Or I’m too afraid to admit.
He gets up, looming above me even from a distance, since he must be at least six-foot-six, and chuckles, the sound itself sending chills down my spine, promising me retribution for this little act of disobedience. “Don’t be so sure, Phoenix. I might have something you want.”
“Doubt it. Now get out.” I search for Elvin by the door and exhale in relief when he’s there, playing with his phone. “Or I’ll call security.”
“I can buy this bar, and then what will you do?”
Everything inside me boils with rage at how carelessly he uses his position in the world to threaten me, and that’s what I get for allowing myself, for a brief second, to see a human in him instead of a monster. When the chips are down, Zachary King knows only how to use everyone’s weaknesses to his advantage.
Thankfully, I have no weaknesses left for him to uncover.
“Until then though—”
Herb’s loud voice penetrates through the bar’s music and the tension rocking between us, snapping my attention and cutting off whatever I wanted to say. “Phoenix, you need to go home right now.”
“What?” I come closer to him, frowning. What could have possibly happened back there that they need me, and isn’t Rafe supposed to be out until tomorrow?
“A friend of Rafe’s just called. He told me you have to come. He mentioned something about accidents can happen even without cars.”
Everything inside and around me freezes; my heart stops beating for a moment as fear sinks into my bones and almost makes me gag from the implication of these words.
I see Herb’s mouth move but don’t hear what he’s saying. My head’s spinning from different scenarios, and I sway to the side, my knees wobbling. But strong arms catch me in time and press me to a muscled chest that anchors me in the present and brings me back from my shock.
By the time the world around me stops spinning and comes into clear view again, Zachary is dragging me to the door with my jacket hanging from his arm while he throws over his shoulder to Herb, “I’ll take her home, and we’ll call you back.”
“I hope so. Rafe is a good kid,” the man shouts with worry in his voice, but I barely concentrate on that, gulping from the frigid air in my lungs that slaps me so hard, once and for all destroying the haze that settled around me when Herb basically said the serial killer has done something to Rafe.
Sara trusted me with her brother, and now he might be dead because of me!
I’m too lost in my thoughts to comprehend how Zachary pushes me inside the spacious black car and barks at his driver, “James, take us to her place. As fast as you can.” The driver starts the car immediately, taking off toward home, his car going so fast I think we will get there in a second.
Tremors rush through me as goose bumps appear on my skin, and only then it dawns on me how cold it is. Cursing, Zachary pulls me to him, throws my jacket over me, and makes me push my arms into the sleeves. Then he palms my scalp, tilting my head back, and orders, “Snap out of it, Phoenix. Now.”
I shake my head, my teeth chattering against each other and the fear almost killing me with how strong it is.
Is it possible to die from it?
“He might die. Rafe might die. He said there doesn’t have to be a car for an accident.” Grabbing the lapels of Zachary’s jacket, I scream into his face, “He might kill him because of me!” Doesn’t he get it? How can he be so calm?
The last time this serial killer played a game with me, his wife died! Or if it’s no one close to him, then he can’t be bothered by the fact?
“I get it, but your hysterics won’t change or help in the current situation.” He fists my hair, tugging it painfully, and I wince. “Whatever we encounter there, he’ll watch us. He’ll get off on everything he inspires in you. From your tears to your fear. So don’t give him any satisfaction.” I stay silent, tears forming in my eyes and almost dropping on my cheeks, but he shakes me harshly, and I groan. “Do you understand?”
Before I can comment, the car stops abruptly. I begin to fall forward, but Zachary catches me in time before my face hits the car seat.
He opens the door and gets out but not before muttering, “Show nothing but indifference, darling.” Is he insane? It will be a miracle if I don’t fall to my knees, bawling my eyes out at this point. “James, call an ambulance.”
“Yes, sir.”
I jump out of the car, doing my best to school my features, and rush inside the building, running to the stairs, and Zachary is hot on my heels, our shoes thumping on the crooked concrete. I don’t even pay attention to how my sides are hurting from all this physical exercise as we finally reach the fifth floor.
I dart toward the end, almost ready to burst inside, when I’m tugged back by Zachary, and he orders, “Stand here.”
“He’s there—”
“Stand here,” he repeats, steel lacing his tone, indicating he’ll accept no arguments. He goes to the door while I hurry after him, noticing how it’s cracked open with loud music blasting from the speakers, changing so fast it reminds me of the same sound my car radio made before I hit Angelica King.
Zachary kicks at the door, keeping me firmly behind him as he steps inside, and I cry out, covering my mouth with my palm when the scene opens up to our view, chilling the blood in me as my stomach flips. Disgusting smells float in the air and add to the dreaded atmosphere.
Rafe is lying right in the middle of the living room, soaking in a pool of blood under him, while shattered glass is scattered all over the floor. The walls are smeared in red paint or maybe Rafe’s blood forming words I don’t understand, because the letters seem to be backward.
The TV is muted, yet some horror movie must be playing on it, because a masked face keeps laughing and laughing at us, as if mocking the entire scene.
The furniture is either destroyed or slashed; feathers are still floating everywhere, sticking to the blood and almost covering Rafe, making him resemble a swan-like creature, floating in a lake created by his blood.
“Oh, dear God.” I dart toward him, the glass crunching under my shoes, and press my fingers to his pulse, exhaling in relief when I detect it and when I quickly examine his wound, my medical instincts kicking in. The blood is coming from the back of his head. Someone must have hit him with a sharp object that broke the skin but didn’t touch any important vein or artery. It’s possible the fall might’ve resulted in internal bleeding too. Without thinking, I order Zachary, “Get me a clean towel from the bathroom and tweezers from the desk.” He nods and does as I say, while I scan Rafe for any other wounds but thankfully find none.
The minute Zachary is back, I take the tweezers from him and ask, “Hold his hair back here.” After he follows my instructions, I have a clear view—well, as much as possible with all the hair and blood—and notice traces of glass in the wound. Paramedics will have to act fast, since we don’t know for how long he has been unconscious, and if I can save them time by removing glass, I’ll do it.
Quickly but carefully taking it out shard by shard, I find that the wound is not that deep. So how come there is so much blood under him? It’s not possible from such a small wound.
Unless this is the illusion game where the player presents the disaster bigger than it is in order to plant fear and despair in the hearts of his opponents?