Aggressive and Possessive

Chapter 25

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

I was shaking like a leaf, my body uncontrollable as I trembled with fear, my lungs shrivelling and my throat tightening until I was gasping for air, panicking in the small closet. My eyelids refused to part as silence was all that was heard, such a drastic change from the yelling and shouting that was sounding through the air moments ago.

My heartbeat was drumming hard against my chest with rapid speed, mimicking the wings of a caged bird begging for freedom. I could feel the top of my lip bead with sweat, the hair on the nape of my neck sticking to my skin from the heat - and nerves.

There were four gunshots. Four - not just one.

"Faye?"

A shiver jolted through my body - my limbs were moving on their own accord, and I couldn't hide or mask the childish whimper that fell from my trembling lips. It wasn't Harry.

"I heard you doll, there ain't no hiding. Not from me."

The walls around my heart tightened with incredible force, causing the muscle to beat harder, faster and louder. It mixed in with my heavy breathing, and I knew for a fact this man had pinpointed my whereabouts.

"I'm not here to hurt you like he did, I promise."

I didn't like the sound of that, I didn't like the sound of that at all.

"I'm here to save you."

+++

I didn't exit through the front door, the man wouldn't let me. I remember he said something about keeping my eyes unknown to the real world, whatever that was supposed to mean. I'm not sure; I don't recall much of what happen when being escorted out. I don't have any recollection getting inside a car, or exiting, or entering this building with windows secured with prison-like bars. I don't remember the man's name or what gang he's associated with, I don't remember how long I've been sitting here staring at the white coffee mug, and I don't remember if I put on shoes before I left.

My mind is everywhere, yet, it's completely still - numb. My eyes keep drifting in and out; focus then unfocused. I don't have any energy to move or to cry - I feel oddly weak and mentally drained for reasons I'm unsure of. I don't know what's going on.

Where's Harry?

"Ah, Faye Stevens," an elderly male voice chirped from behind me. I continued to slouch in my seat, staring straight ahead. I could easily play it off like I had failed to hear his entry, which was almost what happened anyway since I was so out of it.

It wasn't until he was sitting in the seat directly across from me - where my gaze was originally - when he caught my attention, grinning at me with cigarette stained teeth. He seemed to be in his late forties, his forehead, lips, and eyes aligned with wrinkles. His hair was a black with small streaks of silver from old age, his piercing, faded jade eyes staring at me intently.

"You know, you're not entirely what I ex -"

"What did you do to Harry?" I intervened firmly; I sat upright in my chair, voicing the question I had lingering inside me since I heard the four gun shots. Is he okay?

He paused, letting out a soundless laugh as he relaxed in his chair, giving me a sly grin. He raised both his hands, "He'll be fine. I made sure my boys cause only minimal damage to him and his buddies."

"And his buddies?" I wondered aloud, "You mean..."

"Our first top was at Harold's home, the place with the pool in the backyard. There were at least ten people there and we tied em' all up," he described, "But one of them escaped and stupidly led us to you."