Page 7 of Watched

“Take yourself to bed.”

“Yeah, I w-will.”

“Good. Let me know if you need my help with this American tool.”

“I will. Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Goodnight, son.”

“Night.”

The red button doubles and I squint, trying to decipher which one I’m supposed to press. He ends the call for me, and my home screen appears again.

“American tool?” That voice echoes in my head. My already pounding heart thrashes as I lift my blurry gaze to the white masked figure descending my stairs off to the left. “I am American, but I don’t perceive myself as a tool.”

The sweat coating my palms smears on the grey bench as my numb legs—try as they might—fail to carry me more than a few steps towards my garage door.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says softly, stepping to the other side of the kitchen island, blocking every exit.

I could jump out of the window above the sink behind me; there’s a bush beneath that will break my fall. I would usually run, but I’m pissed off and feeling uncharacteristically bold. “I c-called the p-police about you,” I slur.

“I know.”

“I have connections.”

“As do I.”

“People who will kill you.”

His head tilts, and the white mask blurs into two. “Call them.” He takes a step around the bench and I sloppily counter it. “Let me take you to bed, baby.”

I raise my finger at him. “I’m not yours.”

He lets out an annoyed sigh. “You’re drunk, Rome. And might I remind you, you already agreed you are.”

Palming my hands on the bench, I lean toward him with narrowed eyes. “Take off your mask.”

“In due time. Right now, I will help you upstairs, and you’ll brush your teeth and get into bed.”

“No.”

“Stop defying me.”

“No.”

I drop my gaze to my phone and reach for it. His gloved hands splay wide on the bench, watching me. Why is he not worried? About the police? Who I’ll call? Why can’t he just bugger off?

My legs tangle, making me sway a little, and he releases another frustrated breath. I search for the number, then dial, putting it on speaker so the bastard can hear who he’s dealing with.

“Hey, mate,” Xander greets.

“S-someone’s in my house,” I slur and release my own frustrated breath. I rarely drink, but we won a tough game tonight, and I earned this reward.

Rustling comes through the speaker, then the clinking of keys. “I’m on my way. Just stay hidden. Where the fuck is security?”

Security. I know why I called Xander. He’s feared within this city, but I’m taking a stupid chance this American prick may actually know who’s on the phone. Why take such a stupid risk, Rome? Why not call security first? “I don’t know, but um…” My head swims and I sway again, and this time, the masked wanker flinches. “He’s standing right in front of me.”

“What?” Xander snaps.