Bad Boy Isn't My Type... (Published as 'The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Boys)

Chapter 20

2 uploads in one night?!:O

Chapter 20

I gulped, taking a step back into the safety of the bathroom. Screaming sounded like a marvellous idea but the murderous look on Shack’s face told me to keep my mouth well and truly shut. So I did.

                “Miss me?” he sneered, taking a step towards me with a contorted, malicious grin. I mentally cursed both Hunter and Seb. I had no idea where Hunter had wandered off to, but I knew for a fact that Seb was in the other room whilst I was about to be raped, murdered and decapitated. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration there, but isn’t that how it happens in all the horror films? Either way, I watch way too much TV.

                “Like the plague,” I muttered, only to find that his grin had widened. He walked closer, matching my backward steps with his forward ones until I was trapped between his disgusting body and the sink. Claustrophobia sprung to mind. It took everything in me to keep my smart ass remarks to myself, listening to my panicking heart as it thumped in my chest. Most people sweat or something when they get nervous, I spit out stupid comments that only seem to wind people up.

                “Listen, Slut. If you make no noise then this will be as painless as possible for you,” he paused, obviously for dramatic effect. He only made me cringe; he wasn’t some super villain like the joker, only some druggie with crooked teeth and a smelly t-shirt. Oh, and a knife. The blade glistened playfully as he examined it, letting his eyes trail over the sharp edge. My breath caught in my throat, too scared to get out into the open whilst my blood sped up, racing through my body in attempt to get away from him. “Or, if you’re loud, I’ll have to slit your throat in order to shut you up,” he whispered, bringing his face close to mine. Had this guy never heard of breath mints?

                I made a small whimper, moving back against the sink in hope that it would swallow me up. Shack smirked, grabbing my arm and pulling it closer to him. I clamped my eyes shut, waiting for the pain, the fire to shoot up my arm and the warm life essence to spill out. Nothing came.

                Shack was looking at me expectantly as he put the knife back into his pocket and took out a sharpie pen. I had no idea what damage he thought he could do with the pen other than draw a rather embarrassing and permanent moustache on me, but anything was better than the knife. I frowned but said nothing, watching cautiously as he wrote a single word across my wrist.

                He dropped my arm with a lot more force than necessary and grinned, watching me tremble as he backed out of the bathroom and into the passage, giving me a small wave. I had no idea where he went from there but I had no intention of finding out.

                I glanced down at my wrist, shaking like jelly from his icy touch. The word ‘traitor’ was sprawled across my skin in untidy handwriting. Almost as if a spider had jumped in some ink and gone for a run along my arm. I shuddered, listening to my pulse beat rapidly as I returned to the living room.

                Walking was becoming harder and harder, my legs felt like they were about to give way. Seb was standing over by the sofa, sighing as he looked up to see me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Pale, scared and broken. Great, that was attractive.

                Seb didn’t waste a second in striding over to me, looking at me suspiciously as he led me to the dining table.

                “Shack,” I stuttered.