I break first. “What do you want?”
No response.
“I didn’t tell anyone anything. You can keep the drugs. Do you want the house?”
“No.”
“Then what is it? If you wanted me dead, you would’ve killed me already.”
“I like the anticipation."
Soft leather lands on my chin. I freeze, heat curling in my stomach. His thumb glides along my cheek as his face comes closer.
“I can smell your fear.” His forehead finds mine in the dark, settling against it like he’s done this before. I don’t pull away, despite my racing heart. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
“Y-you want to torture me?” I ask, even if that doesn’t feel right. This isn’t torture. This is something else. “Is that it?” I hate that my voice trembles. I’ve been in far more chaotic positions, but this feels calculated. This feels controlled.
This feels like I’m prey.
“They want you dead.”
A jolt shoots through me.
“Who the fuck are they?” The walls push in around me, my throat closing with it. “And why the fuck am I in this closet?”
He chuckles. “So you can’t run.”