Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 14744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 74(@200wpm)___ 59(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 74(@200wpm)___ 59(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
Clothing brushes against the sides of my face, and in here, every sound seems magnified.
I don’t even dare to breathe.
We both strain to hear any sound, Luca’s frame completely blocking me.
Soft, deliberate footsteps move through the hallway, stopping in front of my door, followed by a faint groan. It’s a long, drawn-out sound, and Luca’s muscles tense, as though he’s ready to spring into whoever this intruder is.
The door swings open fully, and I hear not one or two but multiple footsteps.
Oh God. It’s not just one man.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands flying to my mouth, when the footsteps grow louder, closer.
The seconds stretch into what feels like hours, and the fear settles into a cold, hard knot in my stomach. Luca reaches for my hand, squeezing it, even as sweat soaks my nightgown, beads sliding down my spine.
The heavy, haunting silence is suddenly replaced by low murmurs of voices. I can’t make out what they’re saying since the pulse is too loud in my ears.
I can hear the tension in their hushed voices, though, voices overlapping, words laced with urgency, the whispers sharp and quick.
Luca begins to crouch in front of me—or at least, his version of a crouch, given the small space. He’s preparing himself to fight if they open the door.
But they don’t.
A suffocating weight presses down on me, and I lean into Luca for support. His sweaty skin against my cheek as I try to get more air into my lungs.
Every breath I take is shallow and fast, my pulse a rapid, relentless thudding in my temples that grows louder and louder. The cold sweat on my palms makes them slick as I abandon any self-preservation and wrap my arms around Luca’s waist.
I can’t stop the flood of terrifying thoughts racing in my head. I should’ve left. I should’ve listened to him and packed out of here.
But I didn’t. Now we’re going to die.
My stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising. Under my palms, Luca’s muscles coil tightly like a spring. The urge to run, to escape, is almost overwhelming, but there’s nowhere to run.
All we have is this thin door separating us from them. The darkness inside is alive, crawling on my skin, filling my mind with terror.
Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, that the panic is about to boil over and consume me, I feel Luca rest a hand over mine. “They’re gone.”
I’m not ready to believe him until I hear the footsteps grow fainter, moving farther away from us. A few minutes later, a car door opens, and its engine rumbles.
The car idles for a moment, and then we hear a crunching sound of tires on gravel.
My body unclenches, fear draining away.
“Lila, I need to check if they’re really gone,” he whispers.
I’m still frozen in place, and the last thing I want is to be alone. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Just stay here, so I can—”
“No. Please, Luca.”
And so we spend the next half hour going from room to room, Luca checking under the bed, inside the bathrooms, and anywhere else people can hide and surprise us.
When everything’s clear, I’m still trailing behind Luca, tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants because it’s his only piece of clothing. It’s at this moment when I become aware of things other than my fear, like the scars crisscrossing his back—jagged lines, some lighter than his skin, others raised, the skin puckered in some places, some tight.
My throat tightens, and without thinking, I touch them, brushing a finger along the biggest one running from his shoulder to his lower back.
Luca flinches, and I wonder if I crossed a line. “I’m sorry, Lila. I went to you the moment I heard them, and I didn’t have time to put on a shirt.”
“Sorry for what?”
He turns around, his eyes—normally blank and expressionless—full of worry and uncertainty. “Showing you the monster that I am.”
“M-monster?”
“You asked earlier what I do.” He clenches his jaw, steeling himself for what he’s about to tell me. “I kill people for a living.”
I just stare at him blankly. “What?”
“I get orders from my handler, and I carry out the missions without question.”
“Who do you usually kill?”
“People in power whose victims will never get justice until I hand it to them.”
Oh my God. He’s a killer. A cold-blooded killer. He kills the untouchables, but still…
Luca steps back and runs a hand through his hair, messing it further. “You don’t want to be near me, Lila. I’m a monster, and the only reason I didn’t go on a killing spree tonight with those intruders is because you’re here, and I didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”
What does it say about me when the only thing running through my head is how he’s willing to take another person’s life to protect me? Am I sick? Am I as much of a psychopath as him?