Fear

40

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?"

Immediate panic.

Dylan leaned against the doorframe, a key dangling between his fingers, an evil grin cutting across his scarred face. His eyes flicked over me like he'd just stumbled on injured prey left in the open.

"No!"

I stumbled back, heart pounding, pressing into the wall behind the couch.

"STAY BACK! STAY BACK!" The words ripped from my throat. Helpless. Desperate. Horrified.

He stepped inside and shut the door with a quiet click, his grin never faltering. "Tyler doesn't know I still have a spare key for this place. Funny, isn't it? He thinks he can lock me out."

Slowly, he slid the key into his pocket and brought something else out.

Flick.

I screamed, my hands clawing at the plaster on the wall behind me, gripping the side of a bookshelf to my left, my body taut and ready to bolt.

A flip knife. The blade gleamed, sharp and hungry like his eyes.

"Looks like the princess is finally lying with the prince." His gaze flicked toward the open bedroom door. "Wondered how long it would be."

He walked forward a few steps, twirling the knife loosely, casually, like it was an extension of his hand. "I mean, let's face it. He's been obsessed with you for months. It's hilarious, really."

I forced my shaking legs to move, groping blindly for something — anything — to throw, my eyes not leaving his. I reached the side table. My fingers closed around the whiskey glass.

I hurled it at his head.

It smashed against the wall to his right, shards raining to the floor.

He didn't even flinch. Just tilted his head, chuckling.

"You know who I saw last night?" he drawled. His eyes narrowed as if savouring the thought. "Tom."

The name cracked through me like a whip. My stomach lurched violently, my breath snagging in my throat.

"He's alive..." Dylan's grin stretched wider. "...barely. I fucked him rough and he cried like a baby."

A sound tore out of my throat, raw and strangled — half sob, half scream. "You're lying!"

Dylan tilted his head, pretending to think. Then he gave a mock-innocent shrug. "Am I?" His tone dripped poison. He stalked closer.

"You should've seen him. Bruised, broken, bleeding. He begged me to stop. Do you know what I told him?"

I shook my head, tears already burning my eyes. "Stop it—"

"I told him you're dead." Dylan's grin cut cruelly across his face. "That his precious Emily is already six feet under. His brave friend couldn't save herself, let alone him."

My chest caved in. The air ripped from me in jagged gasps, sobs spilling before I could stop them.

"Pathetic," Dylan spat, watching me unravel with open delight. He dragged the knife casually across his palm, not enough to cut, just enough to gleam. "You thought you could be a hero? Cute. But you abandoned him. And now all he has is me."

"No..." My voice cracked, broken, but he drowned it out.

"You know what he sounded like when I told him?" Dylan leaned forward over the back of the couch, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He screamed. And then he cried your name like a lost child."