is to escape his swirling orbit that’s more freezing than the winter outside.
“If you let even a single word out, I’ll know, and believe me, you won’t like what happens, Lia. In fact, you won’t like it in the slightest.”
A burst of fear snaps my shoulder blades together and I stare at him, dumbfounded. How will he know? How is that going to be possible?
“Is that clear?” he speaks slowly, unhurriedly, cementing his words.
I nod.
He pulls his gun away and I let out a long sigh.
“Use your words, Lia.”
“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Say, ‘yes, I understand.’”
“Yes…I understand.”
He reaches for me with his other hand and I freeze as his fingers replace his gun, gently gliding over my lips. Flames erupt across my skin, even though his touch is like crossing paths with death. Literally and figuratively.
“These lips will stay shut.”
My throat clogs and I’m unable to make a sound or even nod my head.
He releases me as fast as he grabbed me and a cold wave washes over the earlier fire, dousing it in one harsh sweep.
The bossman tilts his head toward the elevator. “Go.”
For a second, I don’t believe what he’s said, that he’s simply letting me go. I take a tentative step backward, fully expecting him to pounce on me.
He doesn’t make a move to follow.
I back away another two steps, not breaking eye contact. When he doesn’t move, I run to the elevator and punch the call button.
My frantic gaze is still on him.
The stranger.
The scary fucking stranger.
He remains as I left him, his gun motionless at his side and his attention on me as if he’s contemplating whether or not he should shoot me in the face anyway.
The elevator finally opens and I dash inside, holding my breath and shaking uncontrollably as I hit my floor’s number and code. I miss the first time because of my trembling fingers and scattered thoughts. I have to try again before my passcode is accepted.
As the door finally closes, I slide down to the floor and empty my stomach in the middle of the elevator.
He didn’t kill me. He didn’t put a bullet in my head.
So why do I feel like I just signed my death certificate?
3
Lia
It’s been a week since the day I witnessed three people getting killed, and somehow ended up intact.
A whole damn week of biting my nails, watching my windows, and having an unhealthy obsession with the rear-view mirror whenever I’m driving.
I was supposed to take some downtime before I got back to rehearsing the upcoming ballet, but I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride worse than if we’d had consecutive shows.
On the surface, it might appear to be foolish paranoia. After he let me go, it may seem that I’m only obsessing over it because of the surge of adrenaline I experienced that night.
It’s not paranoia.
Far from it.
I’m not an idiot. I’m well aware that night wasn’t the end of it. If anything, it’s the beginning of something ugly I have no control over.
I debated with myself about telling the police, but I quickly shooed that idea away. I believed him when he said he’d know if I talked. I believed him when he said the consequences will be dire.
After all, I saw him murder a man in cold blood and not bat an eyelash about it. That sort of person is capable of doing worse.
To cement my theories, the following day, I rushed to the reception area after spending a sleepless night tossing and turning in bed. I asked the receptionist if something had happened in the parking garage, but he only stared at me as if I were a crazy old hag. I begged him to go down there with me, and when we arrived, there was nothing. Nada.
I didn’t expect the car or the bodies to stay there, but I at least thought there would be some blood, some bullets, some evidence of what I had witnessed.
However, the place was wiped clean.
The only thing that remained was a hint of the black tire marks, and even those weren’t fully visible.
I considered that my mind might have been playing a sick game on me. That’s what it does when everything gets to be too much. My demons come out to play and my subconscious goes to war with my conscious, torturing me with my own head.
But that couldn’t be possible in this situation.
I tested my pain receptors back then. I know it wasn’t a hallucination.
Point is, someone who can hide triple