The Assassin •Lee Minho•

Chapter.2

Chapter.2
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He pulled me out of the truck and stood me on my feet. My back hit the driver side door. My face was dry and sticky from the tears, and my hair was a matted mess from the bumpy ride. I could hear my heartbeat as I looked at him. He wore a helmet, so I couldn't see his face. He stepped away from me to grab his bike from the truck bed. He set it down on the floor and rolled it over next to my truck. I took a look at my surroundings.

It's a pretty big garage. Yet there are no cars occupying it. I turned to him again and watched him take off his gloves.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked him.

My heart jumped when he removed his helmet. I had thought I was gonna be face to face with a forty year old man covered in tattoos, but I was wrong. He was young, with a symmetrical face and piercing, dark eyes. His hair stuck to parts of his face from the sweat. He pushed his hair out of his face and turned to me. His eyes peirced through mine. I gulped and looked down, away from his intense gaze.

He approached me and stopped just a few inches away from where I was standing. I didn't meet his eyes. He was so close to me that I could smell his cologne. I could see a gun sticking out of his belt. It was calling my name.

Without thinking, I reach for the gun.

My finger barely brushed the holster. He grabbed my wrist and turned me around. My face hit the window as he pushed me against the vehicle. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes to refrain from screaming in pain.

He sighed and shook his head. I felt him zip tie my hands behind my back. He turned me around, so I was facing him again. He looked me in the eyes and then looked down at his gun. He looked up and met my eyes again.

"Try to grab it now," he said.

I looked down at his gun and then back at him. He took a step closer to me and raised a brow. "Are you gonna shoot me?" He asked me. I looked away from him, but he grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. "Or are you going to shoot yourself?" He asked me. I felt tears spring to my eyes. His tone was sarcastic, but his face held no emotion. He clenched his jaw and grabbed me by my wrist. I was dragged through the garage to a door that entered into a kitchen.

The kitchen wasn't very clean. Styrofoam containers littered the counter, and flies swarmed the air. The sink was full of dishes, and food stains covered every surface. My mom would have a heart attack if she saw this kitchen.

My mom...

I miss her.

Through the kitchen was a foyer. The floors were gray wood, and the walls were pure white, not a picture nor painting in sight. The front door was white with many windows. A touch screen security system hung on the wall beside the door. There was an opening to my right that led to a room with a bar and a pool table. It looked unused. To my left was a spiral staircase that reached three floors.

I wondered why a lone young man would live in such a house like this. So many questions were reeling through my mind.

I could hear the bass of loud music, getting closer and closer to the house as we ascended the stairs. He heard it, too. I kept looking at him, expecting some reaction out of him. But his face was unmoving.

To say I felt uneasy was an understatement. I had no idea where he was taking me. I could only think the worst. But I didn't resist. I saw how fast he was and how quick he could kill me. We continued up the stairs until we reached the top floor. It only seemed to be bedrooms and bathrooms in the area of the house. Besides the sitting area near the bay windows next to the stairway. We approached a door that I expected to be his room. I was right.

He opened the door to a bedroom. It was much cleaner than the rest of the house. The walls were a dark gray, and the bedsheets were black. There were many bookshelves in this room. And there were pictures. Some hanging on the wall and some sitting on the bookshelf.

There were two cats sleeping soundly on his bed. One began to creep out from underneath the bed. It stretched its legs as it approached me. It purred as it rubbed its body against my ankle. The man sat me down on the bed in front of him and looked down at me. I felt like I was going into cardiac arrest.

He furrowed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked stressed, the only emotion that I had seen out of him all night. He let out an aggressive sigh and began to take off his belt.

My eyes widened, and my heart practically jumped out of my chest. He turned away from me and placed his belt on the dresser, along with his gun and knife. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt, stuffed into his jeans. I tapped my foot anxiously as I watched him.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked him again.

He grabbed his knife off the dresser and approached me. I flinched as he reached over me. He cut the zip ties, allowing blood flow back to my wrists. He approached the dresser again and placed his knife where it was before.

"Yes," he replied.

"When?" I asked.

He opened the top dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. He approached me with the handcuffs and shrugged, "I don't know yet." He said. He grabbed my right wrist, and I tried to pull away, but he was stronger. He handcuffed my wrist and tried to handcuff me to the bed, but I was fighting him. His fingers wrapped around my neck quicker than I could blink. "Stop fighting!" he ordered. I kicked him off of me, and he stumbled back. I jumped up from the bed and ran for the door. I opened the door, but he closed it as quickly as I opened it.

He picked me up from behind and threw me to the floor. I fell on my hands and knees pretty hard. I rolled over on my back before he could try and restrain me. He stood at the door and looked down at me. He locked the door as he met my eyes. He made his way closer and closer to me before jumping on top of me. I tried to kick him and punch him, but I was nothing to the strength that this man had. He had me pinned down in seconds.

I closed my eyes and started sobbing uncontrollably. "Just kill me," I told him. He furrowed his eyes at me. "Just kill me!" I started banging my head against the floor. He placed his hand underneath my head to stop me from hitting my head.

"Are you fucking mental?!" He asked me.