BUFF (3 page)

“DON’T MOVE,”
his fierce whisper commands against her throat. Becky, clinging to the hairline thread of sanity, obeys.

So close and out of breath he keeps repeating the same words, “Don't move.” His tone carries alpha control but the more time that passes, the slushier his words come out, along with heavier breaths.

Standing for at least a minute the only thing that changes is the pressure of his solid body into her delicate one. His mouth is so close to her ear—and then he shifts. His forehead digs into the flesh just behind her ear, the bones of his skull are piercing and sharp.

I have to break free, somehow…

But judging from the weight of him he has more than ninety pounds on her. His flesh-piercing grip loosens around her waist but it isn’t enough. She can barely breathe herself and her eyes search, her brain coming up barren. She knows this room like the back-of-her-hand, but the terror of the situation eradicates all possible weapons, escapes, or even screams.

He hasn’t killed me yet…

Still being alive is a good sign for Becky because if he’s some homicidal murderer she’d be lying in her own pool of blood by now.

He could be a burglar… or worse… Oh God, no... a rapist.

She has to do something. But what? Physically hurting him in her position is impossible right now. Maybe talking is the only solution of a way out. If she can distract him, get his mind on something else, freedom might be in her grasp. She gulps a couple of times.

Shit, shit, shit… what can I say that won’t make him snap?

She twists her head, slowly, hoping he won’t suddenly attack her. But then fear clogs her throat. She can’t speak without choking.

Forgetting any sense of logic she just had she uses the only weapon that comes from instinct.

Her teeth.

She bites him, right through the leather. She hears a grunt as his hand swings up, and then a second later the rest of her body is unbound from him. She lunges for the door, her hand latching onto the cool feeling of the doorknob—

“Help...” The hiss is an urgent hot cry but it’s also cold. Deadly cold. Every impulse screams at her to run. And not look back.

But she doesn’t.

Instead she turns, picturing a gun or knife that has to be drawn along with a sadistic grin, stamping her fate before she meets the afterlife.

And for a moment, peering at him, she’s hypnotized by his gaze. Backlit by the Moon, leaning against one of her paintings, he looks like a carved stone idol with luminous jewel eyes. Becky wants to turn and run but she can’t move, rooted to the floor in the grip of fear.

The moonlight bounces off his profile making the skin appear gray and red. There’s a vein on the side of his neck protruding. From the contortion of his face, the sweat dripping off his nose, he’s in a great deal of pain.

Her eyes travel lower, her hand still glued to the door just in case this is a way the beast lures its prey...

He’s clutching his right side and his right elbow is locked to the side of his stomach like he’s a disfigured piece of clay.

The blood... it’s his.

Becky shakes her head slowly. She has to call 911. She can’t help this man and she doesn’t want to ever lay her eyes on him. Her mind is made up and set.

The floor creaks, her body jolting a little to obey the miniscule amount of rational in her. But the creak goes off like gunfire in the silent room that for a few deathly minutes has only consisted of both their breaths inhaling and exhaling.

“Don't."

She starts to open the door as he forces himself to straighten to his full height. Becky's kneecaps threaten to crack, estimating his size to be over six-foot-two.

She points her finger at him when he takes half-a-step toward her. “Y-You stay right there," she warns. He doesn’t listen. He isn’t even looking at her or anything. The slump of his posture tilts forward. He’s weakening. “Just stay there. The police will deal with you."

“No… No cops.” His hoarse voice croaks before he coughs into his gloved hand. “Just… let me..."

“I-I think you should just stay still… Whatever happened to you… I'm sure moving around won’t make it any better.” She hates the accent of fright that tinges her voice but she can’t control herself.

He just keeps right on walking toward her.

“Look there—if you don't stop moving I'm going to scream." His head shoots up at her courage and he looks right through her; his blue eyes pained and ghostly. And then recognition ricochets against her skull.

The man from last night.

The one with the Devil's eyes.

“You…” Her heart thumps louder and louder.

Has he been stalking me? Is he here to—

And then he collapses.

The
thud
sends the dust on the floor flying everywhere, floating about the room like tiny fairies who have been hiding in all the creaks and crevasses of the old wooden floor. An easel crashes to the floor and Becky’s heart beats overtime as she whips her head around searching for a ghost in the dark.

Calming her breathing down she braves a few inches forward counting the steps along the way, frantic for a distraction.

She listens. His heavy pants have ceased.

Is he… dead? Oh God, no... There’s only one way to know for sure... Damn it!

Becky kneels next to him, short on thought, full on action. Her left hand supports her weight, the other one leaning in to graze his forehead. She sees a gun tucked into his jeans...

He’s hot and clammy, his forehead leaves a sheen of sweat on her palm. She wipes it on her dress and sees that his other hand is clutching the wound. Her hand hovers over his then relaxes. Her nails slide over the skin of his knuckles and a strange jolt runs through her. Ignoring the physical warning it echoes she struggles to remove the death grip he has over his side. The wound doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but she can’t tell how much blood he’s lost to begin with.

The bullet wound is in the right side of his abdomen. By the hold he has on himself a shattered rib or two is the least amount of damage done. There’s no telling what other internal injuries lay behind the blood. And the more that time passes, the lesser his chances are.

“Please..” His fingers circle her forearm and the pressure jerks her off balance, forcing her to hover over him.

Close. He is too close.

“I'll leave… just… don't say anything. I can't—” He winces, doesn’t breathe, just goes rigid. She guesses it’s from a spasm of pain. His eyes look like they’re about to pop through his closed lids and his teeth grind.

She has to call someone before it’s too late. Before she’s reporting a dead intruder instead of a live one. But when she makes a move to leave his side, something catches her eye.

Something silver glints in the moonlight around his neck.

What is that…?

She leans in, her eyes squinting, trying to get a clearer view of the object.

A silver cross…

But it isn’t the pendant that draws her attention. To the left, at the base of his neck, there is a tattoo, a word or... her fingertip feathers over it.

Oh my God... it can’t be...

She is so close to him that there is no denying the script inked into his skin: ‘
OLIVIA.’

Her entire being shakes and thousands of shivers shoot through her spine as though someone has just walked over her grave.

H-How…? How is this possible? Does he know who I am? Is he... I-I—

The weight of her past almost buries her right there and then and her mouth opens just as his body caves into her. The tight grasp of his fingertips around her arm lessen a bit, but they remain encased around her.

“Please…” he chokes out, “…no cops."

“I-I…” She is speechless, doesn't know what to say. “You—you need a doctor.” The gentleness of her voice catches her off guard. She sounds just like she does when she’s trying to soothe Toby. Becky immediately withdraws her arm and he doesn’t move to stop her. “You broke into my house so I need to call—”

“The window was open."

“Are you…” She searches his face and he actually has a faint smirk playing there. She ignores the toying edge of his voice. “You shouldn't move. Once I call they should get you to the hospital pretty fast."

“I can’t. I can’t go… to the hospital."

“Why not?"

“Because,” he barely breathes out, “I can’t."

“I can’t just leave you here. I need to let..."

His breaths are coming harder the more he talks. “I can't go. Pretend you never saw me."

“Pretend?”

His eyes turn serious and he raises them to her. “I didn’t take anything. I… no-one can know I’m here, please… There’s this… a gang… a very dangerous gang is after me... and if I go to hospital they’ll find me and kill me. Just let me leave."

“The hospital—”

“No,” he says, fiercely, almost spitting the words out. His profile sharpens and a shot of adrenaline shoots through her body. She retracts just a step. He eyes her up and down and she gulps as a drip of sweat falls over his lips.

Here in her arms is the man who saved her. The man she’s been dreaming about nearly every night for the last four years. But can she trust him? It’s not like she knows him. Four years is a long time—enough time for a person to change. And why is he here of all places? Has he tracked her down? Is he… stalking her?

He turns to face the ceiling. “I won’t hurt you, I—"

“Rebecca?"

Oh, God!

Her father.

“Don’t,” he warns. “The ones after me... if they know I was here they’ll come after your family.”

“Why? We haven’t done anything.”

“Doesn’t matter... They’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my murder... can’t be linked to them... They’ll... kill you all.”

“Rebecca?!”

She dashes to the door, pats her hair, brushing the anxiety down with each stroke of her palms against the sides of her dress.

She steps out of the darkness and into the light.

“Y-Yes?"

Her father stands at the bottom of the second set of stairs. His voice is almost a whisper, but she can sense the underlining worry because it mirrors her own. “Is everything okay? I heard something bang up there."

“I... uh…"

“Rebecca. I told you not to go up there at night. Your mother and I have all our junk stored up there. You could really hurt yourself."

“Dad, I… I didn’t fall... You see…” Becky twists her body, gazing at the intruder laying only a few feet away. The truth is so close to release, her safety just a step away.

Tell Dad. Scream bloody murder—just do something!

Just as she opens her mouth she wavers.

He saved you…

‘They’ll kill you all...’

If her father calls the police she risks her family getting caught up in some gang war. And if they kill him—kill the man who’d saved her from a brutal rape and maybe even murder—then how can she ever live with herself for being a coward?

No. She can’t let the past be a reason to put her family in danger. She has to say something to her father; he’ll know what to do.

Before the words to argue can penetrate her thick skull Becky hears herself saying the exact opposite of her intentions, “I… the easel just fell… I was trying to paint."

She’s lied to her father.

For a stranger.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“In the dark?" he asks, placing one foot on the step ahead.

“No, Dad… I’m fine,” she says, making sure her father doesn’t come up to check the attic. “I was just antsy after the party and couldn’t sleep. Dad, go back to bed, I'm fine. I didn’t mean to startle you."

“You didn’t.” The landing groans under him as he steps back and Becky guesses she’s in the clear. For now. It doesn’t relieve her one bit. She hears her father clear his throat before he continues, “I've got to go to the office. I won't be back probably till tomorrow sometime."

“Is everything okay?"

“Yes, Pumpkin, everything's okay. There's just a couple of glitches in the monthly numbers… that's all… I already told your mother who’s insisting on coming with me."

Becky descends the stairs, for some odd reason she is compelled to see him. He sounds defeated, his body stagnant.

“Dad—”

“Take care of your baby brother.” He kisses her forehead, his voice stern like when he used to tell her to clean her room.

“You'll be back tomorrow, right?” Becky peers up at her father's face, which is etched in uncertainty. “Dad?"

“You look pretty tonight, Pumpkin."

Her eyes examine his face. “What’s going on?"

“I love you, Pumpkin. See you tomorrow.” He kisses her forehead for a second time—more quickly than the last—and doesn’t wait for her to respond. Instead he grabs his briefcase and shuts the door behind him without looking back.

“I love you too…" she murmurs.