Guarding Her
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“I’m going to kill you,” I said. “You’re dead.”
The man in front of me smiled, his white teeth gleaming like a shark’s jaws as he raised the gun again and pointed it at my head. The barrel was cold against my skin; the metal felt slick with sweat under my fingers. He had been holding onto this for hours now—since we’d left the hotel room where he’d shot me through the chest.
It hadn’t killed me then, but that didn’t mean anything anymore.
Not after what happened next: when I woke up inside an elevator shaft, surrounded by blood and broken glass from shattered windows, only to find myself staring down into the dark hole below. A few seconds later, I heard him screaming something about how he wasn’t done yet…and then there were gunshots.
But even though I knew all of these things would happen eventually, they still surprised me every time. They always did. And so far, none of them had worked out well for anyone involved. Except maybe the guy who got offed right before us. But not really. Because if he died on our watch? Then we both went back to hell together. That’s just how it works around here.
So yeah, I hated being stuck between a rock and hard place. Especially since I never saw any way out of this mess except getting myself killed. This is why I decided to do whatever I could to make sure that didn’t happen. Even if it meant taking one last risk.
My hands tightened around the handle of the knife tucked into my waistband beneath my shirt. I kept telling myself that this was exactly what I needed to do. That no matter how much I wanted to get away from him, I couldn’t let him shoot me.
So I took another step forward until I stood directly behind him, forcing him to look over his shoulder at me instead of keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. His face twisted into a grimace as soon as he realized what I intended to do, but I ignored him completely and focused on the task at hand.
My heart raced wildly in anticipation, pounding against my ribs with each beat. This might be the end for me. Or worse. But either way, it was worth it because I finally had a chance to take him down once and for all.
Except when I lunged forward, ready to stab him through the throat or gut, he suddenly turned around without warning. Before I could react, his arm came swinging toward my neck, knocking me backward across the floor.
As I fell backward, everything seemed to slow down. Everything except the sound of the gunshot. When it rang out loud enough to deafen me, I rolled onto my side and looked up to see the bullet flying past my head. It hit the ceiling above us, leaving a bright red streak of paint along its path before falling to the ground.
Then silence followed. No more gunfire. Nothing. Just the two of us lying on the concrete floor, motionless. For several long moments, neither of us moved. We stared at each other silently, waiting for the inevitable moment when someone else would come running to help us. But nobody ever did. Instead, we lay there alone, listening to the echoes of footsteps fading into the distance.
Finally, he spoke first. “Well, shit.”
It took me a second to realize that he was talking to himself. After all, I was the only person in sight. Still, it made sense considering the circumstances. There weren’t many people who would willingly walk into a situation like this unless they absolutely had to.
And while I couldn’t blame him for wanting to run the fxxk away, doing so wouldn’t have changed anything anyway. If he ran, he’d die too. The only difference was, that he’d go back to hell sooner rather than later. Whereas I’d stay trapped here forever.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
He sounded angry. Frustrated. Like he thought he should’ve known better. But I understood. In fact, I agreed with him wholeheartedly. I don’t know why I did what I did. Maybe it was because I was tired of fighting. Tired of trying to survive. Of living life on the edge.
I think deep down, I hoped that if I gave up, I’d finally be free. Free from fear. From pain. From death itself. At least for a little while.
And maybe that’s why I told him the truth. Why I admitted that I’d given up.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This isn’t your fault. You shouldn’t feel guilty about it. None of this is.”
His brow furrowed as he studied me intently. I tried to meet his gaze, but I found myself unable to hold eye contact for very long. The longer I stayed awake, the harder it became to keep my eyes open. All I could focus on were the dark shadows under his eyes, which reminded me of bruises. Bruises left by bullets.
Eventually, I closed my eyes again, hoping to fall asleep faster. But then I heard him speak again.
“You’re wrong,” he said softly. “Everything is my fxxking fault.”
When I opened my eyes, he was staring straight at me, his expression intense. He reached out slowly and placed his fingers gently against my cheek. Then he leaned closer, pressing his lips against mine. They felt warm and soft, just like every kiss he’d ever given me. Yet somehow different at the same time. More gentle. Less desperate.
For some reason, I resisted. I pulled away from him even though I desperately wanted to lean back into his arms. To close my eyes and pretend none of this existed anymore. Because pretending wasn’t an option now. Not after everything I’d done.
But I still refused to give in. Even when he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, trapping me between his body and the wall. I didn’t struggle. Didn’t fight. I simply allowed him to pull me closer, allowing our bodies to press together tightly. Until his mouth covered mine again. And this time, I kissed him back. Harder. With more passion than I’d shown anyone since coming to Hell.
Maybe it was because I knew I never had a choice in the matter. Either I surrendered to him or I died right there on the spot. So instead of resisting, I embraced him fully. Letting him take control completely.
Until something hard pressed against the small of my back. A gun barrel. Slowly sliding beneath my shirt until it rested against my skin. My breath caught in my throat as cold metal touched my bare flesh. I froze instantly, wondering how much worse things could possibly get. How far I’d fallen.
The man behind me chuckled. “Oh, you really want to play rough, huh? Well, let’s make sure we’re playing by the rules, okay?”
Before I could respond, he pushed the muzzle deeper underneath my shirt. It slid across my stomach before stopping against my hip bone. His hand tightened around my wrist, preventing me from moving.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We’ll start slow. See how you like that.”
My heart pounded wildly inside my chest. Sweat trickled down my forehead despite the cool air conditioning blowing through the vents overhead. I struggled to remain calm, knowing full well that any sign of weakness would result in immediate punishment.
Still, I managed to force a smile onto my face. One that looked genuine enough to fool even the most experienced interrogator.
“Okay,” I replied. “Let’s do it.”
***
After that, things moved quickly. As soon as he removed the gun from my waistband, he shoved me roughly against the wall. Then he began unbuttoning my jeans. Despite the heat, I shivered uncontrollably. I hated being naked in front of others. Especially men I barely knew.
It took several minutes for him to remove all my clothes. When he finished, he stepped back and stared at me curiously. For a moment, I wondered if he planned to rape me. If he intended to hurt me so badly that I couldn’t remember anything afterward.
Then I realized the only thing keeping me alive was the hope that he wouldn’t go that far. That he might actually help me escape. After all, I hadn’t been able to find another way off the island yet.
So I did what I always did whenever I faced death. I lied.
“Please don’t kill me,” I begged. “I won’t tell anyone where you are. Just leave me alone.”
He laughed. “What makes you think I can trust you?”
“Because you need me,” I answered honestly. “If you have no one else to talk to, then I’m the next best thing. Besides, I’ve already helped you once today. Don’t you owe me at least that much?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Yes, you do!” I insisted. “You told me yourself that I needed to be punished. You said I deserved whatever happened to me. Now isn’t the time to change your mind.”
“And why exactly am I supposed to believe you?”
“Because I know about you,” I explained. “About who you used to be. About the people, you killed along with those two other guys. I saw their faces in my dreams last night, remember?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “How did you—”
“There were three of us,” I continued. “Three friends. We went camping up north near Lake Superior. But we got lost during the storm. Our tents collapsed, leaving us exposed to the elements. The wind ripped our tent apart, killing everyone but me.
I woke up hours later, buried under the wreckage. By the time I dug myself free, they were gone. Both of them are dead. Killed by someone wearing a black hoodie. Someone who left me here to die.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He glanced away briefly, staring out the window into the darkness beyond. Then he turned back toward me.
“Who are you talking about?”
“My friends. They called themselves the Three Musketeers. Their names were Thomas, Michael, and Matthew. All three of them were murdered by demons just like you. Except unlike you, they weren’t afraid to stand up to the monsters. To stop them from hurting innocent people.”
For a long while, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply stood there silently, studying me carefully. Finally, he sighed heavily.
“All right,” he finally agreed. “I guess I can spare you for now. But keep this between us. No one needs to know about your little secret.”
With that, he walked over to the door and opened it without knocking first. Before stepping outside, however, he paused. Turning back toward me, he smiled slightly.
“In case you’re curious,” he added. “They died because of me. Because I failed to protect them. And I will never forgive myself for that.”
Then he closed the door behind him and disappeared into the night. Leaving me completely alone.
***
Hours passed slowly after that. Time seemed to crawl on endlessly as I waited for something to happen. Yet nothing ever did. Eventually, I grew tired of waiting. So I sat down in the middle of the floor and tried to relax.
But it wasn’t easy, not when every single part of my body ached. Not when I could still feel the cold steel of the knife pressed against my throat. Nor the weight of the gun pressing painfully into my side.
Eventually, though, exhaustion overcame me. My eyelids became too heavy to hold open anymore. Soon, I drifted off to sleep. Only to wake again an hour or so later. This time, I felt refreshed. Ready to take on the world. Or at least whoever had kidnapped me.
As promised, he hadn’t returned since taking off earlier that evening. Which meant I’d been stuck inside the cabin all day. Alone. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep again. For the second time that day. Maybe even the third. It was hard to tell how many times I’d slept. How long I spent unconscious beneath the covers.
The only reason I knew it was morning now is that I heard voices coming from somewhere nearby. Voices speaking English. A language I understood perfectly well.
Slowly, I pulled myself upright. Moving stiffly, I shuffled across the room until I reached the bedroom doorway. Peering through the crack, I watched as two men dressed in black suits stepped inside the cabin. One man carried a briefcase, which he placed on the table beside the bed. The other kept watching outside the front door.
Both of them wore dark sunglasses. Even though it was early morning, both men looked exhausted. As if they hadn’t gotten any rest the previous night.
One of them approached the bed. Opening the top drawer, he removed a pair of handcuffs and a set of keys. Then he moved around to the footboard and unlocked the cuffs. Afterward, he tossed the key onto the mattress.
“Good news,” he muttered. “We found your car. Looks like you made a clean getaway. Probably should have stayed put, though. If you don’t want to end up dead, that is.”
He gestured toward the bathroom door. “Go ahead. Take a shower. Get cleaned up. You look pretty rough.”
After giving me a quick once-over, he motioned toward the closet.
“And then change into these clothes. We’ll wait downstairs while you do that.”
Without another word, he turned and headed toward the kitchen. While he was busy making coffee, the other guy took a seat next to the bed. Leaning forward, he studied me closely before asking, “So what’s your story? Why would anyone kidnap such a beautiful girl like yourself?”
It was obvious he thought I was lying. That I was trying to hide something from him. But why would I lie about being kidnapped? Especially when I had no idea who might be looking for me.
Besides, I couldn’t very well explain everything to him. Not unless I wanted to risk revealing my true identity. Something I definitely didn’t plan on doing anytime soon.
Instead, I shrugged nonchalantly. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
His eyes narrowed. “Try me.”
“Fine,” I replied. “My name is Alex Cross. I’m a detective with the Washington D.C. Police Department. And I’ve got a lot more questions than answers.”
A smile spread across his face. “Well, that explains things. I always wondered where you were hiding out. Now I know.” He leaned closer. “Why are you here, Alex? What happened to your partner? Are you okay?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I’m not okay. In fact, I think I may actually be dying right this minute.”
That last bit came out much harsher than I intended. Almost as if I really believed it.
For several seconds, neither one of us spoke. Neither of us dared to move. Instead, we just stared at each other. Both of our faces were expressionless. Finally, the stranger broke eye contact.
“Okay,” he mumbled quietly. “Let’s go talk to the others.”
He rose from the chair and started toward the exit. At the same time, the other man followed close behind. Together, they left the cabin without saying anything else to me. Without bothering to lock the door.
Once alone, I let out a deep sigh. Slowly, I climbed back under the blankets. Pulling the pillow over my head, I closed my eyes tight. Trying desperately to block out the sounds of their footsteps receding down the hallway.
***
In spite of everything that had transpired during the past twenty-four hours, I managed to fall asleep almost immediately. Only waking up after the sun began to rise. When I did, I realized there was someone sitting on the edge of the bed. Someone watching me intently.
Glancing up, I saw the stranger staring down at me. Still wearing those dark glasses. His hair was cut short but still styled neatly. A dark suit jacket draped loosely across his shoulders. White shirt tucked into blue jeans. All of it was covered by a light brown leather bomber jacket.
But despite all that, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he seemed. Which surprised me somewhat. Because I’d expected him to be some kind of big bad wolf. Somebody who looked capable of taking care of himself. Of protecting me against whatever threats lay beyond the walls of the cabin.
As far as I could tell, however, he was nothing more than an average Joe. Nothing special whatsoever. Just a regular guy. They probably spent most of his days working hard to support his family.
Which meant he must have been married or engaged to somebody. Maybe even a mother of two small children. A wife who loved him dearly.
Maybe she was waiting for him somewhere outside in the woods. Hoping he would return home safely so they could spend the day together.
Or maybe he was already gone. On assignment. Working long hours away from her. Making sure he returned safe and sound every single night.
The possibilities went on and on. Endless variations of how life worked. How people lived and died. Their hopes and dreams and fears. The way they coped with loss, heartbreak, and disappointment. With joy, love, and happiness.
All of which made me wonder…
What if I never found out?
If I stayed hidden inside this tiny little cabin forever. If I refused to leave until I knew exactly what had happened to my partner. To my friend.
Wouldn’t that mean I was risking my own safety? Didn’t I stand a better chance of surviving if I tried to find help instead of staying locked up in this place?
Of course, I also had to consider the possibility that whoever was responsible for kidnapping me hadn’t given up yet. Or that my captors were planning to kill me once they learned I wasn’t going anywhere.
So, should I stay put, or try to escape?
And then there was the question of whether or not I trusted this man. This stranger claimed to be a police officer. One who apparently knew my real name.
Was he telling the truth? Did he really work for the D.C. Police Department? Was he really a detective named Alex Cross?
At least, that’s what he told me. But he didn’t offer any proof. Not like I needed it. After all, I’d seen his badge before. It was hanging around his neck. Right next to the gun he kept holstered on his belt.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about all of this was wrong. That I shouldn’t trust him. Yet I felt compelled to do just that. To take his word for it.
Because I wanted to believe him. Wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even though I had no reason to. And because I was desperate to get out of here alive.
After all, I had nowhere else to turn. No one else to rely upon. So, why not make use of the only person willing to help me?
Besides, I figured I owed him that much. For saving my life when nobody else cared enough to intervene.
Reaching out, I took hold of his hand. Then squeezed tightly. Asking him to please come closer.
His lips curled upward slightly at first but soon became stern again. He shook his head slowly, refusing to move forward. Instead, he leaned back against the wall beside the window.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But you’re asking too much.”
My brow furrowed deeply. What did he mean by that?
Then, I remembered the conversation we’d shared earlier. About how he was worried that I might be in danger. How he thought I was being held captive by a dangerous group of men.
That’s right, I recalled thinking to myself. You think I need protection.
Yet, now that I considered it further, I realized he’d been talking about himself.
He was afraid of losing control. Afraid of letting go. Terrified of becoming the monster he feared he was destined to become.
A killer.
Sensing my confusion, he sighed heavily. Pressed both hands deep into his pockets. Fidgeted nervously with his fingers.
Finally, he spoke.
“Look,” he explained quietly. “You’ve got to understand. I can’t let you out of here. Not without giving you a good reason. Without explaining everything to you first.”
“Why?” I asked. “What are you hiding from me? Why won’t you explain yourself?”
“It’s complicated,” he replied. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know.”
“No, I don’t suppose I would,” I muttered bitterly. “Not after hearing your story.”
“Yeah…” He nodded sadly. “I guess that makes sense.”
For several seconds, neither of us said anything. We simply stared at each other through the glass. Neither of us knew where to begin.
The End