Page 52 of Their Starlight

I spend a little longer than usual washing my face, really working my fingertips into the skin, wanting to wash every bit of grit and grime from me. After rinsing the first cleanse away, I repeat the motion again. My mother is overly obsessed with image and used to bore me with her insistence of a thorough skincare and beauty regime. But some things have stuck and ensuring my makeup is properly removed at the end of the day, no matter how tired I am, is one of them. I rinse away the suds for a second time and blindly grab for my towel, dabbing my eyes first, I then pat dry my face and look to the mirror only to find two sets of eyes staring back at my reflection.

I gasp, turning to the doorway to see a man, I can only assume it’s a man as they’re clad entirely in black, including a woven balaclava. All I can make out is they are tall, slim, and white withdull brown eyes that are sunken into his head. There seems to be a pause as I understand what I’m seeing, and they allow me the moment. I soon catch up and spin on my heel to find something,anything, to defend myself with. Unfortunately, the intruder lunges forward at the same time. One arm wraps around my clavicle and one around my waist, trapping one of my arms in the process. I scream, clawing at the forearm at my chest with my one free hand, but their long-sleeved shirt prevents me from breaking skin, or having any affect at all.

“Shh, baby, it’ll all be over soon,” the gravelly voice is like nails in a blender to me. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and bad breath assaults my nose as his moist breath skims my cheek.

“No,” I whine, kicking my legs out and trying to shrug out of the strong grip to no avail.

I reach up to try and hit his face and mange to poke his eye, distracting him enough to loosen his grip. I wrestle myself free and make for the door, only for him to grab my wrist and yank my arm back. I feel a sharp pop in my shoulder and a jolt of pain has me crying out loud once more. Spun to face him, I slap him as hard as I can, but I can only imagine the balaclava dulled the sting somewhat. In response, his fist connects with my eye. It may as well have been made of iron with the way pain explodes at the side of my face. My cheek is swelling immediately and my eye is half closed from the sensation of it all.

I fall from the impact, and he lets go of me to allow me to hit the ground. Standing over me, he delivers an excruciating blow to my side with the toe of what I assume to be a steel-cap boot. All the air shoots from my lungs and I retch at the pain now flowing through most of my body. He drops to his knees, straddling my hips and looks down at me, I can see the intent in his dark eyes before he roughly palms my breasts over my bra.

No, no, no, no. I struggle against him, nearly heaving again at his touch and the disgusting groan rumbling from his throat as he fondles me. I cry, writhing and jerking my hips trying to dislodge him, my body protesting with every little movement as the pain continues to rage through me. But I don’t give up.

“For fuck’s sake, stay still, you little fucking bitch.”

“NO!”

I barely see the flash of silver in his fist before a sharp pain followed by icy dread spreads from a spot in my neck. Then, without any other warning the light dims, and blackness takes over.

29

BRENT

“Mr O’Reilly?” The concierge puts me on edge, the crack of nerves in his voice making my muscles tense. The phone ringing at one o’clock in the morning has dragged all three of us from our beds and I insist on being the one to answer.

“Albert? What’s wrong?”

“Uh, Mr O’Reilly sir, there’s a…a…package in the foyer for Mr Preston?”

“A package?”

“I was told to say it was a package…”

“Told to? By who? What’s going on Albert?”

“Mr O’Reilly, you need to come down immediately, Sir.”

Something is wrong, that’s for sure. Albert knows exactly who we are, the building is owned by Preston Property, and Sydney is his boss. He wouldn’t demand that I went anywhere unless it was life or death. My head is spinning trying to think of what could be waiting for Lance downstairs. I’ve heard of body-parts being sent to Sydney before, years ago. I’ve contemplated everything from a bomb to anthrax, by the time I reach the front door. Lance and Hayden are on opposites sides of the kitchen island when I pass.

“Stay here,” I bark at Lance pointing at him to punctuate my point.

Lance rolls his eyes and Hayden narrows his brow. “Everything okay?”

“Just stay here,” I repeat, not having time to explain my strange conversation with the elderly concierge.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I exit the lift into the grand glass and marble reception. Albert isn’t at his desk, there is no package to see, and the building is eerily quiet. I don’t understand. Looking around, I finally see the outline of Albert’s back through the glass doors, the gold trim of his uniformcatching the light in the otherwise black tailoring, which camouflages against the night. Annoyance ripples through me. He’s worried me only to go out for a cigarette break when I’m on my way down. I stride over to him but as I reach the door, I realise he is hunched over something on the pavement.

My anxiety rises once again as I push through the glass door. At hearing my approach, Albert turns to me, his face drained of all colour, and his features pinched in concern.

“Mr O’Reilly, I didn’t know what to do, sir. I’m not strong enough to move her.”

“Her?” I move around him to see what is laid out on the stone-cold ground, and all my breath leaves my body. “Princess?”

Elle is on her back, wearing nothing but a bra and knickers, her skin exposed to the cold autumn evening air. There is drying blood around her nose and a blue, nearly black, bruise across her cheek and eye. As well as a worryingly dark bruise over her ribs and the side of her stomach, her arm looks wrong, but I can’t determine why. My biggest concern is that she is unmoving, and her eyes are closed.

“What the fuck happened?” I growl, dropping to my knees next to Elle’s prone form, putting my ear to her chest.

“A car pulled up and a man wearing a balaclava got out, opened the back door, and dragged the poor thing out, just leaving her on the pavement. I went out to help and he pulled a gun on me. Told me to call up to Lance Preston’s apartment and tell him there was a package for him at reception. Then, he got back in the car and drove off.” Albert’s voice breaks as he describes the events to me. If it had been anyone but Elle in front of me, I might have taken a moment to comfort the old man, tell him that everything was alright and that he’d done the right thing. But in this moment, all I can think about was my woman. “He got in the passenger side, Sir. If that helps at all.” I’ve stopped listening to him.

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