Page 5 of Encounter

Jerking in the chair, I turned after a loud, clashing noise came from behind the half-open door to the room. Even my captor grew alert, hand reaching for his knife. Without giving me a second look, he stepped away and stopped in the open door. “Yo, you’re fucking fighting in there again?!” he shouted into the hallway and waited for a response.

Nothing... Not a word.

I tried to listen to the muffled sounds. A struggle? It was hard to say if the voices were arguing or something else entirely.

The man shifted on his feet, leaning into the hallway but lingering in the room with me.Does he really expect me to escape, still?

“Rick! Ty! The hell’s going on?!” he followed up, his tone progressively more tense and frustrated. My fear somewhat subsided to leave space for the growing curiosity as I tried to lean to the side to see what was happening in the hallway. There were always people coming in and out, though I had no idea what conspired in the other rooms.

Now, there was rattling silence.

The man growled to himself. “Fucks’ sake.” It looked like he was going to dig his phone out of his pocket, but the moment he turned around, something hit him.

Falling onto his back, he screamed. As the crimson spilled on the floor under him, I saw the projectile was a knife lodged in his upper chest. It happened so fast.

With fear sending a current of electricity through the middle of my body, I rattled in the chair while the goon tried to collect himself.

Is this some kind of organized crime retaliation? Just myluck.

When I leaned to the side to see the hallway again, my heart stopped at the sight of the incoming figure. As he stopped in the door, he nearly filled it with his muscular physique. My pulse pounded in my ears, deafening, as the man came closer to the thug who still tried to recover from the pain of the initial attack.

“The hell...” Noticing the incoming threat, the thug pushed himself away, leaving a bloody smudge on the floor. “Fuckin—”

Before he could reach for the gun at the back of his pants, another knife swished through the air, this time piercing his palm in the middle. The scream that followed—so guttural and agonizing—forced my eyes shut. I turned my face away, cowering in the chair and praying to every deity, God or an entity out there to not end up the same way.

In terror, I listened to the heavy steps. They got closer and closer to the wheezing, panicked criminal on the ground. I listened to the screams, the pleas, and then the sound of another knife going through the flesh. Choking, rasping breaths—which were probably my captor’s last—eventually quieted down, slowly fading away until that last, strung out inhale and then... Silence again.

Then, mumbling—barely audible over the pounding of my heart. The newcomer sighed.

Even knowing the thug who threatened me was gone—unable to hurt anyone ever again—my pulse kept spiking, and my body tensed up in panic. The image of the flowing crimson was carved into my psyche, the smell of it overwhelming my senses.

I held my breath as the steps came closer and stopped right in front of me. I sensed the man’s presence. A part of me wanted to look, but another wanted nothing more than to hide, to disappear and never have to see anything ever again.

“Hey.”

I twitched away from him when he poked my shoulder, and finally opened my eyes.

His boots were stained with blood and dust. As I slowly elevated my gaze, I saw that this person wasn’t like the rest. Not a street thug, a gangster, or whatever they all were—his clothes were tactical, like a soldier’s.Some kind of a professional?

“You listenin’ to me? Galen?” His tone turned more urgent, so I finally lifted my head to look him in the face.

I darted my tired eyes over him. Light brown skin. Short, black hair, pushed back aside from a few strands falling in the middle. A thick beard—pretty impressive one, if I can even appreciate such things in a moment like this.

“Hey!” Snapping his fingers in front of my face made me blink. I noticed that in his other hand, the man still held a knife. The same knife he killed the kidnapper with.

“I...”Don’t look. Don’t look, I screamed at myself in my mind, but some twisted part of me couldn’t help it. Turning my head to the side, I saw my kidnapper lying there—eyes wide open, skin pale. A face forever capturing the terror he felt right before dying.

Every single aspect of that horrendous situation came together at once, and the man jumped away barely in time to avoid as I projectile-vomited right in front of his feet. “Fuckin’ hell!” He scoffed. “You’re alive at least. Lucky me. You injured?”

He really came to save me?

With the burning in my throat subsiding and the nausea finally easing, I kept telling myself that I was safe. That this man, no matter the death he caused, was my savior.

“No,” I finally responded through a low whisper, shaking my head.

Resting his foot on the edge of the chair, the man leaned closer. “Great,” he said, and as he reached toward me with the knife, I instinctively jerked away. “Stay still,” he barked.

Thankfully, he only used it to cut off the zip ties.

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