Chapter Two #2
He recognizes me from the bar, the guy that had him pinned to the wall, who held him there so effortlessly whilst my attention was on the only one that mattered, her.
“That’s it, you know now why you’re here truly don’t you. You know why what you did is unforgivable.” I coo at him as I run the scalpel down his face, blood pooling as it leaves a deep gash from his eyebrow to his jaw, tears spill over and run into the open wound.
“Now now, don’t cry, tears are salty you know and you wouldn’t want it to hurt more than it already does…”
I take my time with him, cutting away piece by piece, taking everything that he loves from him, and finally I remove his precious little cock, I force his jaw open and shove the filthy thing down his throat, sitting back to watch him choke on it.
I repeat his earlier words “Such a dirty mouth… Doesn’t this shut you up?” as the life drains from his face, his lips turn hues of purple and blue and his pupils dilate.
I finally let the psychotic grin fall over my face, pieces of him all around him, blood everywhere, all over me, all over this table and it still didn’t feel like it was enough.
Mara
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I can’t stop thinking about him, the speed he moved with, the way he had that man against the wall before I even understood what was happening, the tension in his arm as he held him there, muscles tight, controlled, dangerous.
The sound he made when he realized someone was going to hurt me.
A low, furious growl that felt as though it came from somewhere deep inside him.
A sound that said I was his to protect, even though I don’t know his name.
Who the hell is he?
And why do I feel those eyes on me everywhere I go?
It isn’t paranoia or imagination. It’s something else. A presence that lingers at my back, steady and silent, watching every step I take. I feel it when I walk down the street, in the lift at my building, in the quiet moments when the world goes still.
He’s out there. Somewhere close.
Waiting.
Watching.
Making sure no one comes near me again.
I should be terrified. I should be running in the opposite direction.
But the truth is far more complicated.
Because every time I remember the way he looked at me, the way he stepped between me and danger without hesitation, something in my chest tightens. Something I don’t want to name. Something I don’t understand.
The day passes in a blur, I feel myself constantly zoning out as I try to design new pieces for my Friday the thirteenth flash sheets, my hand freezing above the iPad more times than I can count, Jace notices how spaced out I am and heads over, placing a fresh can of monster in front of me “Here, you feeling okay?” He sits beside me, glancing at my latest design, just scratchy initial layers sit on the screen in front of me, unable to focus for more than a second and actually put my ideas down.
“Do you remember the other night at the bar?” I ask him.
“Yeah, well I remember enough of the evening before I was ten drinks in, why what’s up?
Is this about you pulling a disappearing act on us?
” He replies, getting himself comfortable, his frame taking up way too much room on the two seat couch and pushing me against the armrest. “Someone was there, he was watching me all evening, some asshole grabbed me outside, tried to…” I pause “He tried to force me into something, but the guy got to him before I could even realize what was happening, I swear he was going to kill him, but I don’t have any idea who it was Jace.
” I try to voice my concerns, the questions I have.
“Maybe he’s some sort of guardian angel, I don’t think you should overthink it this much, he saved you from being taken advantage of. End of. I’d think of that rather than the why, something terrible could have happened if he wasn’t there that night darlin’.”
I nod, trying to calm my racing mind down as Jace talks me through it.
“I think I’m going crazy…” I loose a chuckle and place the iPad down, grabbing the fresh can of monster, opening it with a satisfying hiss.
“Thanks Jace. I think I’m gonna head home for the day.” I say glancing at the clock “I’m back early in the morning, new customer.” I give him a small wave as I shove the tablet in my bag and grab my drink.
“If you need me text, don’t call.”
I step outside the studio and my phone starts ringing in my pocket. Perfect timing. I juggle my bag, my keys, my sketchbook, everything slipping through my hands until the whole bag drops to the pavement.
“For fuck sake,” I mutter, snatching the phone up without even checking who it is.
“Yeah?” I snap.
“Wow. Nice, honey.” My mother’s judgmental tone slides through the speaker and my eyes roll before I can stop them.
“Hi Mom. How are you?” I force my voice into something sweet, something polite, something she’ll approve of.
“I’m fine. So listen…” No greeting. No warmth. No interest in me. Just straight to whatever she wants. As usual.
“What do you need?” My tone is flat, clipped, already done with this conversation.
“Your father is holding a gala next weekend to celebrate his promotion. Please come. We need to present a unified front, a happy family. Your brother and sister will be there.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat and I bite it back. “You really want me there? Oh, that’s right. The tabloids figured out we’re related and now you have to pretend I exist.”
I grab my bag off the ground and start walking toward my apartment, irritation buzzing under my skin.
“I have zero interest in taking part in whatever polished bullshit you two are selling to the media. I don’t care about expensive wine or those barely edible vol-au-vents. Please, for the love of god, leave me the fuck alone.”
“But—”
I hang up before she can finish.
The silence that follows is almost peaceful. Almost.
I shove my phone into my pocket and keep walking, the weight of the call settling in my chest. Same cycle, same expectations, same disappointment. They only remember me when it benefits them. When it makes them look good. I think the fuck not.
I finally arrive home, feet aching, patience worn thin. My bike is still parked outside the building, leaning against the brick like it’s mocking me. Another leak. Another thing I don’t have time to fix. I glare at it, mentally cussing it out before dragging myself up the stairs.
I unlock my door and push it open.
A familiar scent drifts past my nose. Warm, sharp, masculine. Something I’ve smelled before, but only in flashes. Only in moments when I wasn’t sure if I imagined it.
I shake it off and step inside.
But something is wrong.
Not loud wrong. Not obvious wrong. Just… off. A shift in the air. A subtle disturbance. The kind of thing you only notice when you’ve lived alone long enough to know exactly how your space feels.
I drop my keys into the bowl by the door. The sound echoes too much. My bag hits the floor. I stand there, staring into the dim apartment, heart thudding once, hard.
Something has been moved. I can’t place it yet, but I feel it. A cushion angled differently. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A faint warmth in the room that shouldn’t exist in an empty home.
Someone has been here.
My breath catches in my throat, not fear, not yet. Something else. Something colder. Something that crawls up my spine and settles at the base of my skull.
Because the scent lingering in the air… I know it.
I’ve smelled it on my skin after he stood too close. I’ve smelled it in the alley when he stepped between me and danger. I’ve smelled it in the club when he pinned that man to the wall.
He was here.
In my apartment.
Watching, waiting, close enough to touch everything I own.
I step farther into the apartment, every instinct in my body tightening at once. The air feels wrong, heavy, disturbed.
My skin prickles as though someone brushed past me a second before I walked in.
I close the door behind me and the click echoes too loudly.
My eyes sweep the room. Nothing is obviously out of place, but the energy is different. My home feels touched, shifted, entered.
My pulse climbs into my throat.
I take one slow step toward the kitchen and that is when I see it.
A small box. Sitting neatly on the counter. Perfectly centered. Perfectly placed.
I stop breathing.
I didn’t leave that there. I know I didn’t. I would never put something in the middle of the counter like that. My hands start to shake, a cold tremor running through my fingers.
Someone was here, someone walked through my home, someone stood in my kitchen long enough to put that box exactly where I would see it.
My stomach twists so hard I almost double over.
I take a step back. Then another. My breath comes too fast, too shallow. The room feels smaller, the walls closer, the shadows deeper.
I don’t want to touch it. I don’t want to know what is inside. I don’t want to confirm the thing I already feel in my bones.
That scent in the air. That presence. Him.
I grab the box with trembling fingers, holding it away from me as though it might burn. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. I can’t open it. I can’t even look at it for more than a second.
Terror surges through me, sharp and overwhelming.
I yank the door open and throw the box out into the hallway. It skids across the floor and hits the opposite wall with a dull thud.
I slam the door shut again and lock it. Once. Twice. Three times.