by Stella Noir
"Thought so," she says. She grabs her purse and coat and storms toward the door.
I want to go after her, hold her back by grabbing her arm, but I know there's no point. All it would do is to create a scene, and I don't want to embarrass her. There are already enough people staring at us as is.
As she heads for the door, I signal the guy sitting at a table close by to follow her. He's one of my guys and has been sitting there all evening as if he was a normal restaurant patron. He replies with a short nod and rises to follow her.
They will make sure that she gets home safely without her knowing they are following her. Protecting her.
I sit back down at the table and signal to the waiter that I'm ready to pay.
What should I do? I can't be honest, I can't lie. There's still a strong urge to follow her and try to explain.
Also, I don't like her being by herself. Even though Titus threatened to do something to her right in front of my eyes, who's to say that he doesn't do something while she's home alone? What if he does find a way to get inside her home or office or attacks her while she's out on the street alone?
Maybe this is all a big mistake. It's her life that's threatened, shouldn't she be made aware of it?
I hate to see her terrified like this.
I take care of the bill and stare out the window, unsure what to do. She's on her way home, by herself, sad and scared. I feel sick to my stomach for doing this to her, and I'm filled with rage.
This has to stop. I can't live in fear like this, just waiting for Titus to show up and make good on his threats.
Even if that means I have to tell her everything and scare the shit out of her. At least I'd be being honest.
I'm sure I’ve talked myself into this decision because her horrified face is not immediately in front of me. I'll have to deal with that once I tell her the truth.
I jump up from the chair as soon as the waiter returns with my credit card and head for the door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lily
Tears are rolling down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I absentmindedly stare out the window. I've called myself a cab, and it's the first time in a while that I'm paying for it myself.
That's so not how I imagined my first date with Jed. Yes, I had asked for more excitement, more surprises and adventures, but not for my boyfriend to be concealing a freaking gun under his jacket.
Boyfriend.
Is that what he is? This is the first time I've refered to him like that, even if it was just in my head. I was pretty sure we were heading that way before tonight. But if he pulls something like this and can't even explain himself to me without lying, I don't see a future for us.
Why is it so hard for him to be honest? What is he hiding? He has never worn a gun before when he was with me, I'm positive of that; I really am. I would have noticed.
I would have noticed, right?
I'm not even too sure about that last part because I hardly ever got to undress him. He always did it himself and often while I was turned away or busy doing something else. Is that why he sometimes asked me to strip and turn around for him? So he could hide the gun, just like he hid the pictures away from me that I'm not supposed to ask about?
No. That's not it. Something is up, something must have happened that causes him to be scared of something or someone – and he doesn't want to tell me about it. Even if he's only doing it to spare me, I don't like it one bit. He treats me like a little kid or a helpless little puppy that needs his protection.
And while doing so, he puts me in danger. If someone is threatening him, then I'm in just as much danger when I'm with him. The less I know, the less I can watch out for suspicious things happening around me. If I feel safe when I'm really not, I'm in even bigger danger.
He should know that. He shouldn't treat me like this. Yet, he does. He doesn't trust me or take me seriously, just like he didn't take me seriously the first time we met. I'm the good little girl for him, the naive dreamer who doesn't know anything about the hardships of the world. That's why he thinks it‘s best to shield everything away from me.
The worst part is that he might be right. I'm scared. I feel frightened and lonely, and halfway home I almost regret leaving him at the restaurant because I would feel a lot safer if he was with me.
Instead, I'm all alone, and I will be alone all night. That's not the nicest prospect right now.
I look back over my shoulder, unsure what exactly I'm looking for, but I want to trick myself into thinking that I'm completely aware of my surroundings. If there's someone following me, I want to know about it.
I keep watching the street behind me. We're now close to where I live, so I only have about five minutes left to catch sight of potential followers.
The neighborhood I live in is rather quiet at night. It's generally considered a safe neighborhood, but there's not much going on in the evening. There are few people out on the streets and even fewer cars driving around.
Which is why the one car behind my cab is so unsettling to me right now.
It's been there since I started paying attention, and so far it has followed us around every corner, keeping the mandatory safe distance between vehicles, but definitely following us.
This could be coincidence.
Or not.
My cab stops. I was so occupied with my alleged pursuer that I didn't realize we're already here.
I pay the driver and look back over my shoulder once again before I open the cab door to get out.
The car is still there. In fact, it's parked a few yards behind us. The lights are shut off, and it doesn't look like the driver has any intention of going somewhere else.
My heartbeat is racing, nearly exploding. I gulp down breaths in an attempt to calm myself down.
"Got everything?" the driver asks, sounding impatient.
"Yes, sorry," I hurry to reply. "Thanks. Bye."
I jump out of the car and scurry up the stairs to my entrance. There's a little porch in front of my door that shields me from the suspicious car that's parked across the street. I pause for a moment and take a step back, glancing over to see if there's someone getting out of it.
The car is parked with the engine turned off, and I can see two people sitting inside, but it's too dark and too far away to see whether they're looking at me or not.
However, what I can see is that they're not stepping out and walking up to one of the houses around here like would be expected.
I rummage through my purse, frantically searching for my keys. Of course, my bag turns into another black hole, and for a few dreadful seconds I even fear that I might have lost my keys altogether. In my panic, I almost decide to just dump the entire contents of my bag on the porch to hurry up the search process, but before it comes to that, I can feel the familiar touch of my keychain on the bottom of my purse.
I pull out the keys, not minding the trash and old bills that fall onto the floor as I do, and hurry to unlock the entrance door, my entire body shaking uncontrollably as I'm paralyzed by fear.
I have to call the police. Once I'm inside. I don't know what I'll tell them yet, but I can think about that once I'm inside my apartment, safe and sound.
A surge of relief overcomes me once I'm inside the house and close the door behind me, locking it. I lean against it, breathing frantically as I switch on the foyer light.
Once the hallway is brightly lit, my relief is replaced by shock.
The hallway of my home is rather small, as there are only two apartments on each of the five stories and just one on the first level. The stairway is about 10 feet away from stairs leading up to the right and down to the basement, and then to the back entrance to the left.
And that's where he's standing.
A man, slightly older than me, maybe in his thirties, is leaning against the wall next to the back entrance with his arms crossed and his eyes fixated on me. I don't recognize him, and he's not one of my neighbors. But there’s something wrong about him. H
e looks drained and tired, as if he hasn't slept in years. His grey skin and dark, empty eyes make him look as if someone drained the life out of him.
He's staring at me, and after a while, his worn-out face grimaces in an expression that could barely be described as a smile.
I glance over to the stairs on the right and wonder if I should just run upstairs. He doesn't look like he could keep up.
"Pretty one," he says. His voice is hoarse and scratchy, matching his zombie-like appearance on-point.
"Who are you?" I ask, pondering the choice of weapons at my disposal. "What do you want?"
I'm still holding my keys.
A few years ago, I watched a television show that addressed situations just like this one. You're faced with someone who scares the shit out of you, who – despite his sickly appearance – is able to overpower you. You're alone, in the dark, on your way home. What choices do you have? They mentioned using keys as a weapon by holding them in a fist with a key sticking out between the fingers, adding spikes to your first. I've practiced holding my keys that way a few times and even playfully punched a cushion with it, just to see the impact it has. I've never really believed this tactic would work, yet I find myself fiddling with my keys in my right hand, trying to create that potentially dangerous fist to knock him out if he dares to approach me.
"He always liked girls like you," he says, his voice cracking. "Helpless little does. Beautiful and weak."
I furl my brows. He's not very tall, just a tad taller than me. I straighten up, my shoulders tense, my chin jutting forward, hoping to appear as tall and confident as possible. I can't let him see how much he scares me.
"Get out," I tell him. "I'm calling the police."
He laughs and shakes his head.
I flinch when he straightens up and starts walking toward me. He's approaching me slowly; I scan his body for weapons. His hands are empty, and as far as I can tell, he doesn't have a knife or a gun.
Until he does.
It's impossible for me to hide my shock when he draws out a knife from a sheath that's attached to his side.
Fuck. I need to get out of here.
Running up the stairs is no longer an option.
"That motherfucker tried to protect you," he says, taking another step closer. "But here we are. Just his pretty little miss and me, ready to carve you up. That'll teach him."
He stops when he notices that I'm not backing away from him. I glare at him, processing his words. I know he's talking about Jed, and I wonder if I could talk my way out of this now. He seems to be quite chatty after all.
He tilts his head to the side and observes me.
"I think I'll start with the face," he says, waving his knife in front of my face. "That pretty little f –"
A cracking noise at the back entrance behind him catches both of our attention, and he makes the mistake of turning around to look over his shoulder.
I don't waste time on making the same mistake twice and turn around to head for the door leading out to the front.
It's just two steps away, but just as I reach the doorknob, I hear a commotion behind me that causes me to hesitate and turn around.
The guy is no longer alone as someone else has entered through the back entrance, dealing a vicious attack against him.
Jed!
I stop mid-motion, no longer feeling the urge to run away. I turn around, wanting to help, but unsure what to do. Jed towers over the guy by half a foot, and he's a lot stronger, but the guy's furious determination awakens a crazy force within him. He's still holding the knife, trying to lash out, but Jed is holding up his arms in a strong grip, pushing them to the side and away from him. They're turning and twisting in that weird pose as if they were dancing, and if this entire situation wasn't so incredibly frightening, it would almost be comical.
"Run!" Jed yells at me without turning around.
"No!" I yell back, realizing how stupid this is of me.
Somehow, the zombie guy manages to free one of his hands – not the one holding the knife – from Jed's grip. Jed uses that short moment to reach for his gun. It all happens within seconds. A clicking sound tells me that he's unlocked the safety, but when he aims to shoot, the guy slams his hand away, turning both of them in the process and yanking the gun out of Jed's hand. It slides across the hallway, coming to a halt just a few feet away from me.
I run for it, my heart almost exploding as I pick it up, still feeling the warmth from the first shot. I've never held a gun before, and knowing that the safety is off scares the shit out of me.
However, I have no time to be scared now. I jump back as the two fighting men tumble towards me. The guy turns around in a violent move, a horrifying cracking sound revealing that he's willing to break his own bones just to get out of Jed's fierce grip.
He must have broken a bunch of his fingers, but somehow he still manages to escape from Jed's grip for a second – just enough time for him to ram the knife inside the side of Jed's torso.
Jed's grip loosens instantly as his arms fall down and he groans in pain, tumbling against the wall behind him before he sinks down to the floor, apparently losing consciousness instantly as his head hits the railing of the staircase.
I shriek out his name in panic, a fearless automation taking over my actions as my eyes meet those of the attacker when he turns around to face me, the bloody knife still in his hand.
I lift the gun, pointing it directly at him, shifting slightly to the side before I pull the trigger. The loud echo of a second shot fills the hallway with its terrifying noise.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jed
It's bright. Everything is too bright.
I'm trying to open my eyes, but the insanely bright lights keep me from doing so. They burn, causing hot streaks of pain to run along my temple. My head feels as if it's about to explode.
"Jed?"
Her voice seems both distant and close at the same time. I can sense that she's close by, but she sounds as if she's trapped underneath a glass dome.
I finally manage to open my eyes, and once they get adjusted to the fucking brightness around me, I see her.
Lily is sitting next to me, wearing the same pink blouse she wore on the first night I fucked her, and looking at me with her big, blue eyes widened in worry.
When she realizes that I'm awake, her face instantly brightens into a beautiful smile.
"Jed!" she gasps, still sounding a bit muffled in my ears. "It's all good. It's all good."
She scoots her chair closer to me and reaches for my hand.
I'm in a hospital room, hooked to an I.V. and with a blinding pain at the side of my head. Everything else feels numb. My body, my mind.
I barely manage to latch on to her beautiful eyes when I look at her.
"What?" I ask, having to clear my voice. My throat hurts, and experience tells me that this is due to tubes in my throat during an operation. I've been in this situation before. Getting hurt, getting fixed, waking up in a fog caused by strong pain killers.
But how did I get here?
"It's all good," Lily repeats. "You saved me."
Saved her?
"Here," she says, reaching for something on the table next to my bed.
I feel like a fucking baby, torn between the humiliation of her having to take care of me like this and pleasant appreciation that comes with her being here to do it.
"The doctors said I could let you have some ice chips to chew on once you woke up," she says. "Your throat must hurt from the operation."
"It does," I reply, my voice croaking.
She smiles and beckons for me to try another ice chip.
I feel the soothing effect ice has on my tortured throat.
"Thank you."
"Thank you," she says. "If it wasn't for you, I might not be alive."
I look at her, narrowing my eyes.
"If it wasn't for me, you'd never have been in this danger," I point out, clearing my throat.
She casts me a
bitter smile. "That's true."
Slowly, my memory returns. Titus. He ruined our first dinner date. Lily left without me, but I followed her. She was alert and noticed that there was a car following her when she got home. I remember seeing her frightened face as she looked over to us, and I hoped to God she wouldn't recognize me. I don't know if she did.
When she was about to open the door, I contacted my guy at the back entrance. I always had two guys at her home, one out at the front, one at the back.
He didn't answer. Normally, I would get a reply within seconds, letting me know there were eyes on Lily, guaranteeing her safety, but this time, I didn't. There was nothing but silence after several repeated requests for a status update.
I jumped out of the car as soon as Lily entered the house and made my way to the back door.
There, I found him. As well-trained as they are, any security personnel can fall prey to something that costs them their life. My guy is lying next to the door, on his back in a pool of blood, his throat slit right open.
The door is unlocked and I get inside just in time to see Titus approaching Lily, waving his knife in front of her and spitting disgusting threats.
That's where my memory stops, and Lily has to fill me in after she's heard what I can remember.
"You jumped at him," she says. "You tried to overwhelm him and get him to drop the knife. Then you reached for your gun, but he slapped it out of your hand and managed to stab you. When you fell down, the gun kind of fell into my hands and I... shot him."
My heart almost stops when she says that, a dark shadow crossing over her face.
"You shot him?" I ask in disbelief.
She nods, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Is he dead?"
She shrugs, looking embarrassed.
"I tried to shoot him in the arm or something," she explains, her voice desperate as if she had to defend herself in front of me. "I really tried. But I've never shot a gun before! I had no idea what I was doing! Instead of his arm, I hit his head, and –"
Her lips quiver as her eyes fill with tears.
"He... he was brought to the critical care unit, and I don't know if he's going to make it," she continues, tears running down her cheeks. "I might have killed him, Jed."