He glances down at the gun I have pressed against my side, and I squeeze my hand tightly around the cold steel barrel. When his gaze flicks back up to meet mine, the smile fades, and his eyes darken to the blue of a stormy afternoon.
“I’m the kind of friend who knows you’re Summer Reeves, Babydoll.”
That’s all I need to know to confirm he’s here to kill me.
A combination of terror and adrenaline snaps me into action. I raise the gun, aim, and shoot. The gun makes a deafening sound as the bullet leaves it.
I was sure I was going to hit him, but I missed and now he’s coming after me.
I scream and fire another bullet mindlessly which he evades. That’s when common sense kicks in and shouts at me to run and get the fuck out of here. This guy has me outmatched. I’m an amateur, and all I’ve done is piss him off.
I break into a run but manage one mere step before a strong arm secures around my middle and hauls me into the air.
“Are you crazy?” he growls, but I’m not listening to him.
Once again, I’m thinking of surviving.
Of trying to live.
I can’t allow him to kill me without a fight. Giving up will only assist him in killing me quicker. Giving up will be spitting on Scarlett’s death. So, I must fight.
“Get your hands off me!”
He tries to get the gun away, but I hold my arm up high above us, out of his reach.
Like a wild animal, I kick him in his crotch, and his legs give.
We both fall, and when he lands on top of me, I accidentally fire another shot. Something in the background shatters, but I don’t waste time trying to figure out what it is.
I scramble away from him and propel myself forward on the hardwood floor. However, he reaches for me once more. This time tearing off my dress.
“Fucking hell, you are one crazy bitch.”
He flips me onto my back and pins my hands over my head. That doesn’t stop me from fighting, though. I still thrash against him.
“Let me go, you fucking bastard.”
“I don’t think so,” he answers with a crude smile.
A second later, he relieves me of the gun effortlessly, and I stop moving when he presses the steel barrel to my neck.
My breath hitches when he lowers to my face and I almost think he’s going to kiss me.
What kind of psycho kisses a woman before he kills her?
My lungs burn with the scorching breath I’m holding. As he presses harder into my neck, the vision of his handsome face starts fading, and I know whatever he’s doing to me is going to make me pass out. Maybe that’s how he kills. Maybe he thinks it’s kinder. So, you don’t see. You die in your sleep.
“I was right. You are fiery,” he states. It’s such an odd thing to say.
“Let me… go.” It’s my final plea.
“Sorry, Babydoll, I can’t do that. You have information I need.”
Information.
I’m not sure if I say the word or think it because everything turns pitch black in my mind. I’m forced to submit to the helplessness that overpowers me.