Page 119 of The Tattoo Artist

He shook his head.

“I won’t leave you,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “I can’t lose you.”

The seconds ticked away, and the train drew nearer, it is monstrous presence casting a dark shadow over us. I knew that if Ares didn’t leave now, we both face a tragic end.

And no one likes a tragic ending.

Except for Shakespeare.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

ARES NICOLAIDES

TWO YEARS AGO

IWATCH AS SHE SLAMS THE DOOR BEHIND HER, rushing up towards my car as she slides inside. “Alex?” Tears fall down from her eyes, a sight I hate seeing. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Just drive Ares.”

As I pull away from the curb, the tension in the car is intense. I steal glances at her, noting the tear tracks staining her cheeks. “You want to talk about it?” I ask softly, keeping my eyes on the road.

She shakes her head, her gaze fixed out the window. “Not really. Just... had an argument with my parents.”

I nod, understanding. Sometimes silence is the best comfort. But I can’t shake the feeling that something serious is bothering her. “You know I’m here for you, right?” I offer, hoping she’ll open up.

“Can you please just take us to the cabin?”

“That’s where I’m going now.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I just hate them so much.”

“What’s going on? Alex, please talk to me.” I ask.

“They lied to me; my entire life Ares is a lie.”

“What do you mean?” She turns away from the window, and I follow suit for just a moment.

One fucking moment.

All I wanted to do is make sure she isn’t crying, to make sure she is okay but when I turn back to face the road. Suddenly, the tranquillity of the drive is shattered as a car swerves unexpectedly into our lane. I jerk the wheel to the side, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I try to regain control. Tires screech against the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air as our car skids precariously.

With a sickening lurch, we fishtail, spinning out of control. Time seems to slow as I fight to keep us on the road, but it’s a losing battle. The world outside blurs into a whirl of lights and shadows as we careen towards disaster.

The impact is brutal, a deafening cacophony of metal crunching and glass shattering. The force of the collision sends us tumbling, the air thick with the sound of twisted metal and the sharp tang of fear.

My body is thrown forward with bone-jarring force, the seatbelt cutting into my chest as the world spins around me. Through the chaos, I catch a glimpse of her, her face contorted in terror as the car rolls, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through my body.

Finally, with a sickening thud, the car comes to a rest, the eerie silence that follows broken only by the sound of my laboured breathing.

My eyes slowly begin to open, and I turn my head to realise that Alexandra isn’t in the car. The windscreen is gone. “Alexandra!” I shout, my voice hoarse with fear as I struggle to push myself upright. Pain shoots through my body, but I push through it, my mind consumed with the need to find her. I undo my belt and push the creaking door open as I fall out of the car.

I stagger out of the wreckage, the world spins around me, my senses reeling from the impact. The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and gasoline, and the distant wail of sirens echoes in the night.

“Alexandra!” I call out again, my voice raw with desperation as I scan the darkness for any sign of her. But there’s no response, no trace of her amidst the chaos.

With every step, pain lances through my body, but I push through it. The ground feels unsteady beneath my feet, my vision swimming as I stumble forward, my hands shaking as I search for her in the wreckage.

And then, through the haze of pain and confusion, I see her. She lies motionless on the ground, a few feet away from the twisted remains of the car. My heart lurches in my chest as I rush towards her, my breath catching in my throat.

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