Page 12 of A Midnight Romance
I ignore her pleas, briskly stepping onto the first step.
“Upstairs,” she says, “I heard you.”
I know I should focus on getting out, but intrigued by her admission, I walk back over to the side of the bed. Tangled long brown hair frames her face, and a cut mars her bottom lip.
Curiosity gets the best of me, because I’m not sure if what she said was an accusation or an appeal to show she has knowledge about what Sebastian and I did.
“Did they get to you?” I ask. My protective instincts get the best of me while I examine her body for more injuries.
“What?” she spits out. “Do you want me all to yourself? Is that why you killed the guy upstairs?”
She thinks I’m one of them.
I slip the black mask over my face, then reach over to slowly push the blindfold up on hers. Two large hazel eyes with specks of green expose themselves to me. A smudged her mascara, leaving a line of black ink down her cheek.
Why does she look so familiar?
“Did they get to you?” I repeat.
Her frightened orbs bounce between mine for a moment before she answers in a soft voice.
“Only one.”
Her answer lifts a weight of concern from me, but it suddenly returns because one is too many.
“What are you going to do to me?” She swallows hard.
I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes from hers. “Nothing.”
“Are you planning to let me go?”
“No.”
Her swollen bottom lip quivers. “So, you’re not going to hurt me or let me go?”
I shake my head once again. “I’m not sure yet.”
The previous terror in her eyes transforms into a frenzied panic. “Are you going to leave me here for when they come back?”
“No one will be returning,” I tell her coldly. “The police will be here soon.”
Attempting to escape, she sharply tugs on her wrists, forcing a stream of blood to trickle down her arm.
I never talk to them, because it’s too dangerous.She is a victim—part of the job, I remind myself.But then why do I feel this palpable pull toward to her?
Fuck, I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. Giving her my back, I start walking toward the stairs.
“How do you know?” she rushes out, the farther away from her I get.
“I’m going to call them,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Will you stay until they come?” she cries.
I pause before my boot hits the cracked tile in the shower. I was hoping to wash up the best I can before heading upstairs. “Why do you want me to stay? I could’ve lied to you about being one of them.”
“You’re not.” She sniffs, answering with confidence. “You said you’re not.”
Slowly, I turn to confront her. “And you believe me?”
