Page 1 of Fall

1

Willyou let us in to play?

The words echo inside my head as I stand there, blocking my door as I look over the faces of the men who fucked me to within an inch of my life last night, and came close to murdering me. In fact, there were several moments I was sure theyweregoing to murder me, all things considered.

I should tell them to leave.

I should call the cops and spill my guts about what they’d done.

What I absolutely shouldn’t be doing is trying to remember if I picked up my dirty laundry from my bedroom floor so they won’t think I’m a mess of a person.

“I…” With no idea what to say, I take a step back in the small entryway to my apartment, my back hitting the closet behind me. “Y-you want to come in?” God, I wish my brain was working correctly this morning. But I’ll blame the chloroform soaked rag for that, even if it’s long dissipated from my system.

Ravage smiles almost sweetly, arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed on my porch. “Are you telling us no?”

That has me shaking my head, and I gesture with flicks of my fingers, trying to communicate in spontaneously made up sign language that they’re allowed to enter.

Though it isn’t until Harrow closes the door behind them that I question my decision. They’remurderers.And while I’m not sure what the minimum body count is to be considered serial killers, I’m starting to wonder if they’d qualify for that as well.

Fuck,maybe this is an awful idea.

But I only get to have a few more seconds of internal crisis, because Ravage is suddenly right in front of me. His eyes search my face as he reaches out to press a hand to the closet door beside my head and leans his weight against it. “Well?” he asks.

He doesn’t say anything else, and my mind races while I try to figure out if I’m missing some important context clue or maybe blacked out for the first part of his question. Based on the last twelve hours of my life, I wouldn’t put it past my brain to have some oxygen-deprivation induced trauma. Belatedly, I realize Harrow closed and locked the door, which does absolutely nothing for my panicking heart.

“Well…?” My brows climb toward my bangs as I wait for Ravage to give me something else to go on. My fingers press to the closet door behind me, and from the corner of my eye, I watch Harrow stride up the stairs like he owns my damn apartment.

Ravage snorts and leans closer. “You were willing to risk your life to see my face last night,” he purrs, face inches from mine. “So tell me, princess. Was it worth it?”

Oh.

Oh…

Tentatively, I reach up and drag my fingers down his jaw, toward his full lips. He’s almost sweetly handsome, as opposed to Harrow’s sharp, model-like looks. They’re a perfectly opposite pair, like two ends of the attractive murderer spectrum.

“You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?” I murmur while trying to sound braver than I feel. “And it wasn’t like a conscious choice last night to try to pull your mask off. I didn’tmeanto.”

“You didn’t seem to mind the consequences very much.” He turns to brush his lips along my palm, and I jerk slightly in surprise. That only makes him chuckle, then Ravage pulls away to jog up the stairs after Harrow.

It leaves me staring at my apartment door from the inside, alone, and wondering why the hell I let them in. I stand there for too long, eyes fixed on the faux-wood grain until I swear I start seeing patterns in it.

A sudden knock jolts me out of my thoughts, and for one brief, stupid moment I wonder if the last couple of minutes had all been a figment of my overactive imagination. I push off the closet door, reach for the doorknob, and turn it with no idea of what or who I’ll find on the other side.

When my eyes land on two uniformed officers, my heart drops immediately. I glance up the stairs, suddenly sure there’s some kind of manhunt going on for Harrow and Ravage, and that they’re here to lie low like high-ranking members of the mob.

“Noa Torrance?” the shorter, friendlier looking officer asks. There’s an indulgent, almost condescending smile on his face as he looks me over. “Is that you?”

“Yeah?” I croak. I’m sure I look petrified, but I’m not sure how to fix that. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just here to check on you.” The man gives me a nod. “Could we step inside?”

Oh,right.My shoulders fall in relief as I remember Sierra called the officers here to make sure I wasn’t dead, dying, or approaching that point. It makes sense, after my lack of communication last night, but it’s not as if I can tell her the truth about what happened.

“Yes, absolutely. I’m so sorry. Sierra called you, right?” I beckon them inside, refusing to look around like I’m expecting the two guys to pop up. There’s no way for them to know I’m not alone, and even if they did, there’s no reason for them to suspect Harrow and Ravage of committing a crime or twenty.

“Your friend is pretty worried about you,” the taller, dark-eyed officer tells me. “She said she couldn’t get a hold of you all night and that you were acting a little weird on the phone. She’s a pretty good friend in my book, since she wasn’t willing to just let it go.” He looks at his partner, then back at me. “She let us know you have a bit of a history of dropping contact with people when you’re struggling.”

Of course she told them that. But I can’t really blame her when she’s right. It dawns on me then that this probably resembles a few otherincidentsof me going off the reservation mentally that she’s dealt with over the course of our friendship.

---