Chapter 95

[MIA]

Mr. King. That's what Bakshi called him at the hospital. How could I be turned on by a man whose name I didn't even know? When he bent down over me, all sense fled. I wanted to be consumed by him. Then I felt his lips on my skin, sending a pulsating throb to my core, making every other part of me jealous. I wanted all of him, at once. I was attracted to his domination, his power, and those goddamned vein-popping hands. Even days later, the mere thought of it made me wet, made me want more.

I should have hated him when he abducted me, but I think I hated him more when he retreated after one touch, leaving and not visiting for days. Something was wrong today. I didn't know what, but a heavy feeling in my chest screamed that something was wrong. I spent the morning praying Jenny was okay. The increased patrol guards below my window reassured me. Whatever was wrong, it was here.

My room was quieter than usual, which unnerved me. But I knew something serious was happening when the doors didn't open at lunch, as they usually did with Lana and my next meal. Hours passed, and nothing. Maybe they'd forgotten me, I wondered, hoping not. Just as I considered shouting to the guards below, I heard commotion outside. The lack of the usual jingle of keys should have been a red flag, but it wasn't. When the door opened, a man stood outside.

To my disappointment, it wasn't my prison keeper. "There's a girl," the man in black said into what looked like an advanced walkie-talkie. "No, she's not," he scoffed. "Fuck if I know." It wasn't until he charged toward me that my danger senses kicked in. He wasn't one of the guards. I was in trouble, defenseless.

Adrenaline surged. I ran to the window. "HEL—" My plea was cut short when a strong hand clamped over my mouth, pulling me away from the window and pinning me to the wall, gripping my throat tightly. "Who are you?" he asked, his blond hair a mess, blood flowing from a cut on his forehead. His nose seemed deformed, and his eyes were a sickly green, unlike my captor's dark ones.

I coughed, water filling my eyes because I couldn't breathe, but his grip didn't loosen. "Who are you?" he repeated. Even if I could speak, I wouldn't have been able. My eyes blurred, searching the doorway for help. My hands pushed weakly against him, growing weaker by the second. I was breathless and vulnerable. Realizing I was alone, I stopped struggling. As he pressed closer, seemingly intending to kill me, I reached for the lamp beside me, my fingers falling short. "Answer me, or you're coming with me."

My trembling hands somehow grasped the lamp, and I shoved it in his face. Unsure if it hurt him or just distracted him, I used his loosened grip to push him away and run. I heard him curse and groan, but I ran—breathless and panting, tears streaming down my face. I didn't stop until I reached the end of the hallway. "Is—is anyone there?" I screamed. "Lana? Dominic? Mr. King?" My own voice echoed back, my vision blurring with black spots. I forced myself to run further.

"You bitch!" I heard him behind me, and I gasped, running faster. "Help!" I called, breathless. "HELP!" I didn't stop until a gunshot rang out. I froze. There was no pain, no blood. I turned. The man was on the floor, rolling, blood around his leg. My abductor. Mr. King—

[MR. KING]

“We were under attack, and he somehow escaped to the first floor,” he told me, walking closer. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, taking in his state. So much blood—across his shirt, his face, even dried blood on his gun-holding hands. “Are—are you?”

His eyebrows rose, confusion in his eyes. “It’s not mine.”

I breathed, nodding, gasping for air. “Why did he come to the first floor, Mia?” he asked, his tone chilling me.

“I—I don’t know.”

“I lost two good men,” he said, and I gulped. “Do you know who this man is?”

My eyes flickered to the blond man on the floor, clutching his leg and whimpering. I shook my head, desperately.

“Does he mean anything to you?” He hovered over me. “Is he your boyfriend?”

I shook my head, sniffing. “N—no.”

“Did your boyfriend send him?”

“No!” I whispered, sobbing. “I wasn’t escaping with him, I was escaping from him. He—he tried to hurt me.”

“He did, huh?”

I nodded.

“So he means nothing to you?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Good.” One corner of his lip lifted sinisterly. “Then you won’t have any problem watching me kill him.”

(Note: I removed the incomplete and/or grammatically impossible sentences and phrases. Some phrasing was altered for clarity and flow. The asterisk in "godda*n" was left as it was in the original text. Consider replacing it with the full word for publication.)