Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Dahlia
The hallway I’m walking down is narrow and dimly lit, lined with dozens of autographed photos of celebrities I vaguely recognize. I glance at each one as I pass to help distract myself, but after a while, it starts to feel dizzying, so I give up and focus on the floor instead.
Releasing a long sigh, I massage my temples and try my hardest to rub the memory of Josh’s pathetic puppy-dog face from my head.
God, I knew coming here was a mistake.
Five dates.
Five freaking dates.
That has to be a new record for me.
On the bright side, it’s still early enough to end things without too much fallout, so I guess there’s that.
I let out another long sigh.
I honestly don’t even know why I bother dating anymore. I’m fundamentally incapable of giving people the one thing they’re really after. And contrary to popular belief, it isn’t sex that men want most, it’s love, adoration, and attachment.
Sex, I can do. Sex is simpler. Sex can happen without feelings ever needing to be involved. But I’m not equipped to handle all of that other stuff, and I can’t keep setting myself up for failure like this.
Maybe I just need to create a Tinder account and be completely blunt about what I can handle to save everyone the trouble.
Hey, I’m Dahlia Delacruz. I’m 27 and my hobbies include reading, watching movies, and running away at the first sign of emotional attachment. Wanna bang?
A harsh laugh spills from my lips.
Yeah, that’s a great way to attract a sociopath.
The hallway curves to the right, and I follow it, expecting to finally find the restroom, but instead, I land in some kind of storage hallway. There’s a long line of metal shelves filled with various food packaging supplies, and a bunch of liquor boxes piled against the wall.
I’m probably not supposed to be back here, and I definitely took a wrong turn somewhere, but I’m not even mad about it. The farther away from Josh and his friends, the better.
The heels of my boots click softly against the linoleum floor as I wander farther down the hall, biding my time.
And before long, I reach the end of the hallway.
I’m about to turn around when my eyes catch on the emergency exit.
There’s an empty milk crate wedged against the door, holding it open just enough to let a sliver of the back alley peek through.
God, yes.
Exactly what I need. An escape route I can take without having to explain myself to anyone. No awkward conversations. No evading questions. No public displays of emotion.
Before I can overthink it, I shove the door open and step outside.
The alley behind the sports bar is nearly pitch black, save for the few scattered streetlights, casting dim pools of yellow on the rain-slicked pavement.
I walk along the side of the building, or at least I think I do, but I can barely see anything beyond the silhouette of a few dumpsters and parked cars ahead of me. It’s so disorienting. The alley keeps branching off into smaller, darker paths, and it feels longer and more twisted than it should.
Jesus, it’s cold tonight, I think to myself, wrapping my bare arms across my chest for warmth. And of course, I left my jacket in the car.
Fuck, I think I’m lost.
I fish through my purse for my phone, and just as I’m about to pull up the navigation app, the sound of voices cuts through the silence.
Shit. Someone else is out here.
Chilling sounds of laughter echo in the wind and are swiftly followed by grunts of what I can only assume is pain.
Fuck. Someone’s in trouble.
This isn’t your problem. I think, trying to reason with myself. No one would judge you if you walked away right now.
I would judge me, I argue back, I would blame myself for not at least trying to help.
Deciding to follow my instincts, I follow the sounds and do everything I can to stay as hidden as possible.
Maybe it’s a couple of friends play fighting. Maybe it’s some drunk asshole laughing at his own stupidity. Maybe it’s nothing. All of my maybes go to shit when I round the corner and find a brutal scene playing out before me.
Four men, each one bigger than the last, are attacking someone on the ground. Their feet rise and fall in a sickening rhythm, and the man’s body rocks with every blow.
Jesus. They’re going to kill him.
My instincts scream at me to run, to get the hell out of here before they notice me. But with each crack of bone on bone, my resolve grows. I can’t just stand here and let them kill him. I won’t. No one deserves to have their life violently stolen from them like that. No one.
“Stop it!” I shout, the words tearing out of me before I can think better of them.
All four heads snap in my direction, and their eyes narrow like predators spotting prey.
The shortest of them laughs. “You lost, little girl?”
I scan my surroundings, taking in the four massive figures, the dim lighting, and the lack of any clear escape route.
Four against one. Not great odds in general, but especially shitty when the one has heeled boots on. Fuck.
Running isn’t an option. I have the pocket-knife Fallon got me hidden in my sock, but I’ve never even used it, and I know it won’t be enough to scare them off. My mind races.
“Look, I-I don't want any trouble.” I stutter, stepping back.
The biggest one, with a nasty scar across his cheek, advances. “Then you shouldn't have come looking for it, sweetheart.”
I take another step back, eyes darting to the man on the ground. His eyes are closed, but his chest is still moving up and down. Good, he’s still breathing. I silently will him to get up and run. But he just lies there. Shit.
“Stay back,” I warn, holding my phone up like a shield, “Or I swear to God, I’ll call the cops.”
“Oh no, guys,” the big one mocks, “guess we better leave her alone.”
The others laugh as they follow behind him. My stomach twists as their smug smiles widen. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.
The big one comes at me first, cornering me against the side of a building. He lunges for me and, without hesitation, I duck down, yank the pocket knife from my boot, and pop back up, slashing wildly.
The blade catches the side of his face and carves through his skin in a jagged slice. The wet sound he makes as his hands fly up to his bleeding face makes my stomach churn.
Shock ripples through his friends, and their laughter dies immediately. Then, without warning, they attack.
The man closest to him tries to grab me, but I twist out of his hold and use my shoulder to slam into his chest, hard. He stumbles back a step, more caught off guard than hurt, but it’s enough to give me a second to prepare myself.
Another man comes for me, faster than the other two, and I wildly swing the knife in his direction. He pulls back just in time, leaving the blade to slice the air where his stomach had been a second ago.
“She fucking stabbed him!” He yells, looking between his bleeding friend and the knife in my hand.
The last man stares at me and goes to reach for the gun at his waistband. The sight of it sends pure terror ricocheting through my body. If he grabs that gun, I’m dead.
I charge him without thinking, my knife slicing at him in shallow, messy strikes. He curses at me and slams his elbow into my back, knocking the breath from my lungs and sending me tumbling forward.
As soon as I hit the ground, rough hands grab me from every direction. Ripping at anything they can get their hands on. Someone pries the knife from my grip, and before I even realize what’s happening, I’m forced back on my feet, and a thick arm is wrapping around my neck and crushing my throat.
Fuck.
I claw at the arm choking me, kicking wildly, but my feet barely scrape the pavement as he lifts me off the ground with terrifying ease.
“Kill that bitch, Rico!” One of them shouts, tending to the first man I stabbed. “Look what she did to Aldo!”
The arm around my neck squeezes harder, and my vision starts to blur at the edges. I try to head-butt his chin, but miss, and in return, he slams my face hard against the brick wall. White explodes behind my eyes.
“You have no idea who you’re fucking with,” he snarls, pressing his cracked lips to my ear.
I try to kick, to fight, to do something, but my body betrays me. He has me pinned against the brick wall, and my limbs are heavy and utterly useless.
I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.
A deafening bang rings out, and I flinch as the sound ricochets through my entire body. The arm around my neck loosens, and the weight pressing against me eases off.
I suck in a ragged breath as I turn to face them, my eyes narrowing at the puzzling scene. The four of them are just standing there, staring at each other with wide-eyed confusion.
What the hell is happening?
Another bang rings out, and the man who was just choking me jerks forward.
Before I can even process what’s happening, his face explodes, and he collapses to the ground.
Another one sounds, then another, and another, and like a twisted version of “Down the Clown” the rest of the men collapse next to him.
Their bodies land with sickening thumps, and I stare, transfixed on the glistening pools of blood stretching across the pavement beneath them.
I slowly look back up, and the sight in front of me makes me audibly gasp.
The man they were beating is now standing.
He’s tall, at least a foot or more above me.
Maybe somewhere around 6’5 or 6’6. There’s a gun in his hand and a gnarly gash above his brow.
Blood streaks down the side of his face, sliding against the hollow of his cheeks before catching on the edge of his clenched jaw.
He stares at me through the dark strands of hair hanging over his eyes, and I can’t help but stare back.
He’s stupidly pretty for a killer.
Full brows, dark eyes, and the kind of panty-melting bone structure you can stare at for hours. He has tattoos crawling up the side of his neck, half hidden by the collar of his white shirt, and despite the blood and the gun and the four bodies at his feet, he looks completely unfazed.
He takes a step towards me, and I flinch back, pressing myself harder into the brick. I’m trying to stay calm, but my body is acting purely on instinct. It’s as if it can sense the danger I’m in and has shifted into pure self-preservation mode.
As he inches closer, his eyes stay on mine, then dip lower for a second too long, before lazily lifting back up.
I glance down at myself.
Shit.
One of the straps on my dress is torn, and the neckline is pulled down and stretched from where their hands grabbed at me. I didn’t wear a bra today, and my breasts are almost completely exposed.
I jerk my arms up immediately, yanking the fabric back into place, and trying to cover myself as best I can. When I look back up, I find him watching.
The muscles in his jaw flex, and then he slides his gun into the waistband of his pants.
My grip tightens on the fabric as my brain scrambles, every instinct screaming at me all at once. What is he doing?
He starts to take off his jacket, and I freeze.
He’s just as bad as they are, a voice in the back of my head whispers. He’s worse. You misread the situation. You saved a monster.
He strips the jacket off, and I just stand there trembling, bracing for something I can’t even force myself to think about. Then, without warning, he tosses it at me.
The jacket flies in my direction, and I barely manage to catch it before it falls to the ground. For a moment, I just stand there staring at the warm pile of burgundy fabric clenched in my hands.
“Put it on.” He says, sounding almost annoyed.
I hesitate, only because my brain hasn’t fully caught up to what’s happening, then quickly throw it on.
The jacket is heavier than I expected, and as the warm fabric settles over my shoulders, heat seeps in almost immediately.
It smells faintly of smoke and a warm, woody fragrance.
Something subtle but unmistakably expensive.
The feel of his jacket draped over me is grounding in a way that doesn’t make sense.
My breathing calms down a little, and when I look up, he’s watching me again.
He stares at me for a moment, studying my face, then, ever so slowly, he pulls his gun from his waistband, levels it at my head, and smirks as he says, “This is the part where you run.”