I Live For The Chase

Chapter 8

He pulls the car to a stop and as I look around at the immense darkness of the woods I am filled with a renewed sense of fear—you would think I am used to it by now....

"You remember the plan?" He asks.

I nod.

"Say it to me."

"Go in there. Find the dumb blond named Valentina. Distract her... then—that's it."

"And what room must you stay away from?"

"Room 7."

He gives me a look that seems like he is finished with his interrogation, then he says, "Good."

Suddenly he leans over me, his upper arm brushes my leg lightly as he opens the glove compartment. Inside he takes out a small black object which I realize—to my horror— is a gun. I inhale sharply.

He loads the gun and then gets out of the car. He walks around the side and opens the door for me.

"Get out." He says.

Such a gentleman. I get out of the car and immediately he grabs my arm.

We start walking quickly to the same ditch in the ground. He opens it and suddenly I am getting deja vu.

He puts out a hand, I take it as I descend into the club. The killer follows closely behind. Once he closes the hatch, he grabs me and pulls me close to his side with a possessive grip.

I pull away. "You don't have to do that. I'm obviously not going anywhere."

He doesn't say anything, he just grabs my hip and pulls me to his side. From any glance we would look like a couple.

"You don't leave my side until I tell you." He says it in a tone I haven't heard before—uncertain.

"Ok."

"Say it."

"I wont leave your side."

Finding enough confirmation in my words, he opens the door and the cacophony of deep dark bass tones radiate.

Frenetic pulses flux from the club like pumps of blood into the heart of an animal.

It is louder than it was the other night—the music is darker, I can feel it vibrate and echo through the walls. I feel eyes on me, every direction I look. I do the same thing I did last time and keep my eyes down.

The killer's arm is gripped tightly around my waist and I feel his thumb gently brush my ribs.

"Right corner." As he whispers in my ear, his lips brush my cheek ever so slightly. "The girl in the red dress—that's Valentine."

I nod.

His lips linger on my cheek for a moment longer, less than an inch from my skin. Goosebumps prick my skin as his hand on my waist moves lower.

"You got it?" He whispers.

I nod.

"Say it."

"Yes." I whisper, closing my eyes. "I've got it."

His hand moved lower, gliding down the fine black silk. I can feel the warmth from his hands seep through the thin material and I inhale deeply.

His hand moves slowly to the open back of my dress, and then suddenly electricity courses through my veins as his warm hand palms my back. The touch is so light—so seamless and yet every fiber of my body is ignited from it.

The same hand that has killed God knows how many men.

"Good." He says. Then the warmth disappears. I open my eyes and he is gone—and I am alone in the middle of this club of monsters.