Chapter Text
The biting winter air burns in my lungs and stiffens my joints as I push myself to my limit on my midnight run. Every breath is both cold relief and sharp pain as my body strains with exhaustion. I should have never taken the last two weeks off. My pace has decreased significantly, and my endurance is all but shot. With each pounding step, the pain flares sharply in my ankle, and I’m forced to remember why I had to take the time off to recover in the first place.
As I near the upcoming intersection, I slow to a stop and rest my hands on my knees. My muscles burn and my ankle screams as I inhale greedy gulps of air. I lean against the cold glass of the nearest building to gather my breath. My ankle throbs in time with my frantic pulse, and I exhale a hiss through clenched teeth.
Maybe I should turn around. I’m already across campus by this point. I’m towards the trendy arts district of the downtown area by the riverfront. All around me I’m surrounded by luxury condos, organic grocery stores, and trendy boba tea shops. But it’s quiet for a Tuesday night, and there's nobody out in the streets except for the occasional Uber eats driver.
It’s in the quiet that I hear it. The sound of a muffled shout and scraping pavement. I freeze, instantly going on alert. I listen closely to the silence that follows, and strain my ears to hear past the frantic beating of my heart.
There. A muffled groan and a dull thud.
I heard it for sure, it’s undeniable. My feet stay rooted to the spot. Do I go and investigate? Should I keep going and pretend I didn’t hear anything at all? On the one hand, sounds from a sketchy alleyway are the definition of none of my business. On the other hand, if someone were hurt and I ignored them, then I couldn’t live with myself if something happened.
Decision made, my feet take cautious steps towards the sound. I find myself peering into the alleyway. In the dim light, I can make out two distinct figures.
A large man covered head to toe in black grabs another man in a bloodstained blue suit, and forcefully throws him to the ground. The man in the suit hits the pavement with a broken yelp of pain. The man in black stalks forward with confident steps, before swiftly and viciously kicking the other man in the ribs. I can hear the crunch of bone before the businessman wheezes in agony. He curls up into a fetal ball on the ground, cradling his injured abdomen.
I shouldn’t be here. That much is painfully obvious. But I don’t know what to do. Do I call the police? Should I run to get help? Do I run home? I don’t know. My indecision roots me to the spot. Panic lumps in my throat, and my heart hammers wildly against my chest. This is so much worse than anything I imagined could be happening.
The man on the ground raises his hands and clasps them together as though in prayer. “Please, I’ll give you the money, I swear!”
The man in black squats down. He grabs ahold of the collar of the businessman’s suit with a dark gloved hand, and slams his face down into the pavement.
Again. And Again. And Again.
Despite the brutality of the action, the man in black’s body is relaxed. Each move is done with a calculated precision; he exerts exactly as much force is necessary to do what he needs to. The effect is terrifying. He’s cold, calculating, powerful, and violent.
Finally, the man in black stops his brutal assault. The businessman’s face is unrecognizable with gore. His nose is broken to pieces, with large gashes across his forehead, cheeks, and chin. His eyes are swelling and bruising with each passing second. Blood streams onto the dark asphalt below. It coats the assailant’s gloves, and he wipes them off on the stained suit of the other man.
The man in black spits on the other man’s face. His derision is clear. “That was for every time you’ve said that to the boss.” His voice is low and monotonous. It’s depth slithers its way down into my nerves, and I press myself closer to the brick wall behind me. He sounds menacing, like a monster carved from the shadows. My body trembles with dread.
The man on the pavement is outright sobbing by now. The man in black stands up and moves to the other side of the body. Even though he’s facing me now, I cannot see his face. I can only see gloved hands that lift the bottom of his hoodie above his abdomen.
Pale skin stretches tight over cut, well-defined abs. His torso is partially obscured behind the black handle of a gun tucked into the waistband of his black cargos. There are tattoos that carve between the sculpted sinew of his torso, but he’s too far away and it’s too dark to see what they are. If questioned by the cops, I wouldn’t be able to identify them. But it’s clear that his body is powerful, as much of a weapon as the one tucked into his waistband.
He pulls the gun out with a lazy, confident flick of his wrist. As the hem of the hoodie drops back into place, he flips open one of the pockets on his pants to extract a long cylinder. He slowly screws it onto the barrel of the gun all while he stares down at the man whimpering at his feet.
The sobs and begging from the businessman double. Snot and tears mix with the blood on his face. He crawls on the pavement to supplicate himself at the other man’s feet. “I will give Kamo his money, I promise! By the end of the week. I swear it! I mean it this time! Please, believe me! I swear it on my mother’s grave! Please don’t kill me! Please, you have to believe me!”
The assailant just stares down at him with the silenced gun and says nothing. He towers over him with a calm, casual disdain. “No, I don’t.”
The businessman begins sobbing again in earnest. The man in black’s lack of care is clear in the detached baritone of his voice. It strikes me then just how bored he sounds. As though being tasked with carrying out this hit is an inconvenience.
The man in black aims the gun at the businessman on the ground. Without any kind of fanfare, he presses the trigger and shoots. Smoke coils in the air above the barrel of the gun. It doesn’t even have the time to dissipate before he shoots again.
The air goes still. Static stuffs my ears like cotton balls, and I can feel the blood drain from my face. I cling to the brick at my back to provide some kind of stability.
In the movies, time slows down when someone is shot. Everything focuses on the gun as it’s drawn, on the reactions and intentions written into the lines of the actors’ faces, and the split-second hesitation before the trigger is pulled. In the movies, the shot rings out loud into the air, and the victim slumps to the ground in a minimally bloody heap.
Reality is different. Time is uncaring to the tragedy; its relentless pace continues ever forward. There is no slowing down. There is no stillness. There’s only the action and the immediate reaction.
Somehow, the businessman is still alive. He collapses to the ground and rolls over to face towards me. His hands claw into the asphalt as he tries to drag himself away from the man in black. Through the blood and gore, the man sees me. It’s like I can feel it in the air the moment he does. His frantic, slow escape pauses for a moment, before he desperately redoubles his efforts.
“You…girl…help me.” He wheezes through the pain.
The man in black stalks forward three steps. He eats up the distance the businessman tries so desperately to put between them. He raises the gun again. Another silenced shot is fired straight to the back of the businessman’s head. His hand is still outstretched towards me as his body goes still.
“Nobunaga Takabe, your debt has been paid,” the man in black announces to the cold, midnight air.
I’m shaking. I can’t control it. I can no longer feel the winter’s chill. I can’t smell the salt from the riverfront, or the garbage from the nearby dumpster. My ears are ringing, but not from the silenced gunshots, but from the blood rushing through my veins. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t even think.
I just watched a hit. Like from a hitman. I just watched someone die. What the fuck do I do?
I tear my eyes away from the body on the ground, and back towards the man in black.
But the alley is empty.
Fear is immediate and instinctual. The hair on the nape of my neck stands on end. I’m being watched. Panic is ice cold as it washes over me. I feel the sudden and immediate urge to run.
I don’t even hesitate. I pivot on my heel and flee as fast as I can. From somewhere behind me I hear an annoyed ‘tsk’ before another set of footsteps thuds behind mine. I don’t even pay attention to where I’m going. I just know with a cold and brutal clarity that if I don’t stop, he’s going to catch me. He’s going to kill me.
My path takes us down two blocks of deserted commercial shops. I blindly take a right, and it leads us down a residential street. I can hardly hear over the sound of my heart pounding and my labored breathing. I’m possessed by adrenaline and anxiety. The pain in my ankle is throbbing and white-hot but I ignore it. I can’t let it slow me down.
I make a left and cross the street. I bid each step to be faster than the last. I can’t afford to break my pace. The pain in my ankle is biting and sharp. As soon as I make it to the other side of the street, my ankle rolls and gives out.
Just before I hit the ground, strong arms made of steel and heat catch me. One arm pulls tight across my abdomen, trapping my arms against my sides. The other clamps down hard across my jaw, covering my mouth. His gloved hand is huge, spanning from cheek to cheek, and crushing my jaw with his palm. My back is drawn tight into the solid wall of his body. His chest heaves along with mine as we both recover our breath. I can only just breathe through the grip he has on my face.
I’m a mouse caught in the jaws of a lion. I can only hope it doesn’t hurt as I’m devoured.
“Don’t scream or I’ll kill you,” he pants, “nod if you understand.” His voice is low and his breath is hot against my ear. His face looms close to mine, and I feel electricity prickle across my nerve endings. His gloved fingers smell like gunpowder and blood. My head swims and the edges of my vision begin to go dark. I need air. I nod my head with a jerk.
“Good girl,” he purrs. The words are cold and demeaning. He pats my cheek mockingly after releasing his grip over my mouth. I take in huge, gulping breaths of air. While I catch my breath, his hand trails down along my chin before it wraps my throat. The leather is smooth and warm against the damp skin of my neck. His thumb strokes idly against my pounding pulse while I reorient myself.
The adrenaline is a heady thing. It’s like a high. I’m hyperaware of the his scent flooding my nose. It's a mix of leather, gunpowder and blood. The heat of him burns all around me, warming my skin from the inside out. The visceral strength of his body, his power, roots me to the spot as effectively as his arms do. It’s confusing. I don’t know what to make of the reaction my body is having. A fire ignites in my chest and cheeks, while I feel warmth pool between my legs. It pulses in time with my rapid heartbeat.
“What did you see?” He asks me.
“N-nothing,” I stutter.
His gloved fingers tighten around the delicate skin of my throat. The pressure is firm and solid against my skin, and his fingers stab into the pulse points on either side of my neck.
I thrash against the hold he has over me to try to free myself and get away. I squirm against his arm, and try to kick at his legs. But he holds tight. He widens his stance and takes my stomps and kicks without so much as a grunt. My lungs burn, both from my exertion and from his strangle, and my vision swims. My heart is a hummingbird trapped in my ribcage. Fear is alive in my blood.
“If you didn’t see anything, then why did you run?” He asks in a low, taunting voice. His grip tightens, and my vision spots around the edges. “Don’t lie.”
His voice is all darkness and menace, and I tremble at the dangerous threat within it. My head feels impossibly heavy, but my body is light. The adrenaline and panic and heat swirl into a cocktail of hyper-sensation. I’ve never felt more alive. It’s the greatest rush I’ve ever felt. My core throbs.
Just as I feel like I’m on the verge of passing out, he loosens his grip. I swallow greedy lungfuls of air, and cough violently. When I swallow, my windpipe feels sore. I’m shaking in his arms, and if it weren't for his body pressed so tightly against my own, I’m sure I would have collapsed to the ground. Even my fingertips are tingling. My body vibrates with a strange energy. The heat between my legs is almost unbearable.
“Let’s try this again,” he says after a beat, “What did you see?”
I know better than to try to lie to him now. After I feel like I’ve finally caught my breath, I answer him with a wheezing voice. “Y-you beat him. That guy. A-and then y-you…you,” I stammer, my words trailing off as I find myself unable to say them out loud. My voice sounds hoarse and thin.
I can feel the rigid steel of the gun in his waistband digging into the small of my back. His face leans down until it all but rests against mine. His presence completely overpowers everything. I’ve never felt more aware of or consumed by a person in my life. It’s like every atom around me and inside of me is attuned to the man trapping me in his arms. I am completely overwhelmed by him.
“And then I what? Say it, little girl,” he demands. The authority in his voice compels me to obey.
“You shot him.” The words drift in the air like the smoke from the gun. They dissipate into the night sky before I can swallow them back down.
“I did,” he agrees easily.
His confession surprises me. I expected him to deny it, to tell me I’m lying. I want to reaffirm my accusation. Maybe he didn’t understand me.
“You killed him,” I say.
He hums low in his throat. The sound of it rumbles through my nerves, and I can feel the vibration of it inside of me. The heat of him warms me to a fever pitch. Terror and desire lance through me like twin bolts of lightning.
He looms over me, all menace and shadow. I feel like cornered prey that’s being toyed with by a hungry, determined predator. Dread is a tangle of glass in my ribs. Blood rushes through my veins, drowning out all thought. The heat between my thighs begs for friction.
“You’re a royal pain in my ass, Princess,” he says while tightening his grip on my throat, “I don’t like witnesses.”
The fear that strikes through me is ice cold. My heart pounds viciously and I worry I’m going to have a heart attack. It isn’t his grip around my neck that prevents me from breathing, but the primal, animalistic terror going haywire inside of my system.
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I vow through the panic. Tears spring in my eyes. My heart feels like it’s caught in my throat. I have to make him believe me. I have to. It’s the only way I’ll make it out of here alive.
The hand that grips my throat trails downwards, and ghosts along the curve of my body. The deadly cocktail of adrenaline and arousal ignite with the promise of sensation from his hands. I shiver against him, and a trail of fire blazes along my nerves in its wake. I don’t understand my body’s reaction.
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
I hear the sound of metal unsheathing, and he raises his hand to the light.
My heart stops. My blood races and my lungs seize.
There, clutched tight in his gloved palm, is a knife. It’s all black, with a long handle and small, flared guard. The blade is narrow, but long, almost seven inches, and double-bladed with a lethal spear point. There are serrations along the middle point to an inch above the bottom of the blade. It’s a knife made for lethal combat. It’s absolutely terrifying.
I tremble hard in the man’s hold, dread poisoning every cell in my body until I can’t even think beyond how terrified I am.
He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die.
A whimper escapes my lips, and I shrink into his body, shying away from the knife as much as I’m able. Tears sting my eyes.
“Shhh,” he coos low against my ear, “I’m not gonna hurt you. Not if you listen to what I say. Understand, Princess?”
I shakily nod my head. I can’t tear my eyes away from the knife. He pulls it in towards me slowly, and trails the lethal point of it along the my upper thigh. I can feel my heart in my throat, and tears blur my vision.
His face lowers right next to mine. I can feel his next words as they brush along the sweat-slicked skin of my cheek. There’s a soft material that separates us, but I feel the heat of him all the same. He must be wearing some kind of face covering or mask.
“Tell me you understand. Use your words,” he demands.
His voice is a low, dark constant. His tone is deceptively soft, almost soothing, despite the threat of violence he trails over my body. The blade skims up my torso, over where his arm keeps me bound, and up along the path of my running jacket’s zipper. Every nerve ending in my body is attuned to the slow drag of the blade. Despite the barely-there pressure he exerts, I feel it as clearly as if it’s dragging against my own skin.
“I understand,” I whisper.
He guides the knife between my breasts. My instincts scream at the threat, and I shrink back into him, pressing our bodies as tight together as they can go. The rigid metal of his gun digs painfully into my back at this point. His body is not any softer, acting as a solid, warm wall that keeps me trapped exactly where he wants me. There is no yielding softness to him at all. He’s all hard edges, primed and ready for violence.
Through the overwhelming terror, my adrenaline ignites my body with want. The lethal promise of the blade sends shivers down my spine, and my nipples pebble into tight, hard peaks. He eases the tip of the blade into the small hole in my zipper pull, and guides it slowly down.
The thrill of the danger of the blade so close to my skin catapults my brain into a heady fog. The crisp winter air feels almost like a relief against my overheated skin. He unzips my jacket entirely, and exposes my torso and sports bra. The weight of his gaze is a physical thing as it sweeps down my body. I shiver with heat at the impression of his touch.
“Here’s what you’re going to do, Princess. You’re going to try to convince me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
When he touches the knife to my skin, I gasp. The metal is cold, and the blade is so sharp I can hardly even feel it. He drags the flat side of it along my skin, and I tremble hard against him. Tears blur my vision and trail down my cheeks.
Panic warps and twists my body into a hyper-sensory thing, and the feeling is magnified tenfold. My nerves flare and dance with every minute drag of the knife against my skin as he trails it slowly upwards, making his threat of violence clear. The high of adrenaline sings in my blood. My core throbs, aching and empty. I whimper and can only hope that he mistakes the sound for fear. Goosebumps raise my skin in an identical path where the knife touches me.
The heat and scent of blood and gunpowder overwhelm me, and I squirm in his arms. With how tightly we are pressed together, there’s no way he can’t feel what he’s doing to me. Humiliation flushes my cheeks, and my tears fall in earnest now. The slow, calculated drag of the blade reduces every sensation down to its lethal point. The slick of my arousal saturates the thin fabric of my leggings.
He drags the knife upwards until it rests at my throat. The edge of the blade is feather-light where it kisses my skin. My pulse is wild beneath the metal, and the heat between my legs is all but unbearable. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would only take a few seconds of hard, fast friction against my clit for me to come.
“I’m waiting, Princess,” he purrs.
There’s a dangerous edge to his voice that is every bit as lethal as the blade he holds at my throat. I swallow, and feel the knife bob along with the motion. I have no idea what to say. My mind is trapped within a fog of adrenaline, fear, and arousal. Still, my mouth and tongue work together, babbling along the words my brain doesn’t register.
“I won’t tell anyone. I won’t report anything. Please, just let me go. You’ll never see or hear from me again. I promise,” I plead, “I won’t go to the police. I won’t say anything if they ask me. Please, believe me. Please, please, please.”
The knife is steady against my throat. His hand around my waist loosens before slithering along my side. His gloved hand trails against the exposed skin of my torso. The warm, soft leather contrasts with the cold metal of the blade at my throat. His hand is huge, spanning half of my waist. His hand is on a steady, confident path that ignites my blood under my skin and makes me tremble harder against him.
The alien feeling of the leather makes me burn. I want him to touch me everywhere. I want him to stuff his gloved fingers deep inside of my cunt and make me come. I want to feel his fingers pull and twist and roll my aching nipples. My eyes flutter at the thought, and my back arches into him, pushing the swell of my ass harder into his hips. The gun at his waist is as solid and unyielding as he is.
He pulls at the side of my jacket, and reveals the inner concealed pocket. His deft fingers unzip the small pull and retrieve my cardholder from inside. He pulls it out, and with a flick of his fingers, he slides up my ID.
“I want to believe you, Princess. Really, I do,” he says almost amicably, “since you beg so pretty for me.”
He slides my ID back into place and puts my cardholder back in my pocket. He even does up the zipper again, and makes sure it’s securely in place.
Then his broad hand flattens against my torso. He presses me tighter into his body. My skin pebbles with a feverish want I can’t even begin to try to understand. My skin glows and a flush blooms bright across my torso right down to where his hand rests solidly against me. My core throbs, and I clench my thighs tight to relieve some of the ache.
The tears that prick my eyes are less ones of fear now, and more ones of shame. I’m so close to the edge. I’ve never even considered that violence would have this effect on me. I didn’t think it was possible. There must be something wrong with me. He catalogues my body’s reaction, with twitching fingers.
“You’re being so good for me, Princess,” he purrs, “so obedient.”
The praise sends sparks of want shooting through my body, and I simper in his arms. His fingers begin to rub slow circles on my lower abdomen, mere inches away from my pulsing, needy core. The sensation is near torture.
I want his hands off of my body. I want his hands lower. I want to feel them wrap around my throat again. I want to feel them deep inside of me, bringing me to an orgasm I can’t admit that I want. That I need. I want his hands to restrain me and make me come over and over and over again.
“I’ll tell you what,” he offers, “Since you’re being such a good girl, I’ll give you a chance.”
The relief that floods me is overwhelming. I can do nothing more than sob, as my body sags in his hold.
But he doesn’t give me a moment to revel in his mercy. He tilts my head back into his shoulder with the tip of the blade. The darkness of his hood looms over me, all malice and danger. I’m reminded again that I have no idea who this man is, or what he looks like. I cannot see his eyes, but I can feel them on me, following the path of my tears, and studying my reactions. Reveling in them. Sadist.
“Just one chance.” He affirms.
The relief and fear and threats and feeling of his hands on me are overwhelming. I don’t know how or what to think. It’s like every instinct in me screams to stay as docile and submissive to him as possible.
“Thank you,” I breathe out as my tears start to calm down.
“Don’t thank me yet, Princess,” he growls.
The hand on my abdomen constricts me harder. He angles the knife so the blade is tight against my throat. It’s so sharp I can’t even tell if it pierces my skin or not until a trickle of blood trails down the sweat-slicked skin of my collarbone.
“If you so much as think about snitching, I won’t hesitate,” he vows, “There is no place you can run that I won’t catch you. There is nowhere that you can hide, that I won’t find you. Pray to any god you want, none of them will save you. I will hunt you to every corner of this forsaken earth, and when I have you, I will fucking destroy you.”
My core pulses at his dark threats. I feel the promising heat of his stare as his glares down at me. My arousal blazes under the force of his threatening personality. I believe him and his vows. I shiver against him, and press my thighs tight as liquid heat spreads from the weighty pressure of his palm to my core. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as his hand slowly trails lower and teases along the edges of my underwear through my leggings.
Every molecule in my body is attuned to the slow, patient way that he touches me. My chest heaves with my uneven breaths, and my spine arches. I’m greedy for more of him. He might be an evil, murdering psychopath, but he’s shown he could be reasoned with. Maybe if I keep being good, he’ll continue to reward me. I crave his reward with a tangible need. The heady high of my desire has fogged any semblance of rationality I have left. All I know is the burning need inside of my core.
As if he can read my thoughts, he taps the blade against my pulse. “Don’t mistake my decision for mercy, Princess. I can’t wait to watch you bleed for me. I can’t wait to taste it.”
I shudder against him, and my eyelashes flutter. My core pulses around nothing, and my arousal has thoroughly drenched my underwear. I can’t restrain the whimper that escapes from my throat, and I shift my hips against him. We’re so tightly pressed together, that I know he can feel what he does to me. His fingers twitch where they rest just above my mound.
Then they start to drag lower.
And Lower.
Almost.
A door slams behind us.
The man goes rigid with tension. I can feel his muscles coil as he freezes. My heart hammers against my ribs as reality crashes into me. He moves to quickly sheath his knife, and hides the weapon from view. My brain stutters to a halt with my ears straining as I catch the sound of footsteps.
Someone is outside. This is my chance.
With lightning quick reflexes, the man spins me around so that I’m facing him. The hand on my torso wraps around my back, and pulls me tightly into him. In a split second, he yanks down his face covering. I open my mouth to scream.
I barely get a chance to see the shape of his wide mouth and sharp, chiseled jaw before he slams his lips into mine.
The collision of our mouths is forceful. He greedily swallows the beginnings of my cry for help. I’m frozen in shock as his plush lips devour my own. My brain stutters to a halt as I’m overwhelmed by the scent of leather, gunpowder, and blood, and the decadence of his rich taste as he licks at my lips. He's relentless as his lips move over mine, prying pleasure from deep inside of my core with every swipe of his tongue.
His hand threads through the hair at the nape of my neck, and pulls tight with an ironclad grip. I gasp as the pain flares throughout my spine, and he swallows the sound with a muffled groan. I cannot tear myself away. I can only take the brutal claim of his lips on mine. My hands raise to push against his chest, but he’s too strong. He doesn’t budge.
We are the perfect pantomime of a couple lost in the throes of passion.
I hear the beep of a car unlock. He kisses me harder, and my body burns with want. The car door unlatches, right before the slam of it closing. It's like all of my racing thoughts are silenced, and I am left with the craving for more. I lean into him, grabbing at the back of his head to pull him deeper into me. He groans against my lips, and the sound echoes in my brain. I want to hear it again. I want to feel it against my skin. The ignition of the car roars to life. His hands tighten on my body as he grinds his pelvis into mine. He angles our kiss in such a way that he can keep an eye on the car. The hand cradling my head wraps tighter in my hair, keeping me exactly where he wants me so he can continue to plunder my lips. The strain of his thick cock is as hard and rigid against my lower abdomen as the barrel of his gun. It ruins me with want to know that I’m not the only one affected by what we’ve done. He’s possessive, almost animalistic, as he sucks and nips and teases at my mouth with avid hunger. It scratches the primal itch in my brain that craves domination and power.
The car pulls out of the driveway and drives off. His lips detach from mine, and if it weren’t for his ironclad grip on my neck, I would have chased after them. A trail of saliva connects our lips, and I lick at it, savouring the taste of him. He saturates my senses in a way that makes me pulse with need. I hate myself for the way that I yearn for more of his taste.
I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not from just a kiss. My arousal stains my underwear and leggings with my desire for more. My nipples are stiff peaks that strain for his touch. The thought of him rolling and pinching them between the smooth leather of his gloves makes me drip. I arch further into him, mind fogged with pleasure, and hope he'll continue where we left off.
“Fuck, Princess. Who knew you’d make such a perfect alibi?” He groans against my lips.
Clarity dumps over me like ice water, and I push him off of me. This time he relents and steps back. The space between us fills with winter air and the sounds of our uneven breathing. My return to reality is cold and cruel. Self-loathing lumps my throat and I struggle to swallow past it. My chest heaves and my lips sting. Liquid heat and aching need pulse between my thighs, betraying just how close I am to falling apart for this man. For this murderer.
He’s right. He just gave himself the perfect alibi. And I just enthusiastically helped him.
What am I doing? I just watched this man commit cold-blooded murder. He’s threatened to kill me with a knife to my throat. The person leaving was the perfect excuse to catch him and save myself. Instead, I kissed him back, and begged him with my body to go further.
There must be something wrong with me. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never responded like this to anyone. I feel lost, like an alien in my own body. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Despite facing towards him, I can hardly make out what he looks like behind the deep shadows of his hoodie. He hides his identity completely. There’s not a single thing about him that I could identify from a lineup.
“That’s our cue, Princess,” he says with a purr, “and for what it’s worth, I am sorry.” His tone is ice, and it sets me on edge immediately. The panic that’s been simmering inside of me flares to life once more, and my heart pounds.
“What are you sorry for?” I ask him in a small voice.
I hate how scared I sound. How weak. But he just pulls up the neck gator around the lower half of his face, obscuring what very little I could see of his wide mouth and sharp chin.
“For lying,” he answers coldly. There’s a predatory edge that settles over him. He doesn’t even need to pull out his knife or his gun to scream violence and danger. I tremble, and take a half step back. The pain in my ankle rolls through me and I whimper.
“Lying about what?” I ask him. I keep my eyes trained on him, anticipating what he’s going to try to do to me. Is he going to kill me after all? The thought makes me shudder, and adrenaline soars in my veins.
He moves forward with a slow, confident step, eating up the scant distance I’ve tried to put between us. The darkness of his hood stares down at me, and I can feel the weight of his eyes like a physical touch. He’s all menace and shadows.
“I told you that as long as you listened to me, I wouldn’t hurt you,” he reminds me, “but I’m afraid I had to lie. Sorry, Princess.”
His hand strikes out like a viper, and wraps around my throat. Immediately, my hands fly to grab at his wrist. I pull and claw at his arm, but all I end up doing is pulling up the sleeve of his hoodie. My nails rake at his skin, raising sharp red lines that carve through the dark tattoos decorating his pale skin. I can’t make out what they are. Not when all of my attention is on the hand pressed unrelentingly into the pulse points of my neck.
I choke out a cry, but it’s just a garbled noise that’s immediately swallowed up by the night. He’s impassive as he strangles me. I’m reminded of how bored he’d looked earlier when beating that man to the brink of death. The edges of my vision darken, and stars swim across my eyes. My head throbs while my body feels like it’s floating. He leans in close and whispers in my ear.
“I really didn’t want to have to hurt you, Princess. You responded so beautifully to me. So perfectly. I won’t forget that. I promise.”
My strength wanes. I feel my body go limp. He catches me before I can fall, an imitation of the way he held me close to him earlier. He closes the distance between us, pressing his cloth-covered mouth to mine. I fall unconscious with his taste on my lips and the scents of gunpowder, blood, and leather clouding my head.