I drop my phone on the covers reading and rereading the message. My eyes dart around the room with the knowledge he’s here somewhere.

I consider calling out of the window to someone, anyone. I glance at my clock, fuck it’s 11, who would be up?

Wait! The officer!

Please be here. Please be here.

I move my legs through the air trying to get my weight off of my bed. Without thinking I step onto my floor, before I can take another breath searing pain radiates into my foot. I bend over to see a plug embedded into the heel of my foot. Fuck!

The blood starts to pour from the wound, staining my bedroom Carpet with a deep crimson.

I bite at my fist knawing at the flesh, forcing myself into silence.

I spot an old shirt on my floor and tie it around my foot, whimpering as the material suffocates the skin of my flesh.

I inhale deeply, a pathetic attempt to centre myself. I drag myself up, my palms and left leg supporting my weight.

I hobble over to my window, avoiding the floorboards that I know will give me away.

I’m sure my heart stops right then when I see that the cop car is no longer there, so that’s it? No more than an hour and that’s all the protection I get?

Oh god, no no no.

He must’ve taken him out and solved another problem. Why else would he have disappeared?

He must be here to end this, to end me. He can’t have people knowing what he did, he seems to be a man all about tying up loose ends.

I need to get to the front door. That’s my only choice, confrontation is not an option.

I inch my way further over the landing and manage to get down the stairs without a sound.

I reach the last step of my staircase. The lights in the kitchen are off. Shit.

I make an effort to always keep my kitchen task light on, one too many times have I fallen on my face at 3 AM attempting to get water.

A glance at my bloodied foot quickly reminds me this is not one of those times.

I do a quick scope of the living room and my pulse eases a little when I find that he isn’t in there, but ramps back up when I realise he must be in the only place I haven’t looked.

I glance toward the front door to see my key isn’t in there, god now is the time you want to misplace things, Ava?

He might be outside instead? I’m sure I didn’t hear him come in, but then again I’m sure he isn’t unfamiliar with having to be discreet.

I silence my breathing, my elephant footsteps probably making it pointless. I bet he knows my exact location right now anyway, the freak.

When I inch towards my kitchen entrance, I freeze, every muscle in my body seizing, my injury long forgotten with the panic flooding me. At my kitchen table sits a dark figure, his black hoodie covers his head once again. The hoodie clings to his frame, the definition of his muscles visible through the material. The image of yesterday replays in my mind. He could do that to a grown man. What the fuck could he do to me?

Panic claws at my chest and I spot a glint of silver in my peripheral, I dart to my left towards the kitchen island and grab the biggest knife I own. I remember the words of my teacher in high school that you should never use a weapon you wouldn’t wish to be used on you. Well. I’m out of options.

She wasn’t against a six-foot-everything psychopath.

I internally kick myself for reporting what I saw, none of this would be happening, was it really worth my life? What if the guy was scum, a lowlife, just another criminal paying his debt.

“Are you going to stand there or use it?”

How on earth did he see that?

He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t look at me, and I can’t see if he has a weapon from my viewpoint, I would have to look over his shoulder. And that would require nearness I wasn’t all too comfortable with. Why am I kidding myself? His form didn’t come from sitting on the couch, I’m sure his fists would serve him just fine.

“Why are you here?” My voice was barely coherent.

When he doesn’t respond I continue.

“I have an alarm that calls the cops, they’re on their way. So you should leave. Now.”

It was only a half lie. I do have one, but I’m certain if I’d have pressed it my death would have come a lot sooner.

“Disabled it.” He responds coolly, as though he anticipated my response.

I stutter as I figure out what to reply to that.

“What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t move from his position, and so I wait for his next move. His next word. He can only be here for one reason. He didn’t appear to be a man fond of small talk, but I don’t understand his approach, why would he not get my death over with? Why is he just sitting there, the apprehension scares me more, the not knowing.

“Tell me exactly what you saw, and do not lie to me, because I’ll know.” He utters, his cadence unfaltering.

A thought occurs to me that if he could get my number and see my phone activity within a matter of mere hours, he would surely know what I said on my phone call.

He wants to know if I’ll lie.

But why?

Just kill me and leave. What is the point of this?

Mind games maybe? These types always got off on the fear they inflicted, but he wasn’t even looking at me.

“I saw you pulling teeth from a man. and you asked him to give you a name.” I mutter, hoping the truth saves my life.

I shift from one foot to the other, a Cold sweat begins to seep from every pore of my body. My heart Is beating out of my chest, so much so I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it.

There’s a few moments of silence before the screech of the chair sounds. My grip on the knife tightens, turning my knuckles white. I step back before my spine meets the counter. He moves slowly, purposefully. He tucks the chair under the table, a strange gesture given what I’d witnessed him do.

A killer with manners. Though I suppose in fairness to him, I hadn’t seen him take the man’s life.

I freeze as his eyes lock with mine, he lowers his hoodie, leaving no part of his face cloaked.

I step back until my spine hits the dimmer behind me, offering a subtle glow, enough to see him. His green eyes pin me against my counter, and I’m frozen in his stare. His sharp jaw hardens and flexes as he watches me, his expression is blank, giving nothing of his thoughts away.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I blurt out before thinking. I have to know. I can’t sit in this fear much longer, he has me practically cornered. I’m paralysed with fear, I’m not sure if I even could run from him now.

His expression remains stoic, unmoving.

“I need you to come with me.” He says with an eery calm, his tone suggesting it wasn’t a request.

What?

No.

I’m not being sold as some toy, or whatever this freak had in mind.

No. Not a chance.

I start shaking my head profusely, unable to find the words to protest. I bite back the tears, unwanting to show any weakness.

“This is your only option, Ava. You won’t be harmed. I’ll explain further when we arrive.” He says emotionless.

My muscles tense at his use of my name. On text it was eery, but in person? This felt far too real.

I knew what this meant, books, movies, and shows, all had the same ending.

“No, please, no.” I shake my head, my eyes begin to water, each tear slipping down with a might I wish I had right now.

He cocks a brow, unimpressed. “It wasn’t a request, Ava. We’re leaving. Now.”

He walks toward me, his lengthy strides quickly consuming the space between us.

I cradle my arms to myself, thinking that somehow it will stop this from happening.

“Just tell me where we’re going. Please.” My voice cracks, as I plead with him.

He remains emotionless, unbothered by the fact that I was distraught. Why would I expect any less?

He sighs quietly, “I can’t tell you that. I can tell you, coming with me will save your life.”

Why do I have to be so nosy, why didn’t I just go back home and pretend nothing happened. Fuck my moral compass, because I’m sure it’s just gone and gotten me killed.

My mind floods with images of the worst outcome, I’m strung up, in some shitty warehouse, being sold to the highest bidder I’m immediately doused in fear and something in me seems to switch, that whatever I have to do, I will not go there.

I manage to find my voice and swallow my panic.

“No. No way. I’m not going to be fucking sex trafficked or whatever you and your people do.” I spit at him, wiping my tear-soaked cheeks.

His lips twitch, and part of me itches to know what just crossed his mind. “It wasn’t a request, Ava. You should know by now that I’m not a good man. I’ll have no problem being a terrible one. Easy or hard way, you choose.” He states, unbothered by my pleas. He doesn’t have a shred of humanity within him. He can’t.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to find calm because I’m certain at any given moment my heart will give out.

When I reopen my eyes he scans my face, looking for something.

His expression hardens, not stern but stone.

Does he really have no empathy? My mind flicks back to that night, shutting that thought down entirely, of course, he doesn’t. You don’t exactly pull out a man’s teeth with a spanner and then proceed to wear your heart on your sleeve.

The minute I stepped foot in front of him he’s shown me nothing but coldness not a flicker of anything even comparable to sympathy, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

I die here painfully, definitely, or I go with him with the possibility of not dying, but also possibly something much worse.

_“You won’t be harmed.”_

His previous words ring in my head, he sounded so serious, maybe even sincere. Truth seemed to be an integral thing to him, was he doing me the same honour I did him?

I could flag someone from his car? If he filled his tank, I could run. I’d long accepted at this moment that witness protection was my only hope for coming out of this situation alive, so be it.

“How long will I be gone?” I ask Montone, though internally my emotions were beginning to bubble over.

“No more questions, Ava. I need you to be compliant and silent. This will be over a lot sooner if you follow my instructions.” His voice is somehow even colder than before.

I wonder what he would sound like if he were to get angry, with those piercing eyes and a voice that could command thousands, I burn that imagery from my mind.

A low humming vibration sounds throughout the kitchen, snapping me from my thoughts.

He moves with fluidity, retrieving the phone from his pocket.

”What is it?” He says into the phone with an icy indifference. I was half relieved it wasn’t just me he treated with such hostility.

So it wasn’t personal. At least not entirely.

My heart pounds as words are exchanged, I

Can’t bear not knowing what would happen to me or where I would be going. I'm so panicked I almost want to just get it over with. I feel my pulse in my throat as he tells the guy on the other end that he’ll see him soon. He’ll see who soon? No fuck! I bet this was some sort of deal.

I can’t imagine a scenario where this will end well for me, why on earth does he need me to go with him for any other reason than the one blinding me in my face?

His eyes then flicker to mine, lingering a moment too long for comfort before he speaks,” Can I trust you to be quiet?” He says with an unspoken warning.

My heart pounds faster at his question.

I nod my willingness to behave as he’d asked, wringing my hands as they begin a cold sweat.

“Where’s your phone?” He questions, impatience in his tone.

I think back to my bedroom, to the text to the plug sinking into my foot, a wave of pain washes over me as I bring attention to the sensation, I’m Unable to stop myself from wincing as the adrenaline seems to wear away.

“My bedroom,” I answer, my voice coming out as a whine as the pain of my wound gets more intense the longer I stand on it.

I switch my weight to my other foot, his eyes draw to the action,” You’re injured.” He says, merely stating it as an observation.

He moves closer, and I instinctively step back, my better instincts recognising him as a predator immediately.

If only my instincts had responded better the other night.

“Stay still.” He commands, his rough voice coating my skin with uneasiness.

This close I could smell him, smell his cologne.

It was rich and dark, matching him entirely.

It felt too personal an aspect for someone capable of what I witnessed.

I couldn’t bear to look at his face, it made this all too real. The way they say that in dreams you can never truly see faces, his face in front of me proved the dreadful truth that this was not a dream. His eyes were locked onto mine, the inhumane shade of green cooling my skin, his sharp jaw could quite possibly cut me, he was haunting to observe, it was overwhelming.

He lowers to his knees, his tattoo-covered hands grabbing my ankle, his fingertips burning the skin of my leg. I want to rip my foot away from his grasp, needing his blood-stained hands off of me.

My breath catches in my throat when he reaches into his pocket. I exhale a sigh of relief when I see that it’s just a torch.

I wobble when he grabs my ankle the counter being too far in front and the fridge too far behind me,” Put your hand on my shoulder.” He instructs, the urge to grab a knife and sink it right into his skull crossed me this moment, but being already slow and quite badly injured I wouldn’t want to take my chances.

I hesitantly placed my sweaty palm on his left shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath the material of his hoodie flex beneath my palms. The reminder that he could snap me in half at any given moment washed over me in the form of a cold sweat.

I can’t be stupid.

He glances toward me for a second, his face expressionless, and my stomach turns at the intensity of his stare. What were his motives?

What could he possibly want with me other than torture? How could this be in my best interest?

Stop Ava. Just focus.

He angles my ankle to get a closer look at my wound, he shines the torch and his eyes narrow. He swiftly swipes a clean cloth from the counter, “deep breath.” He instructs.

I do so, before feeling the extent of my injury as he ties the cloth around my wound.

“You’re lucky, any deeper and you would have punctured an artery.” He mutters, almost scolding.

I nearly laugh, lucky?

He rises to his full height, the reminder shuddering that he was at least two heads taller than me. He pulls a set of cuffs from his pocket, and the gleaming silver warps slightly in my vision, god have I lost too much blood?

He fastens the cuffs to one of the draws of my marble counter, ”I don’t need to warn you of what will happen if you scream.” He says in a deathly quiet.

His light footsteps proceed past me down the hallway and up the stairs to my bedroom. It unnerves me that I can hardly hear him.

I whimper at the pain now searing down my leg, it might have stopped the blood but fuck did it stop the pain. I move my weight to my left leg.

The cuffs immobilise me, I can hardly move an inch.

Wait. I have a hairpin. God this is a long shot but I have to try, after bending the black wire straight I get to work twisting it into the lock of the handcuffs. I can’t hear a thing upstairs which forces my heart to pump harder, I don’t need to imagine what he would do if he caught me.

After useless twisting my heart plummets to my throat and a click sounds throughout the space, I fucking did it.

My palms began to get sweatier as I think of what to do, just fucking move Ava Jesus!

I nearly blew my other ankle out limping toward the front door, not caring for the noise of my locks as speed was my priority. My heart thunders in my ears, adrenaline being the only thing keeping me upright.

After successfully unlocking my two latches I scream at myself for not keeping my key nearby, where the fuck did I leave it?

“You’re smarter than you look.”

“Not smart enough.” I lean my forehead against my front door, my voice just shy of a sob

I turn toward him, expecting to at least find a scrap of expression sitting on his sculpted face, but once again nothing. At this point I want him to.

To show some emotion, any emotion. It was beyond chilling.

This is so obviously nothing to him.

“Where’s your pain relief?”

Huh?

“Cupboard above the hob.”

He saunters toward the kitchen, filling a glass with water. I stand motionless at my door.

He reads my baffled expression responding with, ”I don’t need you passing out, take three.” He shoves the pills and water into my hands. I obliged because, one—I desperately needed the pain to subside, and two—I did not want to refuse this man.

After a jut of his chin in recognition of my compliance, he retrieves the cuffs from his pocket,” Put your head down.” He demands.

No no no. It was happening. No, I can’t do this.

“Why?” My voice cracks with the pitch of my fear.

“I won’t ask you a second time. Do it Ava.”

I bow my head, preparing for the worst, probably a fucking bag. My hands shake against my sides, I clamp them into fists to give myself something to focus on.

My body freezes when I feel his fingertips on my scalp. Grazing the skin beneath my hair quickly, skillfully. Oh. For hair grips.

“Come on. You’ve wasted enough time.”

Ugh, I’ve missed writing so much! After what was practically a 20-week block, a ton of errors but I’m so happy I’ve written something beyond a draft.🤍