Page 15 of Tear Me Down
His face begins to turn red, brightening every second until it matches the color of my dress. Though he continues to fight back, I can tell that Damien is working hard to contain him. His teeth are gritted, and I watch as that metaphorical veil of darkness cascades over him, the resurfaced aura manifesting like a shadow and covering him as a second skin, moving and contorting to every flinch or twitch from Damien’s muscles.
As the guard’s struggle becomes more apparent, I watch as he fumbles for his pocket, clearly fishing for his weapon as Damien takes him to the ground. The same dread I felt when we were first attacked settles over my chest, instantly throwing me into the deep end of desperation and forcing me into motion.
Moving off of pure instinct, I pull my knife back out and lean on the stairs to slide it across the floor to him, almost cringing at the sound of steel scratching against the marble floor the moment I release it. He expertly reaches out and grabs it, only to use that distance as momentum to jab it into the guard’s neck. Wasting no time, he yanks it out and sinks the blade in a second time, but into his chest instead—piercing his lung and instantly silencing the man until the life leaves his body.
My mind can’t help but focus on the red rising to the surface of his skin, staining the guard’s pristine white shirt and running down his collar. Damien must have stabbed him in the right place, because unlike my previous victim, there is no squirting or squelching. I’m amazed at how subtle it is, just a gentle flow out of the newly opened flood gates with surprising fluidity.
Shoving my intrigue as far down as I can, I take a deep breath and stand up languidly, trying to ignore the subtle pain in my stomach as Damien drags the body into a nearby closet. I look around for any sign of our actions and remember the sharp clink from before. So there isn’t any evidence, I walk over and pick up his tie clip, thinking I’ll be done much quicker than him, but I'm mistaken. His arms surprise me by gripping my elbows delicately and helping me back up.
Again with the old lady assistance?
“Take it easy, baby,” he whispers.
“You just killed a man, and you’re telling me to ‘take it easy’?”
He chuckles softly in response.
“I didn’t get out of the hospital yesterday.” He slides my knife back into its sheath again and lays his hand on the small of my back, leading me away easily as I return the clip to his tie.
We walk down the hallway that now seemingly has no trace of the previous altercation and quietly make our way to the room. Damien has to pick the lock, but it doesn’t take much before it pops ajar, surprising me again. I suppose he got enough practice picking the lock to my apartment, but his skillset would point to years of training.
Upon opening the door, we notice that this office is clearly used more than the one downstairs, even in Hugo’s short time in this house. A laptop sits on top of the large, paper-covered desk, one that definitely does not normally belong in a mansion like this and is clearly older. The back wall is lined with shelves filled with books, bookends, a few folders, and what looks like older knick-knacks. It already looks dusty here, like whatever he brought with him carried the remnants of the other places he’s lived, and he’s adding this one to that collection.
Damien appears to look around the room, but instead, he's looking at the floor as he walks around, seemingly choosing where to step carefully. His face is tense and determined, like he’s afraid one of the marble slats will dip and set off a trap at the smallest weight added to it.
“What are you doing?” I murmur.
“They definitely didn’t expect anyone in here, so they didn’t clean. There are subtle prints from all of the foot traffic here. It’ll tell me what exactly they’ve been looking at.” He smirks and whispers back before following the steps over to the shelf. I can’t help but shake my head at his grin, loving how smoothly he stalks—like a dance with the devil.
I attempt to be helpful and move to the desk to look it over. The laptop, while a newer model, is clearly used often. The keys are worn, with some of the lettering starting to disappear, and as I look at the sides, I see that the USB port is barely bent inward.
“Should we take the laptop?” I ask quietly, and I feel slightly defeated as he shakes his head.
“There’s no way we’d get it out of here unseen.”
“Well, this port looks used, like he pulls something in and out of it all the time. Maybe it’s laying around?”
“I doubt it, baby girl. With all of these people here? If it's out in the open, it’s not useful.” I nod and keep looking, as my gut tells me we need whatever is on this computer. I could be wrong, and it could be filled with nothing but porn, but I'm not sure we're going to find anything else.
While Damien rummages through the shelves, I start looking through the drawers, finding more files, that actually look like site plans and permits, pens, some weird Russian medallion, and proof of sale documents. I'm about to give up and help Damien look through the shelves, but as I close the drawer, it bumps strangely and doesn’t close all of the way. I can’t leave it like that, or he’ll know someone was sifting through his desk. So, I pull it out again and attempt to close it, but it catches for the second time.
Determined to fix it, I place my hand on the wheel track to see if something is blocking it, but then I feel a strange, raised chip in the wood and huff to myself. Of course, I would break the damn thing when I’m trying to be discreet. As I go to move it enough to close the drawer, praying to whatever higher power that I don’t break it completely, it pops and clicks, drawing my attention to a now open compartment just below the main surface.
“Damien?” I get his attention, and it’s a fraction of a second before he’s next to me again. Though I’m not surprised by his urgency to stand by my side at my beck and call, I still shake my head again, practically swooning at how he treats me so tenderly. I gesture towards the three USB drives in the newly unveiled, hidden box.
“Have I told you that I love you today?” He smirks, and I giggle at his question, becauseobviously. I grab the three drives and secure them in my bra, much like I did his earpiece on our way in. “Damn. Women really do have constant pockets.” I can’t help but laugh, a little louder than I intended, momentarily forgetting that we’re supposed to be stealthy right now. I move to cover my mouth, but he just chuckles with me and grabs my hand, leading us out of the room and back down to the party.
I feel like we’re a couple of high school kids sneaking around after prom with how playful and light he’s being. Regardless of us snooping around for information on a deranged, wanted criminal, and him just killing a man about five minutes ago, it’s insane how normal it feels. How relaxed and calm I am now that we’re joining the rest of the guests and blending back in. If anyone asks, we were just having some privacy. Or fighting. Maybe both.
The loud, projected voice of Dranan Hugo talks through the speaker system, instantly fraying my nerves once again. It sounds as if he’s started his presentation already, and I’m anxious. Did it take too long? Did he notice we were gone? Are they going to find the body before we can leave? The paranoia makes my stomach cramp and churn, but I squeeze Damien’s hand and keep it together, knowing that our night is almost over.
As we walk back in, Tyler, a guy who I’m assuming is Tyler’s boyfriend, DJ, Emmett, and Linette are all in the back of the crowd towards the door, like they were waiting for us. I’m not sure how long Tyler was supposed to distract Dranan, or how much time we were really going to have, but I assume my little jealous stunt messed that up regardless.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Tyler turns and asks Damien, clearly annoyed.
“Well, it depends on when you’re talking about,” Damien replies slyly, and I playfully nudge him as he chuckles.
“You’re missing the whole presentation.” He angrily gestures to the stage.
