Page 16 of Promises in the Dark

Then my eyes landed on the dead guy’s stuff. Still sitting there untouched. Impatience gnawed at me—fuck it, I needed to get out of here. No time for respect or decency, so I shuffled over to his bed, my legs still feeling wobbly as I adjusted to actually moving. I rummaged through his shit, found a ratty-ass t-shirt and some cargo pants. Whatever, it’d have to do. I yanked on his boots, but they were tight as hell, a size too small. The shirt strained across my chest, like it was begging to rip, and the pants hugged my thighs uncomfortably. Tight enough that I couldn’t move freely, but I wasn’t about to get picky.

As I pulled everything on, every movement was stiff, my muscles unused to doing much more than lying around. The pain in my stomach flared like a bitch with every adjustment, but I gritted my teeth and kept going. While I was fiddling with the pants, my hand brushed against something in the pocket—a penknife. The handle was worn from use, but the blade looked sharp enough to be useful.

I smirked, feeling like fate just handed me a small, sharp gift. Sure as hell gonna put this to good use.

Once I was dressed, the tension eased a little, but the ache in my gut didn’t let up. I took a second to steady myself, focus up. Just as I reached for the door, voices echoed from the hallway, getting louder by the second. Perfect fucking timing. I cursed under my breath and scrambled back to the bed, pulling the sheets up to my chin, trying to look like I wasn’t wearing a dead man’s clothes.

I clenched my fists in frustration, listening to the voices outside get closer. I didn’t need this shit right now.

“Dylan, I don’t want to see you right now,”a woman said adamantly.

“Please, just give me a chance to explain,”some guy was begging, sounding pathetic as hell.

“Not now, not here. Give me some space.”

He was persistent, no doubt. He replied, his voice sounding a bit frustrated.

“Come on, baby,”the man said, sounding like he was struggling to stay calm.

A loud thudding came from the door, followed by the woman’s voice again.

“I’ve heard enough of your excuses!”she spat.

“Damn it, woman, I’m not leaving until you listen to me!”His frustration turned to anger, the conversation getting heated as fuck.

What started as a distant argument was slowly turning into a heated confrontation.

“Don’t touch me!”she cried out.

Then the door flew open, and someone stormed into the room. The door slammed behind them, locking with a sharp click. I stayed still, pretending to sleep, the room now drenched in darkness except for the faint glow of a neon light casting shadows.

My eyes shifted to the woman who’d just walked in, her fiery red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and an expression that screamed devastation. First time since I’d been shot that I wasn’t fully absorbed in my pain, and, of course, I had to notice her.

Bad fucking idea.

Her eyes were bloodshot, clearly exhausted, but it was her outfit that had my blood pumping for a whole different reason.That tight tank top clung to her curves, showing off every inch of her body, and those shorts hugged her hips, leaving her long, slender legs on full display. All I could think about was having those legs wrapped around me while I fucked her senseless.

It wasn’t about her. It was the sheer starvation of touch, of intimacy, in a hellhole where blood and sweat were the only constants. But right now, with her like this, I couldn’t ignore the pull. My gaze lingered, tracing the curve of her shoulder, her collarbone, then drifting down, unbidden, to the way the fabric clung around her chest. I knew I shouldn’t let my thoughts go there—but her low-cut shirt, those bare thighs, the way she moved, casually shifting her weight—it drove something primal in me.

I couldn’t stop staring, imagining all the things I’d do to her, my mind running wild with filthy thoughts. The urge to ravage her, to claim her, was strong. God, it would be so easy to reach over, to let my hands find those curves I’d been stealing glances at for days now.

But I forced myself to shove it down, keeping it hidden under the covers. This wasn’t the time, and sure as hell wasn’t the place.

Then her sobs broke through my lust-filled haze, snapping me back to reality. She was a fucking mess, tears streaming down her face, and it hit me like cold water. This wasn’t about me or my desires. There was some serious shit going on with her.

As much as I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to care. Yeah, her tears made me uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like I was gonna suddenly play hero or comfort her. No, I was just waiting for her to either leave or pull herself together so I could get on with my plans. All her emotional breakdown did was kill my mood, my desires fading into the background.

I didn’t feel any sympathy or connection to her. I just wanted her to either fuck off or let me focus on what I had to do next. Whatever she was dealing with, it wasn’t my problem.

I watched as Red, the woman I recognized now, moved across the room like she didn’t have a care in the world. She went straight to a medical cabinet, popped it open with a key, and grabbed a tube of pills. No hesitation, no shame. Just popped one into her mouth and turned away, like she didn’t just fuckin’ medicate herself in the middle of whatever shitstorm she’s dealing with.

Trust me, Red, been there, done that.

Quick fix for a deeper problem.

Well, seemed like she gave me no choice.

I dragged myself out of bed, wincing at the pain tearing through my gut, moving as quietly as I could. I got close, real close, sneaking up behind her. The moment she turned around, I pressed the penknife against her throat, just enough for her to feel the danger. Her eyes went wide, fear snapping across her face, but she kept it together. No screaming, no sudden moves. Smart girl.

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