I probably should, given the circumstances.
But the urge to end this quickly feels… distant.
I’ve got this under control.
What’s the harm in drawing it out a little?
As soon as her silhouette disappears into the shadows, I push off the wall and begin my hunt. My shoes barely make a sound as I follow her path, my senses heightening with every step.
A trace of her scent lingers in the air. Peach tinged with the sweet smell of desperation.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
I round a sharp edge of a building and spot her just a few yards ahead. She glances back, eyes wide, hair wild.
“Run faster. Unless, of course, you want to get caught.”
“Fuck off, psycho!” She screams, pushing herself to run even faster.
The fire in her voice only fuels my drive.
She stumbles over a crack and catches herself against a dumpster before pushing off it with a grunt. She veers left, desperately trying to lose me, but I’m already two steps ahead of her. Cutting her off and herding her exactly where I want her.
She skids to a stop in front of a chain-link fence and turns to face me, her back slamming against it. The metal rattles, and her fingers claw at the links, searching for an exit that doesn’t exist.
I slowly step towards her, my shadow swallowing hers inch by inch.
She’s shorter than I expected. 5’5, 5’6 max. And the top of her head barely reaches my chest. Her face is flushed, and her brown, almond-shaped eyes are wide with panic.
“Gotcha.” I murmur, lifting my gun and aiming the barrel at the center of her forehead.
“Shit.” She says, dropping her hands from the fence.
“Shit indeed.” I say, cocking my head. “Any last words, beautiful?”
She looks up at me then, and something in my chest misfires.
“Yeah.” She says quietly, nodding her head. “Thank you.”
My brows pull together. “For what?”
“For back there.” She says, nodding in the direction we came from. “You saved me from whatever those men were about to do to me.” She explains. “If I’m going to die tonight, I’d rather it be by your gun than their hands.”
Her words register, and my jaw instantly tightens.
People don’t thank me.
They fear me. They hate me. They survive me, if they’re lucky. But they don’t fucking thank me.
“I’m ready.” She whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just do it quickly.”
I take a step closer and place my finger on the trigger, but the idea of pulling it doesn’t feel clean. It feelswrong.Not morally, I lost that metric long ago, but viscerally.
Who is this girl?
First, she tries to take on four grown men all by herself. Then she stares down the barrel of my gun and fucking thanks me.
“What’s wrong with you?”
