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5' DEVIL'S TOUCH

My heart pounded wildly in my chest, screaming at me to run, to retreat back into the safety of the bathroom. But I couldn’t move. I stood frozen, mouth agape, like a fish stranded on shore, helpless against the tide.

He just stood there, silent, motionless—watching.

Watching.

Like a predator sizing up its prey, his head tilted slightly to the side, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Dark, wavy hair hung over his shoulders, drenched by the rain, each droplet falling and splattering onto the wooden floor. He was soaked from head to toe, his black turtleneck clinging to his tall, muscular frame, his posture exuding an unmistakable predatory tension. Those dark brown eyes bore into me, intense and slow, raking over my features with a deliberate hunger. A scar traced a menacing line from beneath his eye down to his left cheek, giving him an air of lethal danger.

Confronting him was out of the question—not with the gun glinting in his left hand, catching the slivers of light that seeped through the open window.

The very window he had come through remained ajar, the drapes billowing in the drizzle that had turned my room into a damp, suffocating prison. I didn’t know him; in fact, I had never encountered anyone like him in my entire life.

His head straightened, and I saw the unmistakable flash of anger in his eyes. Then, without warning, he took a single step forward.

Just one. My heart raced as if it were on the brink of collapse. I clutched the towel to my chest, my breath ragged and shallow, and stumbled back, my heels connecting with the bathroom door. Panic surged through me, my chest heaving as I clawed at the fabric, desperate for a sense of safety.

“W-who?” I managed to stutter, my voice trembling. “Who are you?”

I watched as his expression shifted sharply. His steps slowed, the fierce glare melting into a smirk, a single dimple flashing on his cheek, crow’s feet deepening at the corners of his dark eyes. He lifted his gun, letting it rest at eye level as he examined it, almost playfully. “Slow down, little one.” His words flowed with a rich, unplaceable accent, each syllable like a warning wrapped in honey. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Then, as if a switch flipped, the dangerous gleam returned to his eyes.

He took another step forward, and the floorboards creaked under his weight. Panic surged through me. I stumbled back, pressing myself against the hard wood of the bathroom door. My legs quivered beneath me, every nerve on high alert.

With another step, he was right in front of me, his frame towering, blocking everything else from view. He was a wall of lean, powerful muscle, radiating strength. His sharp cheekbones and aquiline nose only added to the severe handsomeness that felt almost godlike in its intensity.

He leaned down, his face close enough that his warm breath brushed against my skin. I caught a heady, smoky scent—weed—and an untraceable note that was all him. “The boy,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Are you an accomplice?”

I shook my head so quickly I barely registered the motion. I didn’t need further explanation; I knew who he meant. The boy in the alley. The one who’d been shot. The one whose lifeless body I had seen lying in a pool of rainwater. “I-I—”

“Speak!” His tone sliced through the air, and I flinched. My fingers clenched the damp towel around me, but they brushed against his soaked shirt instead. We were so close that I could feel the heat radiating from him, could nearly hear his heartbeat, steady against my panicked one. His eyes never wavered from mine, a tension crackling between us.

The words tangled in my throat, my mind blank except for the lingering horror. “I—I don’t know him.”

“The truth!” he barked, and I could feel the weight of his frustration.

“I swear,” I choked, my voice barely a whisper, “I don’t know who he is!”

“You don’t know?” His voice turned almost soft, but his eyes still held that unyielding intensity. “This is your last chance. Either tell me the truth or things are about to get very red.”

I gulped, but before I could answer, the cold press of the gun met my lower abdomen, a threatening, solid weight through the thinness of the towel. And that was all it took—my resolve shattered. A flood of memories broke through. Dane’s angry shouts, my grip tightening on the steering wheel, the sharp pinch of the knife slicing through my skin, the storm crashing around us, the metallic scent of blood thickening the air. His life draining away in my arms, helplessly… powerlessly.

And I did nothing.

“—better start talking!”

The sharp knock of my head against the bathroom door pulled me back. His patience had worn thin. The gun pressed harder into me, my breaths shallow as my chest rose and fell against him.

“I don’t know!” I screamed, desperate. I glanced toward the closed door, hoping someone might hear. Music had drowned out the silence formerly filling the house. Though muffled by the door of my room, I could hear Crystal Castle filling the entire house and I imagined Clarisa in the middle of the room, head banging, her blonde hair pummeling in the air as she bobbed her head back and forth aggressively in a perfect imitation of Alice Glass.

I imagined Drey, sprawled on a couch, watching her in admiration as he puffed on cigarette like a chimney. It was either that or they’d increased the stereo so loud to drown out the sounds of moans and grunts as they banged—as Clarissa liked to put it—for who knows what time today.

I was on my own and my assailant was getting impatient.

A low growl escaped him, and his eyes swept down my figure. The gun remained firm against me, but his gaze grew darker, more calculating. Then he took my arm and began pulling me away from the door with a sudden, unrelenting grip. I stumbled after him, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet as he led me toward the bed, my heart pounding, each beat echoing louder in the silence. When he stopped, I nearly collided with him, and my towel slipped, pooling around my ankles.

I gasped, moving instinctively to cover myself, but his gun remained, a cold, undeniable threat against my ribs. I felt exposed and vulnerable. My skin prickled under his stare, but he didn’t seem fazed, his gaze hard and unrelenting. He seemed unimpressed, almost indifferent, as if he’d seen much better, hotter women and I was just one of those mid girls. And somehow, that made it all the more terrifying.

He leaned in close, his voice barely a murmur. “You say you don’t know him.” Each word held a weight that pressed down on me. “But I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I forced out, my voice cracking. Tears blurred my vision, clinging to my lashes as I struggled to keep them at bay. “Please, I didn’t know him. I—I just saw him, that’s all.”

He studied me, his dark gaze a merciless interrogation, as though he could peel away my every thought and see the truth hidden beneath. My heart raced, each beat echoing in the silence, a constant reminder of how close I was to the edge.

After a long moment, his grip on my arm relaxed just a little, though his stare never softened. He lowered the gun, still keeping it close as he leaned in, his voice a menacing whisper.

“You saw him die, didn’t you?”

A flood of images flashed through my mind—the boy’s lifeless form in the rain, blood pooling, eyes vacant, rain pouring down. My knees weakened under the memory. “Yes,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “I saw everything.”

His expression shifted subtly, but the suspicion didn’t fade. He seemed to weigh my words, his gaze still holding me captive. His voice softened just a fraction, yet the threat remained clear. “Then remember every detail. Because if I find out you’ve left anything out…” He lifted the gun, brushing it along my collarbone, leaving a cold, lingering trace. “You won’t live to regret it.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, pressing down on me as he shoved me backward onto the bed. I landed hard on my back, my breath catching as I looked up at him, my heart racing. My bare breast heaved as the air escaped me in gasps. I knew he didn’t believe me, and with each second that passed, I could feel his patience thinning. I pressed my eyes shut, the panic consuming every inch of me.

A hand brushed a strand of wet hair from my face, forcing me to open my eyes. He lifted my chin, his eyes locking onto mine, dark and unyielding. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe under his gaze. The faintest touch of his thumb brushed against my lips, and he shook his head slowly. “Look at you,” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “Terrified.”

A bitter smile touched his lips. “I like this fear you radiate,” he continued, his voice low and taunting. “I’m sure Viktor would too. And when he comes, little one…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re dead.”

Every muscle in my body tensed, I was a whimpering mess. Tears poured down my face. Snots out of my nostrils. His eyes traced down my skin. This time I expected him to touch me. To touch my hardened nipples pointing—because of the cold—directly in his face. My core throbbed, shamefully, but he didn’t touch me, not with his fingers at least. He lifted the gun from my ribs and instead, pressed it between my breasts. My heart slammed against my ribcage violently as he began to trace down with the cold weapon.

“I’ll count to five,” he whispered, his tone slow, each number a threat laced with something deeper, more wicked, as the barrel skimmed down, tracing from my collarbone to the hollow of my throat, across my chest, then down, lower.

My heart pounded wildly, every nerve screaming in terror, yet I couldn’t look away, my breath frozen in my lungs as his touch traveled lower, his gaze as unyielding as his grip.

“One…”

The barrel traced a slow, deliberate line, pressing just enough to leave a mark of cold on my skin. I whimpered, closing my eyes against the unbearable tension, the sheer terror that mingled with a darker thrill, a shameful heat curling in my stomach.

“Two…”

The gun touched the soft curve of my breast, circling slowly, tauntingly. His eyes followed, watching as my chest rose and fell, each touch sending a jolt through me. The faintest flicker of something primal and forbidden glinted in his gaze as he took his time, watching my reaction with an intense, animalistic pleasure.

He lifted the gun, pressing it to my head this time, his voice dropping to a whisper. With a sigh, he skipped the last two numbers. “Five…”

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