His Territory | ✔️

3

The man with chocolate eyes grabs my hip, his grip firm as he pulls me closer. His smile radiates a heat that spreads through my body, his lips curling into plump, delicious lines.

"Mi alma [My soul], I've been waiting for you," he purrs, his voice a sultry melody in my ear. His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling my lips to his with urgency. The kiss is slow, yet burning with intensity, melting me into him. My arms wrap around his torso, and my nails rake down his back, leaving fiery red trails in their wake.

He lets out a low, guttural moan, the sound vibrating through his chest. My eyes flutter, knowing I'm the cause of his pleasure. He lifts me onto the kitchen counter, his hands gripping my waist possessively.

"Mine?" he growls, his voice sending shivers through me. His mouth trails down my neck, his teeth gently tugging at my skin before soothing the bite with his tongue.

"All yo—"

The loud, jarring rattle from outside rips me from the fantasy. I jerk awake, disoriented, the sensual warmth of the dream slipping away. I forgot I left the window cracked open last night, hoping for some cool air. Now, I'm paying for it.

"Who the hell is making noise this early?" I grumble, grabbing my phone to check the time. The screen glows faintly in the dark room: 2:24 AM, August 18th.

I rub my eyes, blinking at the realization. "Wait... I moved in on the 16th." My stomach twists. I've been asleep for over 24 hours.

I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The decorative floral moulding above me seem to mock my restless state. I try counting the swirls, hoping it will lull me back into sleep. But the rattling outside persists, grating against my nerves.

Determined to find out what's going on, I slip out of bed, steeling myself as I approach the front door. My heart hammers against my ribcage, the fear growing despite my attempts to suppress it.

"Maybe I'll scare them off," I whisper, puffing out my chest. But my bravado feels thin, fragile.

I pad quietly to the window beside the door, tugging the curtain aside just enough to peer out. The sight makes my breath hitch.

Three men, dressed head to toe in black, hoods pulled low, stand outside. Under the faint glow of the streetlights and the waning moon, I can barely make out their forms. They're crouched on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, and the goosebumps that rise on my arms have nothing to do with the night air.

I press my ear to the glass, trying to make out their muffled voices.

"¿Listo? Están esperando [Ready? They are waiting]," says one man, standing over the two kneeling figures, his voice a low, commanding whisper.

"Casi, 'mano [Almost, bro]," replies one of the crouched men, shaking a spray paint can in his hand.

Spray paint. My blood runs cold.

I lean closer, trying to see more without making noise. But in my nervousness, my arm slips against the window frame. My forehead smacks into the glass with a dull thud.

The men freeze. They spring up, backs to each other, scanning the area for the source of the sound.

"¡Vamos! [Let's go!]" the tallest one hisses, his teeth clenched. One of the others bends down quickly, making a final swipe with the spray can.

"It's finished," he mutters, and without hesitation, the three take off, disappearing down the street as fast as shadows.

I stay crouched by the window, holding my breath, heart pounding in my ears. They didn't see me. Thank God.

After waiting a few more moments, I stand, steadying myself. I creep to the door and crack it open, peeking outside. The street is empty. I step out, moving quietly to the sidewalk where the men had been.

There, on the concrete, a large black star stares back at me, a cross slashed through its center.

The image sparks something in my memory. Where have I seen this before?