Runaway // n.h.

0.2

My body let out an involuntary yelp as his bright blue eyes locked with mine and his hand reached into my back pocket.

"If you scream, I swear to God," he hissed, one of his hands aggressively being pressed against my mouth while the other held me against the train car.

What the hell is this guy doing?

"You were so trusting, Adeline," the blond smirked, his Irish accent growing thicker with each word he spoke.

My eyes widened, finally realizing the danger of this situation. This guy was crazy, actually crazy, and I had walked right into his trap.

"Don't look so worried," he said, with fake empathy, his sickening smirk spreading wider across his face. "I'm not a bad guy."

Suddenly, he released my body, so quickly that I almost fell to the ground.

"I'm just into bad things," he winked, grabbing my wrist and yanking me onto the train.

My eyes widened even further as I recklessly attempted to escape his tight hold and run away, but he was much too strong for me.

He slowly turned to stare at me, his grip on my wrist tightening to a painful level, as he silently warned me not to make a scene.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes as he began to walk forward, flashing our rail passes, which must have been what he grabbed out of my back pocket, to the conductor before heading toward the very back of the train.

After shoving me into the window seat, I'm assuming so that I couldn't easily run away, my captor sat silently beside me and watched the rest of the train fill up.

Could I really call him my captor? Technically, I had agreed to accompany him, so he really didn't capture me.

Sure, I had a strong feeling that he was super sketchy and I was an idiot for not listening to my gut, but he was incredibly convincing.

Now I see where being the annoyingly trusting, cliche girl gets you: shoved in the back corner of a stuffy train with a lying stranger headed to God knows where.

I turned my body toward the window and stared at a literal grey wall for the first half hour of our trip; obviously we were on the underwater rail that connected England and either Ireland or Europe.

But even with the lack of scenery, I preferred the ugly wall to the beautiful asshole sitting beside me, not that he made any effort anyway.

When I finally mustered up enough courage and strength to turn back and ask him what the hell was going on, I realized that he had put that stupid Christmas scarf over his face again.

It passed as a simple sleep mask, in place to help him sleep on the ride, but with the information about him that I now had, I knew that was not the reason it at all.

Tapping his shoulder, as I had hours before, I slowly began to pull his scarf from his undeniably handsome face. Suddenly, his strong hand reached up to grabbed my wrist, putting an end to my action and causing me to jump.

"Don't fucking do that," he growled, his faux Newcastle accent having returned, and his body turned directly toward me, yanking his scarf off.

"Sorry," I apologized, still terrified of his potential actions. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Little Miss Detective," he smirked, his tone taunting me.

I rolled my eyes, cautiously grabbing at his scarf to ensure that he answered my questions and didn't cover back up.