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Something’s not right.
Drip, drip, drip.
Douglas is sitting in his spot like he always is. Dressed immaculately and proudly displaying a rounded belly in tight-fitting shirts. His beard closely shaven, leaving salt-and-pepper flakes across his chin.
Except.
He doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
My eyes drift to the person next to him.
Masked. Dressed in black. His gloved hands holding a sharpened paper knife. That he slowly places down on the side table where Doug’s hands are resting.
Drip, drip, drip.
No.
Doug’s wrists lie facing upward.
The blood drips down the table into a shallow pool on the floor.
Everything goes cold.
Drip, drip, drip.
I open my mouth to scream.
Chapter Three
Roisin
One second, the man in black is standing over Douglas Jones’ body; the next, he’s by my side.
A leather-gloved hand stretches across my mouth while the other finds the back of my neck. The only part of his face visible is his dark eyes above a mask.
The breath in my lungs bursts out in muffled screams.
There’s no wiggling out of the man’s grip as I try to throw off his hands.
In fact, his fingers seem only to dig into my skin harder.
So I kick out. Throwing my weight into the back of my stiletto heels, trying to take out a kneecap.
The man’s grunts are muffled by his mask as my heel crashes into his lower thigh. However, his grip doesn’t waver.
Fuck, fuck.
My back presses into a wall, and the hand on the back of my neck moves to my throat.
All I can do is stare helplessly into his dark, endless eyes as they rake over my face and my body.
Assessing, calculating.
He’s going to kill me.
I try to scream again, but he applies more pressure to my throat. The tears form in my eyes before I have a chance to stop them.
“Shh… No one is going to hear you.”
