Page 94 of Freestyle
Not yet.
Another step. Too deliberate. Too slow.
He’s watching me, and he wants me to know.
“We’ve got movement,” Phoenix whispers in my ear, all control. “Gray’s moving into position. Just hang tight.”
But it’s already too late for calm, because I recognize the laugh now, and the voice that follows.
“You always did look good in the dark.”
My blood turns to ice.
He’s here.
And this time, I’m not running.
He steps out from behind a tree, half swallowed by shadow, but I’d know him even if I’d been blindfolded.
Alberto.
He looks worse than I remember, worse than the grainy photos Nix pulled from old files, worse than the phantom that’s stalked the edge of my nightmares.
His shirt is stained, something that looks like old ketchup across the front and what might be cigarette ash smeared into the sleeves. His jeans hang loose, torn at one knee, hem dragging dirty across the pavement. His shoes don’t match; one a ratty black sneaker, the other a cracked gray slip-on. Both soaked through.
But it’s his face that catches in my throat.
Pale, waxy, like he hasn’t seen daylight in weeks. Greasy strands of dark hair cling to his forehead, unwashed and limp. His stubble isn’t grown out so much as neglected, like the idea of grooming simply stopped occurring to him. His lips are chapped, raw at the edges, and his eyes, too wide, too bright—don’t blink nearly enough.
They’re fixed on me.
Like I’m some prize at the bottom of a long, dark tunnel.
I don’t move. My blood’s ice, but my skin feels on fire.
And then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches into the pocket of his pants.
My breath hitches.
I know what’s in there. I know what he’ll have for me, and it’s just as if I conjured the pony itself, he pulls a pink one from his pocket.
I feel sicklooking at it. The things he did.
“I knew I couldn’t come empty handed, and this was always our favorite game. Wasn’t it, Rowboat?”
He moves toward me, slow, deliberate. His fingers trail over the soft fur of the pony.
I want to vomit.
My legs start to tremble, the cold seeping in from outside, or maybe it’s the chill from him.
Alberto’s eyes rake over my body. He reaches for me and I flinch away, stumbling back against the brick.
In one swift motion, he’s yanking me to my feet. He brandishes a blade from his other pocket and presses it firmly against my neck, the tip biting into my skin.
“Tell your little boyfriends to stand down or I’ll kill you right here where they can see, then I’ll be the last one to have you. Isn’t that what we both want?” he snarls into my ear piece where I know Phoenix and Gray heard him. I hear someone responding but static is cutting through the line, making it impossible to decipher.
I whimper, terrified and helpless. Tears begin to pool in my eyes and roll down my cheeks.
