Witness

5. Chelsea

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" 

I quietly gasp as we go over a speed bump but still nobody says anything. Twin one drives and Damien sits in the back seat next to me. 'Next to me' probably isn't the correct term - the car is so spacious that two other grown men could sit between us. But his presence still looms over the car.

The two of them don't even react to my question.

A fresh wave of silent hell washes over us. 

"I'm sorry to ask. It's just that nobody had spoken in fifteen minutes." 

To my utmost surprise, the corner of Damien's mouth lifts. It's gone within a millisecond, swiped away as if it was never there. My eyes widen. 

Damien Mierro, capable of showing positive emotion. 

Hey, maybe he won't kill me. 

I grip hold of my seatbelt as we go over another speed bump. My fingernails are already bitten down to the skin and I'm not entirely certain I haven't peed myself just a little bit. Though if I have ruined these leather seats I'm sure my death will be slower and even more painful.

(Now is not the time for humour.)

It's the time to beg for my life. 

"You know-" 

My words catch in my throat when Damien turns his head towards me, lips drawn in a thin line. It's as if the words physically press against my esophagus and begin pulling all the air out of my lungs piece by piece. 

His nails tap against the door of the car, drumming into my skull. 

I can't bring myself to meet his eye and I also desperately know I shouldn't stare at the scar across his face, so instead I pinpoint my gaze just above the ridge of his brow bone and hope that I don't look like a scared puppy. 

Now for the begging. 

Or at least something - anything - that will convince him not to kill me tonight. 

I let out a slow gentle breath. 

"I'm not going to tell anyone," I squeak. Voice unusually high, palms sweating, a twinge of pain in the left side of my chest - I'm just glad I haven't thrown up on the back of twin one's shiny head. Yet. "I'm not even - you weren't - I didn't even see anything." 

My intonation brings chipmunks to mind and I'm still staring at this scary man's slightly wrinkled forehead. Pathetic, so very very pathetic. I'm going to die alone and in a puddle of my own nervous sweat.

Risking one look at his expression, I take in Damien's stoic face once more. It hasn't changed. For a second I wonder if he even hears me at all, if perhaps he's deaf and has turned off his hearing aid just to avoid my whining, but his cold eyes continue to look through me and his throat bobs when my eyes flit over the scar. 

"I-" 

"Stop talking." 

Frantic nodding that I can't control. 

I look back out of the dark tinted windows, watching the street lights pass at a speed that is definitely above the legal limit. Twin one turns corner like he has nothing to live for and Damien sits like he's been glued down.

It's a shame the mangled body of that police officer isn't in the car with us, because then I wouldn't be the deadest person in the vehicle right now. 

Tony and twin two didn't appear behind us when Damien pushed me into this Range Rover so I can only assume they're taking the body somewhere else. Maybe that's good for me, maybe it isn't...