by C. Hallman
Looking around the room, I spot a mirror above Monroe's dresser with her makeup lined up under it. I grab a lipstick, unscrew it, and write her a message on the mirror.
I'll be watching you. -A
Taking a step back, I admire my work. She'll be so fucking scared when she wakes up covered in my seed with that cryptic message on the mirror. I wish I could be around to see the fear in her eyes as she comes to the realization I did this. I'm the one fucking with her. I'm the one she should be afraid of.
I make sure everything's as it was when I came in. I walk back to my car and take off my black leather gloves. I switch from feeling like a horny teenager to the ruthless murder machine my employers expect me to be.
Someone's going to die tonight.
I'll take special pleasure in watching their blood spurt, coloring the walls dark red.
It’ll be like therapy. Therapy for my fucked-up heart that wants nothing more than to go back inside that cramped apartment, put my hand over Monroe’s mouth, and fuck her senseless. Therapy for my black fucking heart that bleeds when I see girls like her, girls with a bright future, selling their perfect bodies for a couple of thousand.
The world's a sick fucking place.
And I'm only making it worse.
4
Monroe
I wake up with the oddest feeling. It's like a sixth sense telling me that something is not right. I open my eyes and stare at the familiar white ceiling of my bedroom. A brown water stain is the only thing standing out, but that’s been there since I moved in.
Frowning, I push the thin blanket off my body. Cool air washes over my heated skin, and that’s when I feel it. Something is on my face. My hand flies to my cheek to touch the spot. I run my fingers over the dried substance that’s caked onto my face.
What the hell?
I sit up in haste, eager to figure out what this stuff could be. My eyes fall onto the mirror sitting on my dresser, and my heart stops when I read the words.
I'll be watching you. -A
I gape at the bright red lettering covering my mirror. Blinking slowly, I hope that they will somehow disappear each time I close my eyes. I must be dreaming. Yes, I’m still asleep.
Only, I’ve never felt like this in a dream before. I’ve never felt this kind of terror, no matter how bad the nightmare got. My heart has started beating again, but it settles in an unnaturally fast rhythm, pumping adrenaline through my veins.
My gaze zeros in on the A it’s been signed with. I know right away who he is. The man from the club. I don’t know how or why, but I know it’s him. He found me.
Frantically, I scan the room, half expecting him to jump out from the closet any minute. Oh my god, what if he’s still here?
I briefly entertain the thought of calling the cops, but then I remember what Lucian said. The guy is in the mob. I don’t know much about the mob, but if every movie I ever watched about organized crime is true, they have people from the police department on their payroll.
Pushing myself off the bed, I stand on unsteady feet and look around for a weapon. The lamp on my nightstand is small and made of cheap plastic, but the hardcover romance novel is thick and heavy. I grab it with both hands and hold it above my head, ready to throw it at the intruder.
On tiptoes, I sneak across the room, inching my way toward the open door. I come to a stop next to the dresser when I catch my reflection in the mirror. The dried substance on my face is a creamy white, and only then does my brain connect the dots.
It’s cum. He fucking came on my face while I was sleeping.
The pure shock has the book slipping from my hands and landing on the floor with a loud thud. Startled, I jump half a foot in the air before spinning around like a maniac. My pulse is racing as I ready myself for some kind of attack.
When nothing happens after a few moments, I relax slightly, but not enough for my ragged breathing to even out. My whole body is tense as I make my way through the rest of the apartment, checking inside every closet and around every corner for him.
Only when I’m one-hundred-percent sure that I am alone do I sigh in relief. He is gone, at least for now.
Taking a butcher’s knife from the kitchen —just in case— I lock myself in my bathroom. As I strip out of my nightshirt, I notice more dried cum on the fabric and my thigh. Jesus, did he do this more than once, and how in the world did I not wake up?
Turning on the shower, I let the water turn hot before stepping under the spray. As I scrub my body of the evidence of his visit, I keep my eyes trained on the knife lying on the counter within reaching distance. I scrub until my skin feels raw, but I still don’t feel clean.
I give up when the water runs cold and the shivering gets to be too much. By the time I get out and dry off, my teeth are rattling together, threatening to crack my molars.
In record time, I get dressed and ready. Not bothering with makeup, I grab my phone, purse, and keys on my way out the door. There is only one place I’ll feel safe right now. Even if it’s just for a few hours. I need to feel safe, need to shove this mind-altering fear aside so I can think about what to do next.
I take three different buses to get to the Haven Senior Center. I might be paranoid, but the last thing I want is to lead a psycho to my grandma.
Doris from the front desk greets me with a smile, completely oblivious to the disturbing things going on inside my mind at the moment. Rushing past her, I head for the stairs, taking two steps at a time until I’m on the second floor.
My grandma's room is the last one at the end of the hall. For every two steps I take, I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is following me. The hallway remains empty as I stand in front of my grandma’s door for a moment to gather myself. I don’t want her to realize something is wrong.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I lift my hand and gently rap my knuckles over the smooth wood.
“Come in,” her muffled voice yells through the door a second after my knock.
Turning the brass knob, I push the door open and step inside. The familiar scent of fresh linen and lavender fills my senses, putting me at ease right away.
“Well, hello dear,” Grandma’s sing-song voice meets my ear and another wave of calm washes over me. She is sitting close to the window, the rays of sunshine turning her gray hair shiny like silver. A book is perched in her lap, and a steaming hot cup of coffee sits on the side table next to her.
“Hi, Grams,” I greet her, closing the door behind me. I set my purse on the floor next to the door and move in to give my grandma a hug. Leaning down to where she’s sitting in her wheelchair, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her close.
“You’re early today. Is everything okay?” she asks when I release her reluctantly.
“Yes, just wanted to see you. You know, spend some more time with you. I don’t have to work until later tonight.”
“I wish you wouldn’t work at a bar. It’s not safe for a beautiful woman like yourself.”
It’s not the first time she has voiced her concerns, but they were always invalid. Lucian treats his staff well and never forces anyone to do something they don’t want to. I always felt protected there… until now.
“I’m fine, I promise.” I hate lying to her, but I can’t stand her worrying sick, and I really need the money, which is another thing I’m lying to her about. She has no idea how expensive this place really is, and I’m going to keep it this way. She wouldn't be okay with me spending nine hundred dollars a week on this place. On the other hand, I would pay even more to ensure she’s taken care of the way she deserves.
“Are you sure, dear? You look a bit pale—”
“Why don’t we take a walk through the garden?” I cut her off, trying desperately to distract her.
“Are you sure?” she asks, inspecting my face like she is trying to solve a puzzle. “I guess some fresh air would be nice.”
“Great.” I clap my hands together in fake excitement before starting to push
Grams out the door and down the hall.
Passing the staircase, I head to the elevators and push the call button. The door slides open with a ping, and I am left staring into the small space ahead of me. My stomach is in knots. I hate this part.
Without actually going into the elevator, I extend my arms to push my grandma inside to where she can reach the buttons.
“I’ll meet you downstairs.” Luckily, I don’t have to explain myself. This is the way we do it every time. I help her into the elevator, and then I’ll take the stairs. My fear of confined spaces is simply too strong, and she understands that, knowing exactly why I’m this way.
By the time I get downstairs, she has already arrived and is wheeling herself out. I meet her in the foyer and take over pushing so she can relax.
We walk through the garden for a long time. She tells me about dinner and the show the center put on for the seniors last night. Then she goes on about the book she’s been reading, and in return, I tell her about the one I recently picked up from the library.
We grab some lunch and drink coffee on the terrace after. Everything around me, all worry and fear, just disappears when I’m with her. That’s why I’m not surprised when I suddenly realize it’s getting dark outside.
“Shit, I’m gonna miss the bus if I don’t leave like… now. Ugh, sorry, Grams. I have to rush out.”
“Don’t worry, hun. Thanks for spending the day with me.”
I give her one last kiss on the cheek before I dash out the door and down the stairs. I make it around the corner just in time to see the bus take off without me in it.
Shit!
Frustrated, I grab the handle on my purse tighter as if strangling the fake leather will resolve all my problems. I could call a cab, but I’ve just caught up with all the bills for the first time in months. I can’t start spending cash to fix my own carelessness.
Thankfully, I chose my comfortable sneakers this morning. I march down the sidewalk while keeping a fast pace. The sun is almost down all the way now, the streetlights providing most of the light. The air turns frigid swiftly, and I wrap my arms around myself as I walk.
It isn’t long before I regret my choice. Every sound I hear startles me, every car passing by causes my pulse to spike, and every dark corner I see freaks me out a little more.
I tell myself it’s all in my head… until it’s not.
Everything happens so fast. Cruel hands come out of nowhere. Meaty fingers dig into my skin with bruising force as two men drag me into an alley.
I open my mouth to scream, but before any sound comes out, a large hand covers my mouth. The smell of dirt, urine, and cheap alcohol fills my nostrils. A combination that has bile rise in my throat.
“Who do we have here?” One of my attackers chuckles. “Walking around the city all alone after dark. You’re basically asking to have your cunt filled.”
“And the ass.” The other guy grins, showing off half of his front teeth missing. “Don’t forget the ass, Chuck.”
One of them forcefully grabs a handful of my breast while another kneads my butt cheek through my thin dress. I flail my arms and kick my leg out, earning me a slap in the face. My cheek stings, and tears start to run down my face as I desperately try to fight these two men off.
“We’re going to have so much fun with you—” His words are cut off as his body is flung backward as though he weighs hardly anything. A dark figure appears in front of us, his face nothing but a mask of fury, almost unrecognizable… almost.
The guy behind me releases his hold on me, and I stumble away from the three men.
“Hey, man, we don’t want any trouble with you people.” One of my assailants holds up his hands in surrender.
“Shut up,” A growls at him, like I imagine a feral animal would at his prey.
“We didn’t know she was—” He chokes on his words when he catches sight of the murderous look in A’s eyes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck… the word runs on replay through my mind. Fuck, he’s going to kill them. And he’s not going to let me walk away. At that exact moment, I know my life is over.
I’m going to die.
5
Alaric
I make quick work of the two bastards who dragged her into the alley. I don't even use a gun. With a painful-sounding crunch, I break the first one's neck. His useless body drops to the ground, hitting it with a thud.
The other guy looks for a way to escape, but it's too fucking late. Before he can make a run for it, I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall in the alley.
"Please, man," he grunts, his voice raspy since I'm squeezing his worthless throat so fucking hard. "Have mercy, I didn't know she was your girl."
"Too fucking late," I grind out, snapping his neck, too. His body falls to the ground like a useless, broken puppet. And now it's just me and Monroe, who's shivering behind me.
Slowly, I turn around to face her. At least there's no fucking blood. I leave the bodies there, grab her arm, and drag her out of the alley.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe you—"
"Shut up." I keep pulling her along until we're a street over. Then I drag her into another alley and press her back against the wall. "What the fuck are you doing, walking around alone like that?"
"Are you actually making this my fault right now?" she hisses, narrowing her eyes at me. "I was just trying to get home! And what the hell are you doing here, anyway?"
"Keeping an eye on you," I grunt. "Good thing I am, since you don't have a fucking clue how to look out for your own ass."
Her eyes burn with anger. "You killed them. Oh God, you fucking killed them."
"Shut up," I repeat. "You'll get us in trouble."
"Oh God, oh God, oh God." Her eyes are growing wider and wider, and her pupils have dilated so much her pretty eyes look nearly black. "I can't believe it. I just saw two men die. For nothing."
"They would've hurt you." I put my hand on the brick wall behind her, and she turns her head to the side, closing her eyes so she doesn't have to look at me. "They would've raped you. Or worse. Shouldn't you be fucking thanking me?"
"You're a monster." Her words are barely above a whisper now. "Fuck. They're dead because of me."
"They're dead because they were assaulting an innocent girl. There are rules at play here, sugar. They should never have touched you. Because you're mine."
"Just because you're stalking me doesn't make me your property." She punctuates her words by pushing a finger into my chest. "You're fucking crazy, A. I know you were in my apartment last night."
"Oh, you do?" I smirk at her. "Got any way to prove it?"
She peels her back away from the wall and advances on me, but I don't move. She seems intimidated, but she stands her ground. It's actually kind of fucking cute.
"You came on me, you pervert," she hisses. "I was covered in it this morning. And your message is still on my mirror."
"You have no way to prove it."
"I'm sure there are fingerprints all over my fucking room," she snaps, but all I do is flash her my hands in my signature black leather gloves. She pales, her bottom lip trembling. "You got nothing on me, sugar. But you're right about one thing. You've seen me kill now. You're a liability."
She looks shocked and afraid as I grab her forearm. "Don't kill me."
"Why shouldn't I?" I bark. Even though I have no intention of harming the barely legal waitress, this is giving me a hard-on. I love the fear in her eyes. It's fucking exciting.
"Because I..." She blanches, shakily tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have to... I have to..."
"Great reasons, sugar," I hiss. "I'm not going to kill you. But you are coming with me."
"What? Where?" She resists. "Let me go."
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, sugar. You fight me, I'll put a knife to your throat and walk you to my goddamn car. Or you can come willingly."
"I'm not going anywhere with yo
u," she spits out. "Don't you think someone will call the cops if you drag me through the street with a knife pressed to my neck?"
"See this?" I flash her the red ribbon on my wrist. "Nobody will fuck with me. Not even the police. Now come the fuck on."
She doesn't argue, but I can see the trace of tears in her eyes. Ignoring it, I make her walk ahead of me. Two blocks go by. People see us and avert their eyes when I flash them the ribbon on my wrist. No one's going to help Monroe, not when I'm with her.
We reach my car, and her eyes widen when she sees it. I put her in the back seat and make quick work of tying her up with the seat belt.
"Are you serious?" Monroe growls.
"Very." I tighten the seat belt so she's immobilized. "I'm not risking you attacking me while I drive. Now be a good girl and shut the fuck up so I can fucking think."
I get into the driver's seat. I don't have to think about where I'm taking her because I already know where I want her. In my house, on my bed, with her legs spread and my seed dripping out of that delicious little cunt I haven't tasted yet. Revving the engine, I start driving.
Every so often, I check on Monroe in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes are open, and tears are sliding down her cheeks. If I didn't have a black fucking heart, I'd actually feel sorry for her. But I'm ruthless. A killer. I wanted her, so I'm fucking taking her. It's not like she'll be missing out. Her life seems pretty fucking shitty, so I'll give her a better one. I'll make her appreciate me.
The short drive to my house is charged with tension. I pull up in front of my house, and Monroe closes her eyes so she doesn't have to see where I've brought her. I kill the engine after parking in the garage and take a deep breath, trying to figure out how the fuck I'm going to handle this.
I don't have a room to put her in. All this has happened too fast, and I'm not fucking prepared for it. Until I figure this shit out, I'll just have to improvise.
