C21 Tough Luck

Two of the men quickly moved towards her, but not until she had seen the man hit the floor hard.

The gaping hole in his head stared at her just as his eyes widened.

The two men were suddenly in front of her. Their faces were unreadable, their posture tense. One of them stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “You shouldn’t be out here, miss,” he said.

She couldn’t say anything as he grabbed her arm and steered her back inside. The dead man’s eyes followed her inside, imprinted in her mind just like her many horrors.

Her heart raced in her chest, her mind reeling with the image of Dante; cold, unyielding, and the man on his knees, broken. Then dead.

The sound of Dante’s voice still echoed in her ears, like an imprint she couldn’t erase. She felt a strange, heavy pull in her chest, as if she had just stepped into a world she didn’t understand but was somehow already a part of.

“What…what did he do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, more to herself than anyone else.

The guard who had spoken to her didn’t answer right away, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Nothing you need to worry about, Miss,”

She swallowed, her mind swirling. “I wasn’t... I wasn’t meant to see that, was I?”

The other guard glanced at her, his expression hard. Though he didn’t say anything, his expression said it all.

What would happen to her now? She wondered as panic set in.

Her queasy stomach made a turnabout on her, and she knew she couldn’t make it upstairs.

Cold sweats drenched her and broke all over her body as she tried to let the men know.

“Miss?” the man who had his hand on her questioned her in a hard tone that sent her panic up the roof.

“Restroom. I…” she quickly clamped her mouth shut with her hand before she would make a mess of herself.

The man reacted immediately as he changed direction and led her to the restroom downstairs.

“In here,” he said as he pushed the door open.

Annabelle rushed inside, fell on her knees and promptly emptied everything she had in her stomach.

She couldn’t close her eyes because the dead man’s eyes were right there in her mind’s vision. Opening her eyes was another torture as they reminded her of the blood on Tad when she stabbed him. It reminded her of the stain on Angelo and even though she didn’t see it clearly, she could only imagine it was the same thing the dead man had on him.

Her mind tortured her as her stomach gave up all its contents. Soon enough, she was dry-heaving, and it seemed like her body was going to break into two.

“What have I gotten myself into?” she wondered in panic as the retching finally died down.

How can she trust a killer to help her with anything?

Still kneeling, Anabelle reached upwards to press the flush button.

A hand beat her to it, and she watched the cook’s hard work go down the drain.

She couldn’t feel any gratitude towards the man who helped her though.

He had followed her into the restroom because he didn’t trust her to stay where she was.

Did he expect her to go through the wall so she could finish the show?

“I wish I had just stayed in the room,” Anabelle thought to herself in regret.

That way, she wouldn’t have had her suspicions tossed right into her face.

She had known he was a dangerous man. After all, she had never seen any man who had security all over his home.

When he had spoken so casually about death, she had known. But she had ignored it.

All because she needed help.

How could she allow such a man to help Cathy? Her sweet sister would never forgive her if she knew a man who could kill without batting his eyelids was her saviour.

“No, I am not staying. He has to let me go.” she thought suddenly with determination.

She had no idea how she was going to do it, but she had to leave. She couldn’t be around when he decided she was the next on his kill list.

“Where would that leave Cathy?” she quickly stood up and regretted her movement as nausea and weakness weighed on her body.

As she tried to steady herself, her eyes went to the man standing calmly against the wall.

Her breath backed up in her lungs as she stumbled upon her own feet and fell hard against the wall.

She heard his voice through the ringing in her ears.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped at her as he came closer.

“Don’t come close to me.” You murderer.

She didn’t dare to say that last part, but it hung in the air between them.

Her eyes went to his hands as if she expected them to be dripping with blood.

All she saw was his clean hands adorned by his single jewellery. A matte black, platinum signet ring, engraved with a poised panther and a crescent moon.

Annabelle’s vision wavered as he stepped closer to her.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled with all the strength she could muster.

“Well, tough luck,” he said as he ignored her and carried her off the floor.

“Let me go!” she cried in frustration as tears squeezed out of her eyes.

His body jerked as he touched a dampness behind her neck.

“Fuck, you idiot.” he gritted out as he ignored her and kept walking.

“Get me Aguillar. She is bleeding. She must have struck her head against the wall.”

The urgency in his voice struck her as odd, despite the coldness of his face.

Then she could hardly think anything as his face seemed to disappear from her view.

As weakness weighted Annabelle's limbs and her head flopped sideways, she wondered who he was talking about.

“Just let me go,” she whispered before the darkness claimed her.