Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 27- Callie

"Is your heart beating fast for me yet, Bambi?"

Of course, it is. The organ feels ready to march right out of my chest at any moment. I'm surprised he can't hear it from where I hide in the divot of a particularly twisty path. I'm grateful for it because without it, I'm not sure my plan would have worked out as clearly as it had in my head. The simple cartoon drawing plan that my weary brain had lauded as genius seems flimsy in the light of reality.

Hubris really is the downfall of men. So confident that I'll just run scared and stupid, that he barely spares a glance behind him anymore. A few moments into this harebrained plan of mine, I had thought it was over when he stopped in the middle of an intersection of tunnels and peered down the one I had just been about to follow him down.

I must have someone looking out for me because I had stopped to brush off the biggest spider web outside of Australia. Thankfully it had been vacant. There is no way on Earth I would have been able to contain the scream of unholy terror I would have unleashed. Some things are not meant for this world and whatever spider called that web home was it. It must've been eating rats judging by the size.

Either way, I'm saved from those midnight blue eyes that never seem to miss anything, though part of that probably is a bit of an exaggeration. He's just a man, nothing more. And men are capable of mistakes. As long as I think like that, I can beat him. The only God down here is absent.

His steps are sure and leisurely as he hums, though his eyes remain on a constant rotation. I've never moved my body so fast out of view. Anxiety whispers that each glimpse around a corner is my last; that those infinite ocean eyes will be staring back at me this time paired with that blinding bright smile and those shark-like canines ready to sink into me. Yeah, not exactly how I pictured going out.

An eternity later, or perhaps that's just my nerves talking, his feet falter. I almost trip, face down feet up, in my rush to stop. He dances around the open space in some imitation of a waltz, to music only he can hear before turning to face the exact spot I was standing just a moment ago.

He knows.

A harsh bark of laughter escapes him before he bounces on his toes, giddy with glee. "Bambi, dearest. You are full of surprises. I wonder what sounds you'll make for me when I get my hands on you."

The exit is long forgotten now. My only goal is getting away. Cupid or freedom, either is better than Pretty Boy. This unhinged madman is not what I expected under all of those sly glances and teasing remarks. I was always warned not to play with fire, little did I know I had been stoking the flames and dancing below their flickering lights.

Never again will I sit out a workout session in favor of a Netflix binge. I'm dying as I push my body well past any previous levels my stamina is used to, but I can hear his pounding feet gaining on me. My heart is in my throat, but I refuse to look back. Setting eyes on him would make it real and I don't want to wake up from this dream. Nicole and Rachel are waiting for me at home, while I tell them all about this wild adventure over a Doctor Who marathon and lavender honey ice cream from Beth Marie's downtown. My mouth waters as I imagine that first cold, sweet bite. That's my first meal if I ever escape this place. Ice cream.

A slow clap sounds behind me as I daydream of confections far out of reach. I don't even want to turn to face him. I'm moving on from grief at my diminishing chance of escape, not as if I could overpower him despite his slender frame, and moving directly on to anger. How dare he dangle hope in front of me before so cruelly ripping it away?

His firm hands band around my ribcage, trapping my arms against my chest as he whispers in my ear. "Got you."

Baring a moment for shock, I squirm in his grasp but he doesn't even act phased by attempts to get free. The laugh that surrounds me is so mirthful I want to scream. His smile is full of pride. Complete and utter confidence. The same confidence I remember Colt having right before laying into me for some imagined transgression. The images merge until it's not Pretty Boy's illustrated arms holding me, but Colt's bare, sun kissed skin. My body reacts like a caged animal, thrashing about without care if I injure myself. I won't go back to being his doll, I won't survive it again.