Page 5 of Under Your Scars
The Silencer.
No.Absolutely not. I didn’t intend on meeting him last night and I’m not going to get myself tangled in whatever the fuck he’s been up to. I hold my breath and tiptoe backwards. I let out a shrill of fear when the Silencer’s hand catches me by the ankle and tugs me so hard that I lose my footing and fall onto the concrete next to him. I barely manage to catch myself before I completely eat it.
I try to crawl away quietly, but his grip on my ankle isn’t letting up. I kick him roughly in the head and he looks up at me, half-annoyed with his brows knitted together. That’s when I notice the blood on his hands—blood that is now coating my ankle. I stare at him for a while, my chest heaving as I try and consider alternate methods of escape.
Without thinking about the fact that it’s raining or that the Silencer has an iron grip on my ankle, I press the prongs of the taser into the meat of his arm and shock him. The electricity travels through his arm and up my leg, causing me to drop it. He loosens his hold just enough for me to wiggle out of his grasp, scramble to my feet, and start running.
I’m functioning on pure adrenaline as I sprint towards the back door of my apartment building. As my fingers wrap around the handle, I feel the Silencer grab my waist and clasp his hand over my mouth. I let out a useless cry for help and he presses me against the door. The sharp metallic smell of blood taints my senses as the warm liquid on his fingers smears across my cheek. I’m letting out panicked breaths, and I cower away from him best I can when he leans forward and whispers into my ear.
“Shut up and take me to your apartment.”
On instinct, I shake my head vehemently. He engulfs me in the scent of faded cologne, gunpowder, and cigarette smoke.
“Open the door.Now. Don’t make me ask again.”
My life comes down to two options in this moment.
I can continue to be defiant and die in this disgusting alleyway, or I can let him follow me into my apartment, in which case he’ll kill me in the comfort of my own home.
It’s not like it matters. My phone is broken, so I have no way to call for help, and everyone in this damn city fears this psychopath. No one with any sense of self-preservation is going to help me.
With a shaky hand, I type in the code to open the back door and walk inside with my mouth tightly shut. My apartment might as well be a portal to hell because as soon as we’re both inside, I hear him shut the door behind him and lock it.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trembling on the inhale and exhale. I can feel him circling me like a predator.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg with a whisper. “I promise, I didn’t see anything. Just—just leave. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”
I tense up when I hear him turn on my kitchen sink, and a moment later, he rubs a warm rag over my cheeks and lips. The action is so tender that my eyes fly open in confusion. He’s standing in front of me with one of my dish towels in his hand.
He’s wiping the blood off my face.
It catches me so off guard that I stumble backwards, suddenly feeling lightheaded but refusing to let myself pass out. I might never wake up again if I do. I use the door to prop myself up as the room spins.
“Don’t be scared,” he says, closing the distance between us and continuing to gently wipe my face. “Take a deep breath. I’m not going to hurt you.”
My lip trembles and more tears fall. “Why?”
He laughs, and it feels so out of place considering I’m shit scared and fighting the undeniable urge to scream.
“Did I hurt you last night?” he asks, and then he kneels, carefully removing my shoe and sock and cleaning the blood from my ankle, too.
“No,” I squeak.
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
The entirety of my vocabulary escapes me, and I can’t think straight. The room starts to spin again and unease twists in my gut.
“Look at me,” he commands, snapping his fingers to get my attention and then standing to his full height. “First aid kit.”
“Under the bathroom sink,” I manage to choke out, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as if he’s smiling under that mask. His gloved thumb traces over my lips.
And that’s when I finally black out.
CHAPTER 2
THE ANGEL
I sit up abruptly, gasping for air.
