Page 7 of Demon Kissed
But I can’t focus on that…or anything else, for that matter. I need to get Adam away from them, and fast.
“Adam.” I’m shaking like a leaf in the wind, my attention fixated on my younger brother. His head snaps up at the urgency in my voice, his lips curling downwards. “Adam, come here.” The rest of the men stare at me with varying degrees of amusement and annoyance, but I pay them no mind. “Adam!”
“But, my friends…” My little brother trails off with a petulant frown.
“Adam, come here.” I extend my hand and wait, terror coursing through me.
Please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.
Those words repeat in my head like a song, a mantra, a prayer.
My breath whooshes out of me in relief when a rather reluctant Adam jumps from the couch and hurries towards me.
“I want to play with my friends,” he exclaims indignantly, stomping his foot on the ground. I warily glance over his shoulder at the four guys still watching me intently. The pink-haired man grins slightly as he ventures a step closer, still holding the damn coffee pot like one would hold a knife.
“Adam, why don’t you go see if Mrs. Johnson is home?” I suggest gently, speaking of our gray-haired, stern-faced neighbor. As expected, Adam makes a face.
“Ew. She’s smelly.”
I have a tenuous hold on my patience. All I know for certain is that I need to get Adam away from these men.
“Now!” I rarely, if ever, raise my voice with him, but I can’t muster the strength to be upset when tears well in his eyes. Without another word, he storms out of the house, hopefully to Mrs. Johnson’s.
Leaving me alone with the terrifying men.
I know I should leave. I know I should get the fuck out of here, but I can’t risk leading them back to Adam. I need them to focus on me, only me, until my little brother is safe. Hopefully, he’ll tell Mrs. Johnson about the strange men in our house…and hopefully, the crazy old bat won’t write it off as a “high school orgy,” as she eloquently puts it. Because, yes, she has used those words before.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I whisper, backing up a step. We have one landline phone in the living room, a few steps behind me on a decorative table. If I can just get to it…
Abruptly, the pink-haired man is standing in front of me, leaning down, his nose centimeters from my neck. He inhales deeply, body rumbling with a contented growl.
“She smells divine,” he states nonchalantly as I stagger back a step, tripping over the pleated edge of our living room rug and landing on my ass. Fear continues to pulse through me, a palpable entity.
“Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me.”
“Like…like cherries,” the crazy man continues. His boyish smile makes him look innocent, but his chiseled jawline and the manic gleam in his eyes contradicts the first impression. Goosebumps skitter up and down my spine as I duck my head, avoiding eye contact.
“Please,” I whisper, not above begging to save myself. I need to stay alive for Adam; I’m the only one he has. The acid in my stomach sluices around when instead of stepping away, the strange man ventures even closer.
“Akor,” the angel-winged man snaps, stepping away from the discarded pile of letters. “Don’t tease the human.”
Human? The fuck?
“Just take whatever you want and get out,” I repeat. Is Adam okay? Did he make it to Mrs. Johnson’s house? Did he actually listen to me for once?
“Sweet, innocent, girl.” The man with the mohawk standing above me—Akor—clicks his tongue. “So sweet. So innocent.”
Terror like no other courses through my veins, and I scramble to my feet, racing towards the phone. I’m dimly aware of Akor (what kind of fucking name is that?) laughing raucously as another one of the men scoffs.
I just need to get to the phone and dial 911. I just need to talk to the police. My hand closes over the receiver—
Just as a new pair of large arms clasp around my waist, pulling me against a hard body.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, little one,” Akor taunts from in front of me, tossing the empty coffee pot to his smartly dressed friend, who glares at it with disgust before daintily placing it on the table.
The fear I originally felt? That quickly transitions into icy anger, so potent I can practically taste it. With a fierce battle cry worthy of a fucking Oscar, I spin in the newcomer’s arms, pull back my leg, and kick the asshole as hard as I can in the nuts.
I full-on Simone Biles that shit—I swear my legs do the splits because he’s just that tall. Have you ever seen someone Dutch Dance before? That’s how high I kicked.
