Chapter 6 #2
Those eyes darken like a storm brewing on the horizon as we stare each other down, neither one of us giving in. He can shoot me. There’s no one to stop him. But he doesn’t. Maybe this is another game he’s playing.
Behind him, the man on the chair looks to be dead, blood and bruises covering what’s left of his face, pieces of wood sticking to the open wounds on his cheek. His nails on one hand are all gone, along with one of his fingers, with blood dripping out. Too much blood.
I don’t shy away from it. I’m used to it by now.
Michael casually takes in my body with a single rove of his gaze, starting at my mouth, raking downward until he’s captured every inch of my flesh.
My nipples instantly grow taut at the intrusion, breathing turning wild. I wrap my arms around my body, suddenly feeling bare, even with the clothes still on me.
“Are you checking out your meal before you eat it?” I toss out with a lift of a brow and a curl of my lips.
“Oh, shit,” the other man laughs. “We’ve got ourselves a feisty one.”
Michael’s mouth spreads into a taunting grin. “I bet you’re scared to find out.”
I sneer. “I’ve met far scarier men than you.”
Something flickers in his gaze. It’s momentary, but I swear he felt sorry for me.
But I’ve definitely imagined such a thing, because he’s just like them. Nothing about him is good.
He continues to stare, like he’s not sure what to do with me, cocking his broad chin, a single thick brow rising. “I should thank you.”
When I don’t ask what for, while my eyes cut into him, a cunning smirk emerges on his face.
“For letting me know I need better security.”
“You need a lot of better things.”
I can’t seem to stop my mouth from moving, or from getting under his skin, which I know I’m doing if the muscle in his firm jaw twitching is any indication.
“Like what?” he casually drawls, taking another predatory step toward me, the words slipping out slowly, like a threat.
But I stand my ground. I won’t show him fear.
“Like a better personality.” I let out a small snicker. “You seem a little angry.” I tilt my face toward him. “Are those wrinkles on your forehead?”
My finger points to the area, and the angry scar at his cheek jerks.
The other guy breaks in a chuckle, trying to hold it in, but failing terribly.
“You think you’re funny?” Michael asks.
But before I can utter a word, he’s on me in one fluid motion, his body pressing into mine, his hand wrapping around my throat so tight I can barely breathe.
“Because I don’t think you’re funny at all.” His pistol is still gripped in his other hand, and he presses it into the underside of my jaw, pushing his face into mine.
I try to pull in a breath, but he delves his fingers deeper, those eyes full of rage.
I’m in hell, and this is its keeper.
My lungs constrict and breathing becomes barely possible, especially when he stares at me this way—like in a mere second, my life will end, and Kayla will be alone.
I try hard to keep up the front that I’m not afraid, that he won’t scare me, but I fail.
Because my friend needs me, and my bravery could cost her everything.
“Please, let me go,” I beg, barely getting the words out, and I hate the sound.
Begging a man for anything makes me cringe, but sometimes we must do the dirty things just to survive—or, in my case, help others to.
“Ple-please.” I feel the moisture build in my eyes and I no longer care that he sees the weakness I’m desperately trying to hide.
I attempt to force air into my lungs even as my chest burns. “I’m s-sorry.”
My inhales and exhales rival for space. My heart aches; my body, too. I can’t do this anymore. He won’t let me go. I just know it. He’ll toy with me until I’m nothing but flesh and bone. A plaything, like for all the others. I’ll be his for as long as he wants, and there will be no one to save me.
I won’t live this way anymore. I’d rather die. I drift my eyes to a close, tears leaking past the edges.
“Just do it,” I whisper as I slowly open my eyes and take in the last man who’ll ever hurt me.
I feel like a coward giving up, not being strong enough to save her, but I won’t be able to. Not with him.
“End it. I can’t take another second of this life. Just kill me. Kayla will understand.” My lips tremble as I stare fiercely into the eyes of a monster. “She was right. Death is the only way.”
My vision grows hazy from the tears blanketing it, and for a single passing moment as I look into the eyes of the man who has my life in his hands, I definitely see it. His face softens, just a fraction, just a sliver of humanity appearing like a light in the darkness, calling to me.
His gaze penetrates through the mist in my eyes.
Hard. Deep. Wave after wave of this look in his eyes that I can’t understand or make sense of.
It’s like he’s attempting to pick me apart at the seams, to discover who I truly am.
But he won’t find anything underneath. That girl is gone, and the woman I am…
there’s nothing left of her for a man to find.
His brows pull tight as his chest widens with a long inhale. Is there sympathy in those eyes? For me?
No, a man like him doesn’t sympathize. He takes. He hurts. He doesn’t forgive. He doesn’t understand. He kills. And I’m grateful to be next in line.
When he doesn’t shoot me, when his grasp around my throat loosens a fraction, my breathing ravages, the anger surging.
I place both hands on his weapon. “What the hell are you waiting for?!” Rage curls through my senses. “Do it already. Fucking kill me!”
His even, collected breaths, those eyes holding me still, refusing to let go…it only irritates me. I place my thumb on the trigger, and the way he gazes at me, it’s as though he doesn’t want me to pull it at all.
But just when I thought I saw humanity within those dark eyes, he pushes off of me completely, not giving me a second thought. Marching back to the man on the chair, and with his eyes to mine, he points the weapon at Smitty, and—
Pop.
A bullet pierces his temple.
One second of time, and it’s over.
“No!” I scream, rushing toward Michael.
That could’ve been me. Should’ve been me.
“Why?! I took the food! Me! I stole from you. Kill me!” My voice goes shrill, my breathing labored as I no longer stare at Michael but at the man he just murdered. “How could you do that? He didn’t even take anything from you!”
I turn to him, and amusement flanks his gaze, the sides of his eyes crinkling.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Don’t worry that pretty head of yours.” His words are soft, like he’s lulling me to sleep. A single hand reaches my face while I stand there trembling, tears pouring down.
His bloody knuckle strokes down my wet cheek, and my skin tingles all over, alive for the first time, even while I fear him. I warm at his touch, like he’s the flame heating up the very depth of my soul. But he isn’t warmth—he’s fire, and I’ll burn under his blaze.
“He did steal from me,” he casually explains, like killing someone is nothing. “And it wasn’t the food you’ve been eating from my fridge. This had nothing to do with you.”
My eyes grow. “Did you plan this? Did you want me to think—”
“That I was killing him for what you did?” His hand gradually falls away. “Of course.”
“You sick son of a b—”
He tosses his head to the side, shaking a single finger side to side. “I’d be very careful before you finish that sentence. You may be pretty, but I wouldn’t hesitate to break a pretty thing like you.”
“Fuck yo—”
Before I can even finish, he’s on me again, his palm engulfing my throat, like he very much enjoys it there. His mouth falls dangerously near mine, his lips perched close, our breaths mingling.
“If you ever say anything about my mother, I’ll find yours and slit her goddamn throat. Are we clear?”
I nod frantically, my heart threatening to rip right out of my rib cage. Wherever I’ve ended up, it sure as hell is worse than where I came from.
“What do you want from me?” I implore.
He doesn’t say a word, his exhales rough over my lips.