Page 3 of Under Your Scars

I shake, but I don’t make another sound. I wait in horror, in silence, as he traces the tip of the knife over my neck, down my chest, and in between the valley of my breasts, ripping the fabric of my blouse enough for it to fall open and expose my bra.

I close my eyes tightly and accept the inevitable, tears streaming down my face. I pray that whatever they’re about to do to me, they will make it fast.

“Oh shit!” I hear one of them yell.

The knife that was at my chest gets yanked away, followed by the hands holding my arms in place. My eyes are still closed and I’m shaking violently from fear and the cold rain.

I hear three rapid gunshots, three sickening squelches, and three thuds on the pavement.

It goes eerily quiet, save for the sound of rain on the concrete.

I open my eyes, and I gasp.

My lips quiver and tears sting in my eyes as I look up at my savior, standing just a foot away from me. I’m in a state of shock, I’m sure, because I look up and see his throat bob like he’s speaking, but I don’t hear words.

Meridian City, and all its crime-ridden glory, has something else that makes it absolutely unbelievable.

The Meridian City Silencer.

A serial killer in a red mask that patrols the streets at night, beating up criminals and dishing out bullet-shaped justice to anyone he feels deserves it.

The red mask covers the bottom half of his face like a muzzle. His tactical pants are pitch black and covered with dozens of knives and guns, bulky from whatever equipment he keeps stuffed in the pockets. His combat boots are caked in mud. He’s got on a jacket with the sleeves cut off, exposing his vascular arms, and the hood thrown over his head. With every breath he takes, I can see the gentle separation of scales that make up his shirt, hugging his muscles like snakeskin. His dark hair falls over his forehead and sticks to his skin from the rain.

The wanted posters don’t do him justice. Not his beauty, nor the malice in his eyes.

My heart is beating so fast I can hardly think. I might have thanked him for saving me if I wasn’t utterly traumatized from nearly being gang raped.

A burning, itching sensation cuts through my chest and I look down to see a bright red welt in my skin where the knife was dragged down my sternum. I cover the welt with the shredded parts of my top.

“Superficial.”

My eyes snap up to him and I shake my head in confusion. “What?” I ask, my voice unsteady.

“It’s a superficial wound. It will heal fast. You won’t even feel it by morning.”

All I can do is stare up at him. His eyes are an artificially bright green. Dark paint in his eye sockets has streaked down his face from the rain like blackened tears. “Are you okay?”

My eyes flicker down to the three bodies that are scattered around us, lying face down in the dirty alleyway. My breathing heightens into panic again when I notice the subtle red pools mixing with the thin layer of rainwater.

“Don’t worry. They won’t touch you again.”

I stand there unmoving for so long I think I’ve forgotten that I even have legs. Every sense in my body is telling me to run, but I’m frozen in place, shaking like this is the first time I’ve stood on my own in my life. My bottom lip quivers and I recoil into myself when he brushes away a strand of my loose hair with his knuckle.

“You’re scared.”

I can hear in his voice the rest of the sentence he didn’t say. ‘Of me’.

Fuck yes, I’m scared of him. He murders people that look at him funny, and right now,I’mone of those people. I’ve got my gaze locked on him like I’m a deer in headlights. Rain drips off the edge of the mask covering his mouth and jaw.

“Do you live close?”

I don’t answer his question. He nods as if he already knows the answer.

“Go home. I’ll make sure no one else follows you.”

Before he can even finish his sentence, I dart away from him and around the corner. All I want is to be alone, safe, in my tiny apartment. Mercifully, my keys are on a stretchy wristband around my arm, and I run the next street over to my apartment building. I’m shaking so violently that I type in the wrong code to open the outer door three times before I get it open.

With a slight sense of safety behind the door, I sink onto the small staircase in the lobby and cry as the reality of what just happened—and what could have happened—washes over me.