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The angry one pulls his gun back, glaring at him with a burning rage. “Fuck off.” He tucks his gun back into his pocket, and within an instant, his fingers are around my throat. He slams me against the wall, his grip tight and aggressive. It’s not like Malik, where there’s a tenderness and sexual heat between us.
This guy doesn’t like me. This guy doesn’t even want me alive.
“You open your mouth about this little encounter, and you can guarantee I’ll skin you, your friends, and your family alive. I’ll use you as a dishrag to wipe the blood from my hands. Your friends will be the rug I wipe my dirty-ass shoes on, and your family can decorate my walls like a piece of abstract art.”
I say nothing, my chest seizing as the thought of him using my skin to wipe his hands on makes my back break out in chills.
“You should answer him before he pulls his gun back out and paints the brick with your brains.”
“I won’t say a word,” I choke out.
His fingers release my neck, and I drop to the ground. They don’t step back, crowding me against the wall, but I don’t take another second. I scramble to a stand, slipping around their legs and sprinting down the alley.
I don’t look behind me.
I just keep moving.
It takes me a while to stop the panic from my encounter with the creeps in the alleyway. But, maybe I don’t panic as long as I should’ve, because my mind instantly strayed from them and onto someone else.
Malik.
I just have to know.
What do I have to know, though?
I don’t know whether I want to see if Castle Pointe is real, or maybe if my house is still standing.
Or maybe I just want to see him.
Look at him from afar and make sure he’s still living and breathing.
That he wasn’t a figment of my imagination.
I crank up the heat, placing my hand over the vent as I fly down the highway toward Castle Pointe, my fingers slowly thawing from the warm air.
I don’t even turn on the radio, my eyes focused on the trees as they become denser with each mile that passes.
The road feels endless, like I’m lost in a loop as the road extends for miles. It feels like forever. Though, time eventually comes where the air turns heavy and wet with dew. The cliffs of Superior grow sharp and jagged, the dark waters in the distance violent as they slam against the rocks.
When the aged stone of Castle Pointe comes into view, my breathing stops entirely.
I press on the brakes, slowing to a stop as my fingers shake against the steering wheel.
I don’t move, don’t take another breath as I stare at the sight in front of me.
Parked beside the Castle Pointe sign is a familiar car. Black and sleek, exactly the same Rover as I remember from over a year ago.
He sits on his hood, facing me. His eyes dark, his limbs long and lean as they curl over the hood of the truck. He looks relaxed as he stares at me. Like he’s… waiting for me.
Is he waiting for me?
How would he even know that I’m here?
We sit like this for minutes, maybe an hour. Me sitting in my car with my foot against the brake. Him sitting on top of his truck, staring at me in the night. We both just… watch each other.
“You can do this,” I whisper, shifting into park and turning off the rental.
I have no idea how he even knew I’d be here.
