Eugene spotted me doing something unusual. I was sitting in the kitchen, drinking whiskey on the rocks, and taping stencil sheets to my brand new gun. The bright pink paint stood next to me, and I could already envision how lovely my weapon would be. I'd undoubtedly need to use it at some point, so why not incorporate it into my look?
"What are you doing?"
"Decorating a beautiful gun, like any girl would."
"And you call me sexist. Give me your hand." I held out the handcuffed hand and began spraying paint on the gun's uncovered parts with my other hand. "Yeah, you got me." He rubbed the fresh wounds and applied frozen peas on them.
"It has been worse. You cannot scare me with that. But where did you acquire your Rambo skills? I'm very curious." I smiled, although my eyes showed that I really didn't want tonight to come.
"I've had a lot of training."
"I can see that."
There was quiet between us. He let go of my hand, and I started removing the tapes from the gun. That's a great choice. The handle was fully pink neon, with the exception of the etched inserts. I opted to keep them black. The barrel was a pink and black spiral.
"Stylish." Eugene took a closer look at the rifle and sat down next to me, sipping whiskey from my glass. "We can sleep together tonight if you want."
"That's a great idea, but I don't think it will have any effect on what's going to happen." He gazed at me with sparkling blue eyes and a strand of jet-black hair flowing over his forehead.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I do not want to embarrass you."
"Okay. I will make a bed for myself in the kitchen. I believe we could both use some rest."
I nodded and went to take a cold shower, after which I silently went to my room and closed the door. I put the gun in the nightstand with my underwear and put on the most comfortable clothes I had, in case I had to run.
After a few hours, I could already hear Eugene snoring in the kitchen. How could I fall asleep to such lullabies last time? The creaking of doors, flooring, and rustling of trees outside the window bothered and startled me. Almost every sound pushed me into a panic.
I got out of bed, gently and slowly pushed the door to the bedside table, and took up the gun. I guess I'll give it a name someday. I approached the closet cautiously and opened the doors, hastily pointing the revolver into the darkness. No one.
Moving away from the closet, I began to inspect every nook and dark spot. Until the thought occurred to me that the Boogeyman was grasping my ankle from under the bed. I bent down and looked under it, but it was also empty. The feeling that someone is spying on me right now became stronger.
Weird. I mean, Eugene crushed the bones of three of his men, and they didn't even notice it? They don't want to take revenge? I guess I am just paranoid.
That's what I thought, until my phone lit up with a new notification. Fuck, I hate this. When this is all over, I'm going to live as a hermit without any technology.
"Naughty fibber, looking for me?"
I began turning around and gazing around repeatedly, convinced that he was somewhere and could see me. The window, undoubtedly. I moved over to the windowsill and peeked out, aiming my gun at the glass. He was standing there in his leather jacket and helmet. I could feel his eyes on me. I pointed my middle finger at him. In response, he resumed typing.
"You stubborn, naughty fibber, I wonder when I should tell your husband that you're right in front of me?"
Shit. My hands gradually lowered the gun. I was on the first floor, so the Boogeyman appeared as close to me as possible. My heart started racing even faster, and every scar Mike had left on my body throbbed in pain.
"Smart girl. Now, I want you to do everything I say, and then no one will get hurt."
I looked at the phone, tears already welling up in my eyes, and I was ready to burst into tears at any second.
"What do you want?" I replied with trembling fingers.
"Open the door to your bedroom, fibber. You can see Eugene from your room, right? Look at him."
I walked a few steps away from the window, still staring at Boogeyman. I opened the door. I turned to see three men in leather jackets and helmets standing over Eugene, who was just calmly sleeping as a kid. One of them pointed a silenced revolver at my friend's head, while the other two held knives and machetes. I covered my lips with my hands to avoid making a sound.
"If you don't want him to get hurt, you'll come out of the house and come with me. Is that a deal, fibber Errin?"
"I'm taking the gun with me."
"Give it to me before you get on the bike. Keep in mind, one wrong move and my friends could hurt him."
I locked the screen of my phone and left the room. The three of them stared at me, frozen in "one second before murder" poses. To be honest, it all looked pretty creepy. I stood there looking at them for a few minutes, then moved toward the front door.
Wearing only my pajamas, my long black hair loose, and my eyes slightly shiny because of tears, I headed toward the person who had instilled fear in me after Mike. I was so close to peace and usual life. Sad that I've been so naive that I believed it was going to finish.
He knew who I was, he knew I was on escape, but his thirst for revenge was so great that he didn't turn me in to Mike's or Gorsky's people. Sick bastard.
I approached my Boogeyman, who was still standing in the same place. He was very tall, and despite my 5'6", I had to tilt my head back to look at the glass of his helmet. He held out his leather-gloved hand and gestured that he wanted my gun.
I reluctantly placed it in his palm, and he began to examine it. I could see that he was interested in my design. Putting it in his holster, he just stood there silently looking down at me.
"What do you want?" I got no answer; he just turned his head to the right again, continuing to look at me as if studying every millimeter of my face. He raised his hand and tucked a strand of my black hair behind my ear. "Are you speechless?"
Still no answer. My stranger just took me by the hand and, like a psychopathic clown, started pulling me toward his bike, swinging our arms as if we were five years old. I was really scared by his behavior. But there was something else...
This tenderness, this hunger, this absolute unknown what going to be next. I began to notice how my nipples hardened when I even thought about my Boogeyman, and how my panties became treacherously wet for the second time when he touched me. It was as if I had grown accustomed to expecting a kick, and when I received care instead, my body didn't know how to react.
We approached his red Ducati, and like a gentleman, he offered me a seat. I swung my leg over and sat down comfortably, allowing him to sit in front of me. He did so, but before starting the engine, he took out a pair of handcuffs and showed them to me. They were soft. Was this a joke?
"Did you rob a sex shop?" Honestly, it looked very funny. To which the stranger simply took my hand and rolled up my sleeve, stroking my scars and fresh wounds. "Aw, what? What a sweet care."
I said sarcastically as he put the handcuffs on himself and me, and when he was sure I couldn't escape, he took his cell phone and wrote something to someone. Literally 10 seconds later, three people came out of the Bakers' house, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Eugene was safe.
Yes, we don't know each other very well, and yes, he's not my boyfriend. But he's the only one who really wanted to help me. I would never forgive myself if something happened to him.
Only after the three Rotten Crown henchmen got on their bikes did my stalker start the engine. We didn't leave right away. He was waiting for something. And I realized what when, five minutes later, Eugene ran out of the house wearing only his pants and carrying his screw-bat.
"Gloria! I'll help you, jump!"
"I can't, I'm sorry!" I showed him my handcuffed hand, and when Eugene was already approaching our bike, Boogeyman suddenly hit the gas.
"Gloria! No!" I saw Eugene running as fast as he could for several blocks until he was completely out of sight.
My kidnapper lifted his leather jacket with one hand, allowing me to tighten my grip on him. I had no option given the manner he drove. I did not want my body parts to be picked up from the asphalt.
I wrapped my arms around his torso. His silky T-shirt complimented his physique well. He wasn't big, but he did have a waist and really hard abs. I could feel him tensing up every time he touched the throttle pedal. He was slightly slender, but not skinny; he was simply constructed that way.
We drove further and further away, and I prayed we weren't going to my previous location. I let out a sigh of relief when I realized we were already far from Palm Springs, but had left the city on the other side.
The wind burned my eyes, sand blew in, and I accidentally rubbed my face into Boogieman's leather jacket. We came to a stop at a red light, and in the near silence, except for the loud sound of the engine, I decided to ask.
"What is your name, since I am already dead? Are you Lucian?" He turned slightly toward me, placed his hand on mine, and nodded. "Thank you."
He turned away, and we drove on. About an hour passed, maybe a little more. I was really cold, despite the southern weather. At night, cutting through the air at breakneck speed on a Ducati is VERY cold.
Although, I liked it. If I hadn't been being driven to my death, I would have considered it the best date of my life.
We arrived as dawn was breaking. The sky turned pinkish-blue, and the sun's rays had not yet covered the ground, but the dawn allowed us to see the streets without streetlights.
It was some kind of warehouse or a huge garage. Lucian got off his bike and motioned for me to do the same. Without removing my handcuffs, he took me by the hand and started leading me somewhere.
When we entered the warehouse, I saw a huge amount of red bikes and men around them. Everyone was doing something: some were welding metal, some were painting, some were sleeping, and some were just drinking beer. At such an early hour.
As we walked past all these people, I felt their piercing stares on me. It was disgusting, like I was a piece of merchandise. In two weeks, I had already forgotten how to react to it. Even when we had practically walked through the entire warehouse and reached the door, all eyes were still on me. I'm sure they stopped when the door closed behind Lucian and me.
We found ourselves in a small hallway, something like a lobby. There was a leather sofa and two more doors. Lucian unlocked one of them and pulled me inside.
When I entered, I realized it was a bedroom. The bedroom featured a double bed. It was still decorated in red and black, and the walls were covered in graffiti. He pointed to the bed, then opened a small closet door to reveal a shower.
"What are you going to do to me?" He stood in front of me until he slowly began to move closer, forcing me to step back.
This continued until I fell onto the bed and tried to crawl into the far corner, forgetting about the handcuffs. At some point, Lucian began to remove his helmet, still wearing the red and black balaclava that revealed only his eyes.
His eyes were green with a slight amber-blue tint, his eyelashes were light, and I saw a small strand of blond hair sticking out from under the fabric. He looked at me intently, even with a hint of desire. He reached into his pocket, found the keys to the handcuffs, and freed my hand.
I rubbed my wrist lightly while he leaned close to me, placing his palm on my cheek and looking into my eyes, which were literally millimeters apart from his.
"Nothing you won't like, my little fibber Errin."