Page 10 of White Wings of Desire

His long fingers effortlessly envelop my slim wrists, his grip tight. I tilt my head back to look at him. He is towering over me at what I assume to be about 6'5.” This close, I have a perfect view of his strong jawline and clean, shaved face. His eyes are a bright green, with small hazel dots framing his black pupils. He's even more handsome up close than I could have ever imagined, after having only seen him from a distance.

And then there is his smell, the one I've become familiar with, yet remains completely foreign to me. The same seductive combination of his aftershave and cigarettes that clung to the glove fills my lungs, a scent I can't seem to get out of my system. My heart drums against my ribcage as if trying to break free: nervous, scared, excited. It’s like my body can’t decide what to feel in this situation. Each beat sends a rush of blood through my body as I maintain the intense eye contact with him. I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into the sweaty palms of my hands. I have to get away from him. I need to find a way out of here.

Chapter 10

Evelyn

I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel the cold material of his leather glove brushing against my heated skin when he cups my cheek in the palm of his hand. I flinch back when he begins to caress my face, his thumb stroking back and forth. He is being far too gentle for my taste. My whole body trembles, but with slow breaths, I try to calm myself, to prove to him that whatever he’s trying won’t work on me. I push further back, but his hold on my wrist is tight, and the trash can behind me prevents me from escaping his clutches. He has me trapped.

I open my eyes again and look up to find him staring down at me with an intensity I have never experienced before. A cold shiver runs down my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I take a deep, shaky breath and muster up the courage to speak again. "What do you want from me?"

"You know exactly what I want. Don't play stupid, My Pretty Little Thing." He says with a teasing tone in his voice. I bite my lower lip to stifle a whine. Of course, I know it; he wants me dead.

I steal a glance at the heavy metal doors leading to the fire escape. He is stronger than me; there is no point in denying the obvious physical disadvantage. I’m capable of hand-to-hand combat, but I’ve always tried to avoid it, relying on my poison or my pistols. However, I do not have access to either at the moment. My pistol is a few feet away on the ground, and my poison is in my purse, which I left in the cloakroom.

I have nothing to lose. Either he kills me right now, with little to no effort, or I die trying to escape. The latter increases my chances of survival, even if only by a little. I take a deep breath and look back into his eyes with full confidence.

"Fuck you." I spit in his face and, without hesitating, bring my leg up in one quick, powerful motion and kick him in the crotch with full force. He groans in pain and slumps forward, and for a very brief second, his grip on my wrists loosens. I take the opportunity to break free, slip out of his hold, and run for the fire escape.

Luck is on my side, and it isn’t locked. I push the heavy metal door open, force it shut behind me, and slip off my heels to run faster. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I alternate between taking two or three steps at a time, jumping up the stairs. It doesn't take long for the door to be forced open again, the heavy metal slamming against the brick wall.

"There is no point in running! I will catch you," he screams, the tone in his voice low and furious. The sound of the soles of his leather shoes striking against the cold concrete floor echoes through the stairwell. I ignore him. Thanks to my head start, I'm two flights ahead of him. To my advantage, he struggles to catch up. The staircase is narrow, and with our visible height difference, it’s easier for me to navigate the landings, rounding corners quickly and efficiently by holding on to the railing. On the other hand, he is struggling; with his tall frame, he crashes into the walls more often than not.

Now, three flights ahead, I come across an open door. I rush through, kicking the stopper aside, causing the heavy door to fall shut. I dart down the hallway, heading for the next set of doors leading to yet another set of stairs. The door I left behind flies open, slamming against the wall. I turn to look back, losing sight of where I'm going for a second, and run right into a housekeeping cart. I groan in pain from the impact and curse under my breath.

His heavy footsteps on the carpet are close enough for further concern, so I circle the cart, grab a pair of empty glass bottles, and throw them in his direction. He stops in his tracks to dodge each bottle, which shatter to pieces when they hit the floor at his feet. We both freeze for a split second. My breathing comes in short, quick, labored gasps; my pulse races as the adrenaline rushes through my body. We both stare at each other. His face is one of pure joy, a bright smile that fills me with pure rage. This bastard is having way too much fun. He reminds me of one of those predators on those wildlife documentaries on the Discovery Channel that likes to play with its prey before finally putting it out of its misery.

I catch a glimpse of a small card among the small trinkets on the housekeeping cart, and grab it before making my next move. With all my strength, I hurl the cart toward him. In the narrow hallway, with his build, it’s impossible for him to dodge it; he has to catch it. With the seconds I win, I turn and slip out through the door leading to the next set of fire escape stairs. This time, I head downstairs, jumping down the steps as fast as I can. After the fourth turn, the door slams open. But instead of taking after me, he stops and leans over the railing to look down the stairwell. I stop on one of the landings, tilt my head, and our eyes meet.

"This is worth every damn second," he says, his voice bouncing off the cold brick walls. He takes after me, his heavy footsteps thunder through the stairwell, even louder and more threatening than before. Aware of the danger, I move on faster.

Once again, it is easier for me to maneuver the narrow staircase. With only a few flights of stairs left, I have no choice but to push through one of the doors that lead to a hallway with a dozen hotel rooms. With trembling hands, I lift the key card I grabbed from the cart and unlock the room closest to me.

I rush into the room and shut the door behind me. Lifting my hands to my head, I grip my hair, pulling at the loose strands until my scalp starts to burn while I walk further into the hotel room. My breathing comes in ragged gasps, struggling to find a rhythm with each breath. In the now-silent hotel room, my thumping heartbeat is all I hear.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I pace up and down the hotel room. The soft carpet soothing for my sore feet, which ache from the rough surface of the concrete stairs. He couldn't have seen me enter this room, could he? He was still a few flights of stairs behind me, and when I closed the door, I didn’t see him in the hallway. The moment I hear the fire escape door being forced open, I jump, and my hands fly to my mouth and nose, silencing any noise that escapes me. Keeping my eyes on the small hall leading to the room door, I step further back until my back hits the wall.

For a moment, everything is silent. No sound comes from outside. Is he gone? But then, I hear the faint click of metal. I reach for the knife in my thigh holster. With a quick flick of my wrist, the knife pops open. At the sound of the latch snapping open, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I rise to my tiptoes. My whole body trembles, and I hold on for dear life to my last remaining weapon.

The hinges creak, followed by a soft thud as the door to the room falls shut. A few seconds later, he steps out of the small hall and into the room’s open space. He pulls at the bottom of his suit jacket, straightening the fabric as he leisurely strides through the room. He looks relaxed, his breathing calm and even, as if he hadn't just chased me through the hotel. He halts on the opposite side of the bed, blocking my only safe escape route. I can't jump out the window. If I don't die from the fall, I will be severely injured, and he will kill me with ease.

His eyes roam over my body like a predator sizing up its prey. Until he stops at my hands, gripping the knife as if my life depended on it. Which it does... "I'm glad you liked my little gift," he says in a cheerful voice as he slowly walks around the foot of the bed.

I look down at the knife in my hand and flinch at the realization that I chose the one he gave me. "Not one bit," I answer, my voice sharp. My palms sweating, I keep a tight hold on the knife, my eyes following his every move as he approaches me with slow steps.

"Ow, that breaks my heart. I really thought I was doing something nice for you." His lips turn into a playful pout, and he raises his hand to his chest, dramatically gripping his tie.

"I don't care, you sick bastard. Stay away from me," I warn him. But he doesn't listen and continues his slow pursuit.

When only one of a few dangerous feet separates us, I’ve had enough. I take a deep breath and lunge forward. The knife steady, I aim for his stomach. He throws his hands up in defense and jumps back, out of my reach. That stupid, shit-eating grin finds its way back to his lips. I raise the knife and aim for his shoulder next. He stands still and watches the blade come down on him, but at the last second, he jumps and dodges my attack again. I keep trying to stab him from different angles, hoping to catch him off guard, but it seems to be just another sick game for him. He dodges every swing, some with little to no effort. Others, he barely escapes the sharp blade. He himself doesn't raise a hand against me, doesn't pull a knife or a pistol on me. He just engages me in a stupid game of Whack a Mole.

"Come on, Evelyn, you can do better than that," he says, breaking the eerie silence with his cheerful sing-song voice as he dodges yet another attempt. "I know you can do it."

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