Page 71 of Like Grim Death: Part One
“Are you afraid of the dark, Ella?”
I stiffen, sucking in a breath, but I yank the towel on anyway, wrapping it around my body and stepping back, so the shower door is behind me. My pulse is flying inside my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. I can’t speak as cold courses through me, my knees shaking all over again.
In the darkness, a shadow moves toward me. I don’t scream, saving my breath and my energy like I’ve been taught, but I step back, away from the shower, from the door of the bathroom.
I lift up my hands in a defensive gesture even though my instincts are to keep myself covered, and so slowly, the towel drops, whisking me in cold again.
A gentle, quiet laugh comes from a darkened corner. “That’s better.”
The praise heats the tip of my ears, the voice familiar, but I don’t let down my guard. Every muscle is keyed up, tense and ready.
“You’re stupid to come here.” My words sound steady but I feel as if I might faint.
“Stupid, huh?” The voice is closer though I didn’t see him move and I can’t see him now.
Then, somehow, he’s behind me, because a hand comes over my mouth and immediately, if I wasn’t sure on his voice alone, I know it’shim.
Spearmint.
But I don’t focus on that. Instead, I tip my chin forward then jerk my head back, aiming for his nose or his throat, whatever I can reach. And I move fuckingfast,the pain in my thighs secondary to survival.
Atlas grunts as the back of my skull collides with some part of him, and his hold loosens over my mouth.
I duck down, then spin, fists up, blinking in the dark as I take a step back, toward the door.
As my eyes adjust, I can see the whites of his, staring right at me. I’m pretty sure he let me get away, but I don’t care. He shouldn’t be here, in my house, while I’m naked.
This isn’t what we agreed to. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you asking questions?” he counters, so quietly. “I would’ve already had you choking on your own blood by now.” He steps closer, and I step back. We continue this dance, my bare feet on the cold tiles, soles slippery from my shower. Then I’m close enough to reach for the handle of the bathroom door behind me, one hand still balled up and tucked to my chest, for defense.“Run, Ella,”he whispers, and I don’t have to think about it.
I throw open the door, sprinting into mine and Mavy’s bedroom. I don’t stop there though, dim starlight cast over the king-sized bed, the couch and table and glass decanters by the window.
I grab the door to the bedroom and twist, my wet feet nearly slipping on the hardwoods, fear attempting to seize my limbs, but I’ve been taught to push past this.
I go for the stairs, slick hand gliding along the banister as I take them two at a time, afraid I’m going to pitch forward too far and fall headfirst down them.
He wouldn’t really hurt me, would he?
But I hear him chasing though I don’t glance back.“Don’t look over your shoulder. That’s how you fucking die.”He taught me that, but I think I already knew it from watching too many horror movies.
I plan out my route in my head, envision myself going to the kitchen, grabbing a knife. I hate that I’m naked, that he snuck into my home, but I don’t care. I’m not going to show any more weakness around these boys.
But when I’m almost there, almost on the first floor… I slip.
I grab onto the banister, but I’m still falling, my arm jerking as I do, my heels scrambling for purchase except there’s nothing there to save me. I try to right myself by my hold on the railing, hearing Atlas’s footsteps echoing on the stairs, but my wrist cranks the wrong way and I have to let go or I might break it and I’m crashing forward, falling, bracing for impact, except…
Someone’s hard body catches me, right at the bottom of the stairs.
A snarl leaves my lips as they stumble back a few steps from the impact. My limbs are flailing, my nails raking across their face. I feel stubble, but I don’t know who it is in the dark, just a massive form. I kick my legs, my knee colliding with his groin as his fingertips try to keep hold of my wet body. A grunt leaves his lips, but he doesn’t let go, short nails digging into my skin. Panic makes my limbs go numb and my brain is fuzzy. I forget everything I know about attacks head-on except…eyes.I try to press my thumbs to his eyes but he turns his head, then knots his fingers in my hair and spins me around. Before I can even blink, he’s looped his arms under mine, then clasped his fingers behind my neck, exposing my body and keeping me locked in his hold. My hands are free but I can’t move far, the way he’s compressing my arms.
“Let me go!”It comes out as a broken scream.
There’s a deep laugh, low and quiet, crawling across my skin like a dangerous caress. Then he says, “I think you and I are bound to fuck each other someday.”
I recognize his voice immediately simply because he rarely speaks and when he does, it’s like a novelty.
Cain. Why is he here?
