Page 16 of Chalk Outline

“Run.”

His blue eyes command before the words sink in.

It takes me a few seconds to move my feet, but once they start moving, I do exactly that—I run.

Not because I’m scared, and not because I can’t fight back with years of martial arts training under my belt, but because… I can’t.

His existence feels like a slap in the face from the universe. It’s like a dish served cold and fucking humorless.

Is he just a fragment of my imagination, or is he real?

The wet pavement beneath the soles of my boots reflects the line of streetlamps as I run farther away, creating a substantialdistance between me and him. My leg slips into a puddle that splashes ankle-high off the ground. My soaking wet clothes challenge me, but I push through, even as the road blurs beneath me.

Halloween is already a death sentence in this city. I just can’t shake the fact that he sounds and looks like my husband. I can’t do that to myself anymore, and that’s why rule four exists. I have to get used to living in a world without him, rather than being delusional about the possibility of seeing him.

I run until my feet are numb, stopping to catch my breath beside a tall wrought-iron gate. I pant heavily, and before I have a moment to recover, darkness envelops me.

“Shh, get inside the van.” The man orders in a low, commanding tone as he fixes the bag around my head and drags me inside. He doesn’t push me or threaten to kill me. He guides me until I lower myself onto the seat.

“The package is in transit,” says a second manly voice from the passenger seat, buckling up his seatbelt.

I recognize their voices from the party.

The van smells like aftershave, cigarettes, and something sweet… like candies.

“Winona Bishop, we’ve been watching you for a week,” the first voice says playfully from the driver’s seat. “Are you ready for your exile?” He asks, flicking a lighter switch against what I assume is a cigarette, searing the thin silence between us.

“Sure.” Whatever that means. “Why aren’t we moving?”

“We’re waiting for someone. He’ll be here in a minute.”

Music blasts through my headphones as I draw in my room. The door is locked. My mind quiets while I complete a sketch, adding a few more strokes to accentuate the flower hanging between the man’s teeth. He pulls at the metal chains around his neck, choking himself, as blood the color of darkness spills down his throat.

I turn off the music when the door behind me bursts open, smacking the floor with a harsh bang. I’m out of the chair in seconds, spinning on the balls of my feet.

My bodyguard stands there, chest heaving as he scowls at me with those radiant eyes of his. Even when he’s angry, he remains the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.

“I banged on your door for minutes. I thought something had happened to you.” He grits out between harsh breaths, taking intimidating steps toward me, but I stand tall and don’t bow my head down.

He grabs my headphones, yanking them off my head. Enraged, I fist his shirt, twisting it in my tight grip and pressing his chest enough to feel his wild heartbeat.

“What is your problem? I listened to music and could barely hear my own thoughts.” I fire at him, taking zero bullshit. “That was the point.”

He slides a sandwich onto the desk behind me. I hate that he can be both infuriating and caring at the same time, because then I have nothing against him. I haven’t had anything to eat for hours, and he knows that.

Looming over me like some massive jerk, he dips down, inching toward the pointed look on my face. “You didn’t answer. I couldn’t risk it.” He presses his forehead to mine.

Heat fills my chest, and I hate when it happens around him. I want to surrender it, succumb to it, pursue it with my grabby hands, and kiss it until it burns for me.

“Next time, text me,” I say dryly instead.

“Please answer me when I check up on you.” His eyes flick to the drawing on the desk behind me, shimmering with pride, and I memorize every millisecond that ticks away.

“I don’t owe you anything,” I bite, even when I don’t mean it. I want him to follow me wherever I go, but I also want him tokeep chasing me, not because he’s my bodyguard, but because he can’t resist me.

“You don’t. But when I knock, you answer for me,” he replies calmly, exchanging air with me and making my heart skip a few beats. “Are you okay?”

I immediately avert my gaze because I’m not.