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14
Monroe
No, no, no! I can’t believe this is happening again. Is this going to be my life now? Murder, blood, and mystery. How did I end up here? How did my life turn into this mess, and how do I get back to my normal, quiet life?
I stand there frozen in time, watching in complete and utter horror as Alaric takes a knife out of his boot and starts cutting off the guy’s hand. The smell of blood permeates the air, making my stomach churn. But it’s the sound of the bone cracking under the knife that has bile rising in my throat.
“Do not puke in here!” Alaric warns, “You don’t want to leave evidence behind at a crime scene.”
Slapping a hand over my mouth, I force myself not to throw up while wondering if I can make it. I don’t think I can. What if I throw up? What if the police think I was involved in this murder? Oh my god. My mind reels, and thinking about all those possibilities just makes me more sick.
“Monroe! Look at me,” Alaric orders. “You need to calm down. Everything is going to be fine, sugar. Just don’t throw up, okay?”
“I’m trying,” I say, still holding my hand in front of my mouth, making the words come out as a mumble.
I stare at Alaric as he finishes cutting off the dead guy’s hand. I want to look away, but my eyes are glued to the gruesome scene that looks unreal. It’s almost like I’m watching a movie, unable to control anything that’s happening. It’s like I’m an outsider looking in, but far away and safe.
Alaric wraps the severed hand up in a jacket hanging over a chair before tucking it under his arm like he is holding a rolled-up newspaper.
“Grab the bottle of vodka and pour it over my hands,” Alaric tells me, pointing at a full bottle of Patrón at the table. I do as he asks and unscrew the bottle with shaking fingers. He holds out his hands to me, and I start to pour the clear liquid out until his hands are clean of blood.
“I have to bring this to my boss, and I don’t have time to take you home, so you’re going to have to come with me.” I can tell by the way he’s saying it that he is not happy about it.
Well, neither am I.
“How are we going to get out of here?”
“Walk.” He shrugs. “Just act like nothing has happened. Maybe you should take a few sips of this before we head out.” He nods toward the bottle of vodka remaining in my hand. Before I can think about it too long, I bring it to my mouth and take a healthy sip.
The alcohol goes down smoothly, only burning slightly at the back of my throat, and I embrace the warmth gathering in my stomach.
“Okay, I’m good… I think,” I hiccup.
“All right, sugar.” He wraps his arm around my back, tucking me to his side, and I try not to think about how he has a severed hand tucked under his other arm or that he is touching me with the same hands he used moments ago to kill someone.
Alaric opens the door we came from earlier. The music from the main floor gets louder, voices filtering through the hallways as he leads me through it and out the back. I say a silent prayer, hoping we don’t run into anyone. I’m not good enough of an actress for this. I’m sure my horror is still all over my face.
I glance up at Alaric, but his face gives nothing away. It’s like this doesn't affect him at all. He is neither scared nor shocked. Either that or he is simply good at hiding it.
He pushes open the back door, leading into the alley where we parked the car. Alaric walks me to the passenger side and helps me into the seat before shutting the door and walking around to get into the car himself.
The thought of making a run for it at that moment crosses my mind, but I shut that idea down quickly. I know he’d catch me in no time, and making him mad at me is probably not a good idea.
“You’ll get used to it.” Alaric breaks the silence after a while on the road.
“What if I don’t want to get used to it?”
“We don’t always get what we want. Sometimes we just have to go with it. I know you don’t want this, but you are here now, and there is no going back. You’ve seen way too much, and I can’t let you go… ever.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Not unless you try to run. As long as you do as I say, I won’t hurt you.”
I nod and sink into the seat. I might be naïve to believe him, but somehow I do. For all the bad things I’ve seen him do, he’s never hurt me physically, at least not on purpose.
