Ignore the pained grunts, I tell myself over and over again like a mantra as I approach the mouth of the alleyway. There's nothing good to be found while poking around in the dark, even less so when there's noises emanating from it.
Don't look, don't look, don't look.
But fuck my life if I don't turn my head beneath the sickly pool of light shed by a street lamp the moment fire flashes from a muzzle and a body slumps heavily to the ground. And fuck my luck that I freeze up like an idiot to make prolonged eye contact with the red head holding the gun.
"A hundred says she's a runner," he says to the dark haired man beside him.
He's dead wrong. I'm not a runner, not under any circumstance but I could make an exception.
His boyish laugh echoes behind me as he gives chase.
I should have minded my fucking business, I lament, my lungs squeezing half a block away. Shit, why the fuck am I so unfit? If there were zombies, I'd die first.
"Stop fucking playing and catch her!"
My pitiful attempt at a last burst of speed gets me nowhere before a hard body collides with my back.
I'm going to die.
That's as certain to me as the sensation of being carried back to the scene of the crime despite my struggles.
As I ready myself to scream, he slaps a hand over my mouth.
"That's a really stupid idea, sweetheart."
No, of all my stupid ideas in the history of stupid ideas, screaming at the top of my lungs before my untimely death is the least of them.
My knees and palms are skinned as he drops me back in the alley, all six foot crazy of him towering over me.
"I didn't see a thing," I tell him and the dark haired man laughs.
"Sure you didn't," he drawls, dropping to his haunches to get a closer look at me.
What should have been peculiarly beautiful eyes are chilling, the deep shade of purple so flat and lifeless I can see my fearful face reflected in them.
"Nothing, not a thing," I repeat, my voice shaking uncontrollably.
"What do we do with her?" he asks red while I silently pray to every god I don't believe in; the unmistakable cocking of a hammer making bile rise up in my throat.
Fuck, not here and not now... Not when I've finally gotten my life on track and started school again. I can't die here on a sidewalk that smells like a public toilet
.
"Did the two of you fuck up?"
The new voice makes the fine hairs on my neck rise. If I'd been in any doubt about my swiftly approaching end, this sealed it.
With zero fucks left to give, I look up at red. "I'm sure you have places to be and more homicides to commit so just get this over with instead of edging me."
For a moment, the silence is oppressive before the newcomer bursts into laughter.
"Get her up and bring her," he says and I shrink away reflexively from red as he grips my upper arms and yanks me to my feet.
He stuffs me into the back of a black town car before climbing in up front with the dark haired psychopath.
This was not on my to do list for the night. All I'd wanted when leaving the library was to go home, order takeout and watch trash TV. Glancing around as covertly as possible, I weigh my odds. This was likely little more than a stay of execution, not a pardon.
I studiously avoid glancing at the man sitting opposite me, I definitely don't notice the colourful tattoos on his long fingered hands and concentrate on the door handle.
Hurling myself out of a moving car?
Yes.
I lunge, yanking at the handle and flinging the door outward. A rush of cold air hits my face as I ready myself to roll then a hand closes around my ankle, firm as an iron shackle. Despite my furious kick, he doesn't release me.
"Where are you going, dumpling?" he asks smoothly, reeling me in like we're not doing one hundred and the wind isn't buffeting us in the enclosed space.
Casually, he leans across me and closes the door before helping me into my seat and securing the safety belt.
"I think that's enough misadventures for one night, don't you?"
----------
The iron gates flanking the driveway leading to his compound close with such finality, I'm ready to lose the last shred of composure.
He hasn't lost his the entire drive, merely scrolling through his phone like this is par for the course. For all I know, it is. This could be a regular occurrence.
Despite myself, I glance over my shoulder at the road beyond the manicured hedges and find him studying me when I face forward again and mask my expression.
