Page 7 of Make Me A Sinner
I don't run after her; I just walk slowly, retracing her steps. I’ve got all the time in the world—literally.
I can feel just how scared she is; her pulse is so loud that I’d swear I can hear it despite the distance. I see her running toward the garden when suddenly, she trips and falls to the ground. She's so clumsy I could catch her without trying, but I stay hidden behind one of the terrace pillars, letting only my shadow cross the ground.
She turns and looks behind her with horror, and that scared look—pure fear—feeds the animal inside me. I was born a predator; the instinct—no matter how hard I try to suppress it—is still there, locked in every cell of my body. And as an unexpected effect—despite all my efforts to calm down—I can feel the monster within me surfacing.
I fear it won’t be a pretty sight when that happens.
five
-Serena-
The pain’s so sharp, my teeth grind together to overcome it. Pretty sure I smashed my knee on a rock. I can see it bleeding, but the shadow I spot behind me is much more frightening than any kind of wound.
I guess I've done it again. Mybe careful what you wish forjust came true. Set is here. He's really, really here, not just a result of my imagination. And that scares the shit out of me. I don't know if he came to take me home or just kill me for daring to leave him, but I know that no matter which one of those two drives him, he's going to make me suffer first.
I push myself up from the ground and start running so fast again that my feet barely touch the ground. I know he thinks he has everything figured out. That's why he takes his time to chase me, but I'm going to try to trick him. It’s the only chance I have.
I sprint through the garden, leaves and branches slapping my face as small twigs snap under my weight. My heart pounds so loud I think I might pass out from the adrenaline. But I'm not giving up now. I take a left turn, for him to think I'm headingtoward the house. Which I am for now—just long enough to leave the back door open. Then I go around the house, and without making a sound, I make my way into the wine cellar. This place is a damn maze. And by the time he comes looking there, I'll be long gone through the secondary exit that leads into the back of the garden. He'll check the house first, and that’ll buy me just enough time to get away.
My plan seems to be working. I slip past barrel after barrel, ducking behind each one, always checking the door behind me to see if it opens. I think a full minute passes, and the dead silence in the wine cellar is undisturbed. I consider it safe to make a run for it, so I weave through the rows of barrels, careful not to step into the main corridor. I can't risk him seeing me if by any chance, he managed to get inside.
I have just a few feet left until the secondary door that leads to the garden. The maze carries me right, then left, and I can finally see the large wooden door. It's open.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
My first instinct is to retreat, press myself into one of the barrels. The door couldn’t have been open. That door isneveropen.
Set’s here with me, and the second I realize that, I feel his scent invading my senses. It hits me like a drug. Familiar. Inescapable.
I don't even know which way to go.
Did he pass me already?
Can I still make it through the open door? Or should I double back toward the main entrance and try my chances there?
My feet are wobbly, and my breath is almost uncontrollable. I need to make a decision, but before I get to take one, I hear footsteps. And I know I only hear his footsteps because he wants me to. It's a game to him, and I am his prey. It feels like one of those horror movies when the characters are chased through thehouse by some ghost or some serial killer. And I'm starting to believe Set could be both.
The steps come from somewhere behind me, and I'm much closer to the back exit, so I take my chances and start running for it. Maybe I'll make it through the garden, then hide in the orchard. I could try to find cover between the trees, then slowly make my way to the road.
I have to take the risk, so I take off, even though my left knee’s barely holding me up anymore. I don't look back. I don't want to look back the same way I didn't want to do it when I left Vegas.
And it turns out, I don't need to.He's right in front of me. Just when I have only two rows of barrels left, he steps out from behind a stack of wooden crates, blocking the door with his body.
But I'm not giving in, so instead of freezing on the spot, I make a 180-degree turn and bolt in the opposite direction. This time, I can feel him behind me. He’s right on my heels. But all of a sudden, he seems to be gone, and as I turn to glance over my shoulder, there's no one there. Maybe I’ve lost it and I'm just imagining all of this, but I still keep on running.
In the split second it takes me to turn to look forward again, he's there. I don't have time to avoid him. I slam right into him before I can pivot away.
One of his hands wraps around the back of my neck. I'm desperate enough to try to kick him, so I wrench myself out of his grip, managing to hurt my neck while landing on the floor.
My fingers claw at the stone floor, trying to force my body back up again. It just doesn't seem to be moving—like the damn thing has given up on me. It's then that I feel Set on the ground next to me, pinning me between his weight and the cold tile floor.
Time stops, and I'm suddenly sure these are the final seconds of my life. If I’m to die today, I want it to happen right now. I don't want to turn and face him. But he does just that, rollingmy body as if it’s weightless, until my eyes are inches away from his own—black pools of darkness. I instantly feel tears lining my eyelids. Every single wrong decision I've ever made led me to this moment.
My body feels like it's caving in under his weight, but all I can do is stare into the darkness of his eyes, which now seem to flicker with gold sparks of madness.
I say nothing, and neither does he, just stays on top of me for long minutes like an animal that's catching its breath after hunting down his prey. But I know he's not tired. He's just fuming mad, staying still in an attempt to try to calm himself down.
My survival instinct knows better than to interrupt that. But I can't control the gasp that leaves my lips as I don't seem to be breathing anymore. One of his hands wraps around my neck, and before I know it, I'm off the ground; my feet, not even touching the tiles anymore.
