Page 6 of Killing Emma

It doesn’t fucking matter.

Joke or not, I charge forward, ignoring the searing pain shooting up from the balls of my feet. I start towards the front gate, but then stop myself. There’s no way it’ll open fast enough. I veer a hard left and head for the woods on the back of the estate. I know it’s a long shot, but there’s a large oak tree in the far corner. I can climb it—I’ve done it before just for fun—and I can drop down on the other side. There’s a busy road there.

And then I’ll flag down a car.

“You’re quick for being injured, Little Red,” the monster of a man says from behind me. “This is more fun than I thought it’d be.” His insidious tone sends a shiver down my spine, and as I gasp for air, my skin torn by the brambles, it hits me.

This is the most alive I’ve felt in so long.

I’m so fucked up, having an internal therapy session while running for my life. I shouldn’t be this reflective right now, and so I go back to focusing on my physical self. My calves are burning. My feet are growing numb. My heart pounds in my head. I think it might give out soon. The darkness of the woods swallows me as I weave through the trees. The moonlight only gives the illusion that I can see where I’m going, and suddenly I can’t remember how far it is to the old oak.

“Run, Little Red, run. But this wolf’s going to catch you,” he fucking sings from behind me. However, he seems further back now. And not even close to being out of breath.

Where’s that tree? I scream internally, scanning the dark outline of the forest. I slow my pace, and as I do, I hear nothing. Did he stop chasing me? I slip behind one of the trees, resting my back against the thick bark. I gulp in oxygen, my head starting to feel light. Oh shit. I’m going to die from a heart attack.

I rest my hand on my chest, doing my best to tune my ears into the sounds around me, but all I can hear is the pounding of my heart and a high pitched ringing. Sweat laces my upper lip, and I wipe it away with my forearm. No longer hearing him, I take the moment to scan the trees again.

Did I run too far? I never went into the woods at night. I never came to them at all anymore, and my memory could be failing me—just like everything else. I’m going to end up dead, and it’ll be my own fault. I nearly groan out loud, but then I see it.

It’s right in front of me.

My eyes make out the split trunk monstrosity of a tree, arching up and over the wall of a fence. Hope drowns out the fear, and I lunge forward.

But I don’t move.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

My hands fly up to my neck, my nails digging into the thick leather strap, wrapped around my neck. A rasp of a scream slips from my mouth, and I know it’s me, but it sounds foreign.

“Do you really think you could outrun me?” A hot breath tickles my ear, sending a shudder down my spine. “I can smell your sweet sweat from a mile away, Little Red.” He lets out a feral growl as the leather tightens around my neck, fully cutting off my airways. “You know, I didn’t think you had it in you to run. I like your surprises.”

I stumble backward, trying to relieve the pressure around my neck, desperate to breathe as my vision grows darker. My back slams into the body of the big bad wolf, as he calls himself. He emits a grunt, and the strap loosens, gracing me with a dose of air. My ass presses against him, and a very unwanted surge of excitement thrums through my core.

What the fuck…No.

I’m mortified at the way I have to clench my thighs. This is disgusting. This man is trying to murder me, and I’m getting wet. My fingers stay wedged between the leather and my throat, as he pulls it tight again.

I’m going to die. My vision grows hazy again, even with my fingers wedged between. I make a squeak as my head lands against his chest. It’s not fully around my neck, but he’s literally killing me without doing so. I feel weak, and the fact I’m this easy to kill pisses me off.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my head grows light. I tip my hips back and grind into him, trying anything to get air, thinking maybe the angle will help—and it does, but not in the way I expected it to.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he rasps, sounding off from his initial tone. That’s when I realize it.

I just turned him on.

Is this how he gets off? It doesn’t sound like it is, not based on the fluctuation in his voice. Or the fact his grip just loosened.

“Fuck,” he groans as I repeat the motion.

I suck in a breath as it loosens. A black gloved hand slides down my abdomen, grazing the top of my thigh. My vision comes back, and so do my wits. My eyes fixate on the tree as I think of my fucking escape. I need that tree.

“You’re bad, aren’t you, Little Red?” he growls, dropping the strap. I gasp for air as his fingers slip up the front of my shirt. “Does a chase get you off? Or are you just toying with me?”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I rub against him. My mind wars against the forbidden pleasure and the intense need to escape. However, maybe survival means this. My thoughts dissipate as a stronger feeling pulses through my body. Maybe I’m making a mistake. But fuck, I’m alive. And clearly, this psycho is caught off guard.

Fingers brush around my throat, his breaths grow deeper as he starts to press into me. My fingers slide behind me, brushing the material of what I think is a hoodie. Tipping my head back, I catch sight of the masked face above me. He’s still, the x’s over his eyes focused straight ahead. I imagine he’s warring with himself, too, and I’m going to take advantage of it.

So, I moan. You know, a porn star kind of moan. The crickets and the other natural sounds of the night grow quiet.

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