Three Years(9)

“Of course you don’t,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows and looks around the room. “This place fucking stinks,” he says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It does. Wanna let me out?”

He gives me a stare so withering I physically shrink back. Jesus, I’m going soft. I never used to shrink back from anyone. “Yeah,” he says, smirking. “How about I let you out and see how far you get before one of my bullets hits you, eh?”

I tug the shirt down, covering my ass as I stand on shaky legs. I’m not as able as I think I am, and I stumble straight away. Instinctively, I put my arm out to grab hold of something, and he catches me.

I look at him warily. “What’s your name?” I ask softly. “If you’re going to hunt me, I might as well know who you are.”

He gestures for me to walk in front of him, and I can’t quite believe my luck when he points at the open door.

“Go.”

“That’s a weird name.”

My sarcasm is lost on him. He gestures to the door. “I don’t have all fuckin’ day.”

He releases my arm and I walk in front of him, glancing back every few seconds.

“Don’t try anything,” he warns.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I answer. I wonder if I could pull the door closed quickly enough to trap him in here and then run, but as I’m studying the doorframe the urge to run is suddenly quashed by something hard in my back.

“Happy to see me?” I say, irritated as fuck that he’s got a gun pressed into my back.

“Something like that,” he replies, ushering me out of the room where I’ve just spent my last month and probably more.

It is daytime, and as I make my way down the hallway, my eyes burn. I squint, letting myself be guided by this guy to God knows where. When we get to a closed door at the other end of the hallway, he gestures for me to open it.

“What’s in here?” I ask

“Not getting shot,” he replies. “As opposed to staying out here, which is getting shot.”

I roll my eyes and turn the doorknob, pushing the door open. A bathroom. Holy Jesus, is he actually letting me have a shower? I look at him incredulously and he gestures with the gun. “Get in and clean up. There are clothes there. If you try anything, you’re fucking dead. Got it?”

“Sure,” I say. “Mr.…?”

“Mr. have a fucking shower before I change my mind.” He gestures with the gun again, more aggressively this time, and I move toward the shower. It’s nothing special, but I’ve got a month of old blood on my skin, and I’m eager to wash at least some of it away.

“Wait,” I say. “Where’s Dornan?”

His face goes tight and he steps forward, jabbing me in the chest. He gets the spot right where Dornan sank his knife, the soft bit of skin above my heart, and I wince as the fragile skin breaks open again, sending fresh blood blossoming through the thin white fabric of the guy’s shirt.

“Shit,” he says. “What the fuck happened to you?”

I stare at him in disdain, the pain of my wound opening making me pissed. “I killed too many Gypsy Brothers,” I say sharply. “You better keep your eye on me.”

He laughs. “Girl,” he says as he closes the door and steps past me, turning on the hot water, “You ain’t got enough strength to pull the trigger if I hand you this gun myself. Get in the fuckin’ shower and wash that blood and shit off you.”

I turn away from him and shrug out of the shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the corner. Covering my breasts with my arms, I step under the hot water.

It feels so amazing that I completely lose the will to argue or talk snark to this guy. I just pray he doesn’t try anything on me. I really don’t have the energy to fight anyone off right now.

I feel a slight breeze and look up to see the exhaust fan switch on, and suddenly the guy has launched himself at me. I gasp as he wraps a meaty hand around my throat, the other on my mouth, and backs me into the corner of the shower.

“Do you recognize me?” he hisses in my ear, before returning his crazy blue eyes to mine. I stop fighting for a moment, thinking about that possibility.

“Nod if you do.”

I nod, because I did recognize him the moment I saw him, but I can’t for the life of me remember where.

“Do you remember who I am?”

I shake my head emphatically, because I don’t. I have no clue. I remember being shocked, and afraid, and I remember it was from before, but I can’t remember what context it was in.

“That’s good,” he hisses. “Let’s keep it that way.”