Page 40 of Catch Me When I Fall

I always leave it on.

A gentle breeze fluttered around me, the curls around my face brushing against my skin as I looked over my shoulder. The street was quiet, all lights in the houses around me out, leaving only the streetlights down the way to brighten the area as the stars and moon loomed above me, the smell of sea salt in the air. I turned back around, watching the tulips in the garden sway for a moment before I focused on the darkened porch again.

“Maybe the bulb burnt out,” I mumbled, fishing out my phone and clicking on the flashlight.

My steps were soft as I made my way to the front door, holding the light to the lock. After a few seconds of fumbling, I finally managed to get the door unlocked, despite my arms being full. I stepped inside, the house just as quiet as the street outside, and kicked the door shut behind me.

I’d purchased a small entry table to go in front of the seagull painting last week. I carefully set my camera down, tossed my bag beside it, followed by tossing my keys into the bowl on the far side of the table before turning and locking the door.

Sighing once more, I reached behind my head and let down my curls, tossing the clip into the same bowl. I shook out my curls, my scalp thanking me as my fingers messaged it. My eyes closed as a whimper left me before I let my head fall back as I gave it one more shake.

Once that was done, I flicked on the living room lamp by the front window and turned to head to the kitchen—

I stopped short, a scream catching in my throat as my body froze.

The shadow man was in my living room.

In. My. Living. Room.

Breathing was no longer an option as I stared at the man sitting on my sectional, his knees spread wide, leaning back against my cushions, his face still hidden in the shadows. He was big—huge, even, with massive legs hidden underneath black cargo pants that clung to his muscles, matching the black thermal shirt on his upper body. His arms were hanging down, his fists resting atop his powerful thighs. My eyes caught the coloring of his tattoos on said fists: red and white. I couldn’t make out what they were, though, but I wanted to know—desperately.

He took up half of my sectional by just sitting, but I didn’t want him to move.

I wanted us to stay as we were, staring at each other as time passed us by.

Eventually, the initial shock of him being in my house faded, and I could breathe once more.

“Are you here to kill me?” I whispered.

His right hand flexed, his fingers stretching outwards before curling back into a fist again. My heart skipped a beat, and then two more when he answered. “No.”

The sound of his voice overwhelmed me, shielding me away from the world. It was deep, sharp, rough. I’d never heard anything like it before, and I would do anything to hear more. There was something about this man that compelled me, forced me to remain calm. Even though I asked the question, deep down, I already knew the answer.

If this man had wanted to kill me, he would’ve done so already.

Swallowing my sanity, I asked another question. “Are you going to hurt me?”

A noise came from him, sounding like something between a sigh and a grunt. Goosebumps cascaded down my spine as I stood before him, hanging by a thread.

“No.”

Exhaling, I nodded, accepting his answer as the truth. “Well, that’s good, I suppose,” I told him softly.

He said nothing, his face still in the shadows.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You’re my mark.”

All at once, the feelings of excitement and possibly even desire dissipated from me, but the goosebumps remained, my body going cold. “Excuse me?” I breathed, my eyes going wide as my chest heaved. I took a step back then, ready to run.

I was his mark—his target—but he wasn’t here to kill me…

Meaning, he was a fucking bounty hunter.

He remained silent, watching me retreat, but when I’d made it over to the entryway table, reaching for my keys, he spoke again. “Mrs. Hale, I am not in the mood to chase you down,” he said, his voice indifferent. I looked back to him, and my heart stopped all together as he revealed himself to me.

The man leaned forward, his face coming into the light. My lips parted at the sight of the scar on his face, rough and jagged, running from his temple, over his cheek, and disappearing into his short, dark beard. His lips were perfect, contrasting with his nose, which looked like it had been broken a time or two. Despite the hair covering his jaw, I could tell it was clenched…which was bad for me. His eyes, like I suspected, were dark, just like his hair.

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