Mr. X

by Clarissa Wild

  It’s the only way to feed my addiction and let all the reins loose.

  I lock the door from the inside and tuck the key in between my breasts. Billy is breathing down my neck, his hands on my waist, slowly moving down toward my ass. I frown and turn around, throwing off my coat.

  “No touching.”

  “What?” he says, raising one of his eyebrows.

  “First, the payment. It’s fifty for a jerk off, hundred for a blowjob.”

  He laughs and pulls me closer, his hands rough and strong, clamping around my back. Unyielding. Scary.

  “No, hun, I want to fuck you,” he says, smirking. His hands drift down to my ass and squeeze tight. He leans in and tries to kiss me, but I push back.

  “No, I only do blowjobs and hand jobs, that’s it. I told you and you agreed. Now pay up or get out.”

  He grunts, his smile creeping me out to the tenth degree. This isn’t good. So totally not good.

  I’m normally quite capable of reading customers, so I don’t understand why I got so caught off guard with this one. There’s something about him that made me think I could do this and trust him, but now … no … this is wrong.

  “C’mon, doll.” He grinds his cock against my thighs, clenching me close to him, but I shove him away. The look on his face changes from extreme horniness to anger.

  “Get. Out.” I squint and take out the key again. While I try to unlock the door he storms toward me.

  “Fuck you. I paid before, now give me what I want!” He grabs ahold of my arm and jerks it away from the door. The key drops to the floor. I scream as he grabs both my arms and turns me around toward the bed. Kicking backwards, I fight him off, but he’s too strong for me. I throw my head back, butting him against the forehead. He growls and takes a step back, which gives me room to escape. I throw my full weight into him, shoving him aside so I can run to the door. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I have to get out of here.

  I fish the key from the floor and fumble with it, my hands trembling as I try to jam it inside. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon you piece of shit!”

  “You bitch!” he yells, and I hear him stomp toward me. Oh shit.

  His hands are around my waist, pulling me back toward the bed, while I scratch and claw at him as fast and hard as I can. His blood is under my fingernails, but he keeps going. He turns us both, twisting my ankle as he throws me onto the bed. He throws himself onto me, pinning both my arms onto the bed while he jerks his pants down.

  “Get off me!” I scream, thrashing underneath him.

  He lodges his arm against my throat, choking me. “Shut the fuck up, you whore.”

  He pushes down so hard I can barely breathe. Gagging, I turn my head and bite him as hard as I can. It only makes him more determined to take me against my will. With one hand he rips down my panties. He spreads my legs with his heavy body, and I feel his cock against my thighs. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. I won’t let him!

  I gather all my strength and slam into his balls with my knee. He takes in a sharp breath and staggers, giving me enough time to push his arm away from my throat so I can breathe. I kick him again, and he tumbles to the side, grabbing his balls with both his hands as he rolls around on my bed.

  “You fucking bastard!” I make a fist and punch him in the belly.

  The sound that comes from his mouth is just a small consolation for what he tried to do to me.

  I quickly turn around and jerk open the drawer of the night stand, fishing out the gun I keep for moments like these. One click and it’s loaded, ready to fire.

  “Get the fuck out!” I say, stumbling off the bed, pointing at the door. With one quick jerk I pull my panties back on, because I don’t want that fucking bastard looking at me. The gun is pointed at him, but my hands are shaking. I’m weak. I hate it.

  Get over it. This fucking piece of shit deserves to die.

  The moment he sees the gun his eyes widen and his movement stops.

  “Get out!” I scream, flicking the gun between him and the door.

  He scrambles up from the bed and pulls up his pants, making me painfully aware of the fact that he touched me. That my clothes are ripped, and that he was about to stick his junk into me.

  Fuck, this is fucked up.

  “I’m not saying it again. Get out or I’ll fucking kill you right now!” I yell.

  “Okay, okay, I’m going,” he says, walking around the bed. I follow his every step, vigilant, because I know pigs like him can’t be trusted. He could still change his mind and try to force himself on me again. I’ve seen it before with another girl at the club. One time this girl was flirting with a customer and I knew she was taking him over the edge with her lap dance. The edge means they aren’t able to walk away anymore. The men want more, and they won’t stop until they get it. Not all of us are willing to give it, but she was. She wasn’t willing to give up her pussy, though. Just like me. We give them pleasure, but the pussy is off limits. Too bad for her she didn’t carry a gun around, unlike me. It was the last day I ever saw her.

  My anger gets the better of me, because Billy’s face while he tried to push inside me is still imprinted on my retinas. So I bend over and take off my high heels, throwing them at the back of his head. “Hurry up, you piece of shit!”

  He turns around and rubs his head. “What the fuck? I’m leaving, aren’t I?”

  “I should kill you for what you did!”

  As Billy twists the key in the lock, a knock is audible, and he freezes. I keep the gun pointed at his head, air leaving my lungs in rapid breaths as Billy backs away from the door. The door creaks. I’ve never heard it creak before.

  Suddenly, the door bursts open, a shiny black shoe smashing the lock. I stiffen, chills running down my spine. The leg retreats. A gun appears out of nowhere. A black, velvet-gloved hand holding it. Fingers moving to the trigger.

  Bang.

  It’s not loud, like in the movies. It’s a thud, like someone just punched a pillow. The shot is soft, but unmistakably a gunshot.

  At first there is nothing. Seconds seem like minutes as I stand here trembling with a gun in my hand, watching everything unfold. Fingers shake and breaths falter. Blood pours from his head. Billy falls to the ground.

  My jaw drops because I can’t believe my eyes. Billy is dead, but it wasn’t me who killed him.

  The gun fires again and again, two shots, one right between the eyes and one into the heart. Each one pulling me further away from this world. It all feels like a dream, but I know it’s not. I just wish it was so I could force myself to wake from this nightmare.

  I want to scream, but I can’t. Air is trapped in my throat and it can’t escape. I don’t even know if I should run. I’m frozen in place as the mysterious killer steps into my room and reveals himself to me. A bald stranger wearing a fitted black suit, a white collar contrasting the colorless ensemble. Lines of ink stick out from underneath, tattooed into his skin on both sides of his throat. However, the most striking of all is the x-shaped scar that marks his right eye. A wound seared into his skin ages ago, leaving ruin and havoc on his face. His eye has been replaced with a metallic fake; an eerie warning of the horrible events that he’s involved in. Events that I might get involved in too now.

  Who is this man that stepped into my room?

  Why is he here?

  Can I trust him?

  His face turns from Billy to me. An eye as black as night stares back at me, unsettling me to my core. At first both his eyes widen, but then they narrow, as if he’s surprised. I shiver, trying to keep the gun steady, but I fail in my attempt to keep it together. The look in his eye reminds me of the stories my nanny used to read to me, stories about the devil.

  His steps are fast and big as he comes toward me, indifferent about the gun in my hand.

  “Don’t come closer! I’ll shoot,” I warn, but his hand is already locked firmly around my wrist. He jerks it to the side, forcing me to drop the gun. I yelp as his hand moves from my wrist to my neck, choking me
. I wrap my fingers around his, desperately trying to claw my way out, but it’s no use. He’s twice as strong as me, and his will seems unbendable.

  Terror fills me as the gun in his hand rises to eyelevel. The cold metal feels like a burn against my skin. He looks me straight in the eye, his coal-black eye filled with chilling determination.

  But then he waits.

  Seconds pass. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The clock hanging on the wall drives me insane. Death is at my doorstep, but he won’t come for me. Instead, I’m left waiting in agonizing fear. I hate this.

  “Please, don’t do this,” I say, my lips trembling.

  He doesn’t respond; instead his grip on my throat tightens. I try to swallow, but gargle instead. My fingers are still trying to pry him loose, but he won’t let go. I’m afraid and yet I can’t stop fighting.

  Why does he want to kill me? What did I do? Who is he? Why hasn’t he killed me yet?

  Questions and thoughts rage through my mind. I need to escape. I don’t know why. I never cared for my life except now, when it’s threatened. My instincts have kicked into full gear.

  His eyes narrow and his lips become thin lines as he pushes the gun against my forehead. I stare at him, tears welling up in my eyes. It seems as though he’s grinding his teeth, his eye shifting back and forth between my eyes and my lips.

  “Please … I don’t want to die,” I manage to whisper.

  His nostrils flare and a long, drawn-out sigh comes from his nose. His eye is on me like that of a hawk, never diverting its attention, but something tells me this isn’t normal. This isn’t how my life should end. It would be over by now if it was.

  He purses his lips, his fingers slowly unraveling from my throat. I cough as the pressure is removed and I’m able to breathe again. My lungs expand rapidly as I soak in the oxygen, inducing a gag reflex. But I have to stay still. His gun is still placed firmly against my head as his hand lowers to his side. Both his eyes have this murderous look in them, like he’s possessed.

  Or maybe angry. Angry with me? No, that can’t be. I don’t even know him.

  “Don’t kill me,” I say calmly. I look at him, trying to make him see the innocence in me, even though I know it’s barely there. However, even after all the things I’ve done, I’m not worthy of dying.

  His face is unmoving, but lets me know there is something not right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Something’s wrong, because he would’ve killed me by now if there wasn’t. I have to make use of it.

  My hand, although trembling, reaches for the gun. Before my fingers can touch it, he opens his mouth.

  “Sit.” His voice is dark and full of unspoken words. Not dark like liquid chocolate, but dark like death.

  His eye briefly darts to the bed next to me as he sways the gun to the left, just a little, but not enough to make it go away from my forehead. Not enough to keep me from dying if he pulls the trigger.

  I shift my feet just enough so that I’m against the bed with my legs, but not enough to make him think I’m trying to escape. I don’t want him shooting me for no reason. So I do as he says and gently sit down on the bed, careful not to agitate him.

  My heart is racing, practically beating out of my chest as far as I can tell, but I won’t show it to him. I need to be calm and watch what he does. I need to see all the tiny details, remember everything that happens, and find a way to escape. This man isn’t ordinary; he’s a killer. Not a murderer who kills random strangers, but someone who plots and calculates his movements. Someone who’s dangerous, because he doesn’t care. I can tell by the way he killed Billy without a hint of remorse.

  I wonder why he’s targeting me.

  “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer. All he does is keep the gun pointed at my face. Although he’s a little further away from me than he was before, it still doesn’t make me feel like I can handle this. It’s unlike anything else I’ve had to deal with, and I’ve dealt with some fucked-up shit.

  “What do you w—”

  “Shut up.” His command is short and snappy, as if he’s mad at me.

  I take in a gulp of air and stare at the carpet, feeling so utterly out of control. My gun is right next to his feet. If I could only grab it, I could fight my way out. If I can shoot him anywhere—in the leg, in the feet, in the balls for all I care, I could distract him long enough to escape.

  If only I could reach for the gun without risking him blowing my brains out.

  In complete silence I sit on the bed, waiting for my assailant to tell me what he wants. I don’t understand why he’s here. He killed Billy and then came for me, but why? Why did he kill Billy and not me? What’s different about me? What does he want? Is he here for me?

  The more I think about it, the more powerless I feel. I used to believe in living until you’re sick of it. I danced all night, drank every type of liquor there was, snorted and smoked as much as I could, used myself and let men use me, and did all the things God has forbidden. I thought it didn’t matter, because my life was mine and if I was to live it, I’d live it my way.

  Now, I’m not so sure about it anymore. My life is on the line and all of a sudden it’s become clear that what I’ve done might be exactly the reason I find myself here in the first place. That my choices and wrongdoings have led to this moment, where a disfigured stranger wants to kill me.

  I probably even deserve it.

  I snort and swallow away the tears welling up in my eyes. I’m pathetic. A whining sack of shit. I shouldn’t be crying, and I’m trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s hard. As much as I don’t want to admit it, because it makes me look weak, and I hate being weak … I don’t want to die.

  I want to live.

  All I’ve ever wanted is to live and feel alive.

  Now, more than ever, I realize that I’m not ready to give up. That I’m not ready to let someone else decide what happens to me. I’ll do anything to keep what’s mine. My beginning. My middle. My end. I’ll fight for it with everything I have.

  The mystery man takes another deep breath. His hand moves up and it makes me instantly aware of his movement. He rubs his bare head, avoiding the scars completely, which surprises me, because his head is littered with them. It’s something I force myself to remember. It may seem like something unimportant, unnoticeable, but it’s not. Every tiny detail is a piece of the puzzle and once they are put together they’ll help me put reason to this insanity. To save myself I have to unravel the secrets he hides. In order to escape I have to use all his weak points to my advantage. He’s not the type to let his victims run after he’s caught them. I can tell by the way he killed Billy; three clean shots. Coldhearted, no mess, precisely as he meant it to be. He’s a planner. Someone who knows what he’s doing and keeps control at all times. Someone who needs to believe he’s in charge. Someone who needs everything to be under his control before he relaxes.

  Which is why it surprises me that he has clearly deviated from his plan. His plan was to kill me. He didn’t. He still hasn’t. That’s my way in.

  He won’t let me go of his own free will. I have to make him believe it first.

  I’m still staring at the gun on the floor, the metal that might save my life or end it. The ticking of the clock makes me restless, because I know that every passing second I don’t take action I lose the chance to save myself. Only minutes have passed but it feels like a lifetime already.

  “Stop. I know what you’re doing. It won’t work,” he says, and then he bends over, still keeping the gun pointed at my face. He picks up the gun on the floor and gets back up into a standing position. He brings it to his mouth and unloads it with his teeth. Then he throws it a few feet away.

  Suddenly his own gun moves away from my head in a flash. It’s lightning fast. A loud shot. The gun on the floor shatters into a million pieces, bits flung through the room from the explosion. Just when he’s distracted, I lunge forward and try to grab his gun. One quick elbow jab and I’m back on the bed.

&n
bsp; “I said sit down!” he growls. “Or I’ll put a bullet in you, too.”

  The gun is immediately back in my face. I shriek, covering my face with my arms, protecting myself, even though I know it won’t help. I’m terrified.

  “Please, let me go. I didn’t do anything.” It takes a few seconds for him to even let me know he’s still in this room, because my eyes are closed. I don’t want to look death in the face.

  He snorts. “That’s laughable.”

  I lower my hands and look at him. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

  “I doubt there is anything you can do to save yourself. You’re already lost.”

  I don’t know what he means by that, but I know there’s always a way out. “What do you want? Do you want money? Do you want me?”

  “I don’t need your money.”

  “Then what do you want? I can give you anything if you let me go. You can have me if that’s what you’re after.” I open my arms and place them beside me on the bed, flaunting my breasts.

  “You think that’s what I’m after?” He laughs. It sounds maniacal. “You’re pathetic.”

  His words hurt, but I won’t let them get to me. I don’t care that I just offered myself to him willingly; I want to live. I’ll do anything for it.

  I grab myself and wrap my arms around my waist, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. His frown is condescending, but the way he holds the gun is much scarier. He grinds his teeth, almost breathing fire. His fingers are clenched around the metal, as if he’s forcing himself to pull the trigger.

  But he doesn’t. Why? What’s stopping him?

  “If you’re not going to kill me, please … just let me go.”

  A rumbling laugh comes from deep within his chest. “Who said I won’t kill you?”

  “Because you would have done it by now if that was the case.”

  He squints. “Or I’m savoring the moment.”

  I swallow. The eerie warning behind his message sends shivers down my spine.