Chapter 3: At Gunpoint

< Shirley > "I believe you can talk." Dylan took a step towards me, and I took a step back from him. "I know not. What just happened. I have no idea. Scared. Play dead. Want to run. Mom, help." Whatever that came out of my mouth at that time was a cluster fuck of words. "What the fuck are you even saying?" Dylan let out. I sucked in a deep breath, remembering what my friends used to tell me. I was a warrior who could stand up against brutal teachers without stuttering. Yes, I could, I chanted in my mind before standing tall. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come here. I just tripped and fell inside," I told him as calmly as possible. "And why should I believe you?" Dylan asked, arching an eyebrow. "Because I said so." "Wow, we have got ourselves a clown here, don't you think so, everyone?" His men nodded and laughed at me in response. "How rude. You should never speak to a woman like that," I lectured. It was bad manners. "Yes, right. Woman," Dylan let out sarcastically. His eyes scanned me head to toe. "Disgusting," was all he said after that. My jaw dropped. "What do you mean by that?" I placed my hand on my hip, narrowing my eyes at him. "Take a look at your-shabby-self." I gasped when I looked down at myself. I spent so much time, trying to look presentable for this guy, and I looked like an utter mess right in front of him. My white top and skirt were smeared with dirt, my jacket got a few blood stains from the wall, my heel broke, and I don't even want to say anything about my face and hair. My nose flared at anger. Just because I looked messy didn't mean he could point it out. That wasn't gentleman-like. "Says the person who is committing a murder in the basement of his office," I retorted. "That's none of your business," Dylan responded. "Oh, It is very much my business." I took a step forward. "You were supposed to be a noble businessman who does car racing as a hobby. Not a freaking criminal!" "It's not my job to live up to your expectations." "But it was in my wild expectation!" He stared at me, wide-eyed. "I mean, I read a lot of trashy romantic stories. There are Mafia sometimes, so I imagine what would happen if I met a Mafia leader." I could tell he was amused, and that's not what I wanted. I was just proving to be the clown that he claimed me to be. "What's your opinion now?" Dylan inquired. "I won't tell you." I turned away my face. Just then a cold metal touched the side of my head. "How about now?" I shivered, I was at gunpoint. I let out a nervous chuckle and took a few steps back, muttering, "Won't you be a sweetheart and put that gun down, please?" "Absolutely not." He chortled. There was no hope for survival. All I could do was beg for my life. "P-please let me go." My voice cracked as my back collided with the wall behind me, my throat going dry with every passing second. A wicked smirk took over his lips. "How can I let you go? You saw everything." A shiver ran down my spine as soon as his deep, husky yet chilling voice reached my ears. "I didn't see anything. I can't even see. I'm blind," I rambled, without giving it much thought. Just let me escape your clutches first, then I will see you, I decided in my head. "Okay, let's assume that you are blind. Then you won't even see what will happen now, either," with that, Dylan placed the muzzle of his gun straight on my forehead, resting his index finger on the trigger. "Are you crazy? You will kill me with that gun of yours," I exclaimed, my eyes wide like saucers, terror creeping into me. Despite that, I couldn't let it reflect on the surface as succumbing to him at such a point meant red flags. "Oh, really? If you didn't realize, that was the whole point. But..." he trailed off, a sly smile visible on his edges, making me gulp. "How did you see I was going to kill you? Didn't you say you are visually impaired?" he uttered in a low tone, rubbing the muzzle across my temple slowly, making my knees go jelly. My brain was so dysfunctional at that moment, I couldn't even process his maze of words, let alone what was coming out of my mouth. "Of course not. I'm not blind. You really thought I was blind? You are stupid if you actually believed me. I saw everything with my two perfectly functional eyes," I managed to tell confidently, although I doubted if my words made any sense at all. Then it clicked. I immediately bit my tongue before I could blurt out anything else. I dug my own grave, didn't I? "Very well then. I see no reason to keep you alive. It's about time you started to play dead for real." He was ready to pull the trigger. If begging didn't work, then the pity-show would have to do the trick. "Oh no, no. Please I still have a bucket list to fulfill." He queried an eyebrow, clearly not interested in my wishlist. "I can't die. At least not yet," I paused briefly. "You know what? My bucket list can wait." A look of pure annoyance swept across his face as I continued, "I have a dream that I need to fulfill at any cost. I have to become the first woman to win the Grand Prix. I want to become a world-famous car racer like you." I felt as though he could feel my passion but decided to ignore it anyway. "For that, I need exclusive training from you. Therefore, I can't die yet. If you want to kill me that badly then meet me after fifty years," I cried out. "God, you are so melodramatic." He exhaled a sigh. Can't he feel a single shred of mercy for me? All of a sudden, something struck his brain like a lightning bolt, which led his eyes to broaden. His stupefied demeanor disappeared before I could blink again as he composed himself and said, "Don't tell me you are that psychotic woman who has been chasing me for a month." "Hell yeah, I am!" she agreed boldly. You stupid woman! What is wrong with your head? Do you want to die? cursed my subconscious. "You are so dead." "Oh, please don't kill me. I promise I won't tell anyone. I swear on your life. I also swear on your guards' life," I pleaded, clasping my palms together in front of him. Back to the begging zone. He was lost in deep thoughts until he subconsciously inched closer to me. My breath hitched in my throat as his warm breath tickled my ear. He was standing way too close for the well-being of my heart that was thumping like it was participating in the Olympics. He took a sharp intake of air before starting, "I can let you go if you promise not to chase me anymore and not to tell a single soul about what you saw today." His minty breath that was falling on my ear had blocked my senses, resulting in me staying silent. "Hey, are you listening?" he asked. I wasn't paying attention as I was focused on our proximity. He lightly snipped the hilt of his gun on the crown of my head, making me wince and jump out of my Lala land. I stuttered out a 'yes'. "Promise?" I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping he wouldn't notice. "I promise." "Good." He backed away, turning around, walking away. I released a deep sigh of relief. Death had finally stopped knocking on my door, or so I thought. "Boss, you should kill her already," barked one of his men. "Yes, Boss, she is of no use to us." Fucking shut up, you snitches! Don't throw me into the gallows! "Kill her!" cheered everyone in the room. "Well, I think I might reconsider my decision." Dylan smirked looking at me. I was dumb to believe that he was going to let me go. He was playing with me. I gulped down, a shiver running down my spine as horror jabbed me once again. I'm so dead. He's going to kill me, isn't he? How could I think he would leave me just like that? I'm about to die. Rest in peace, me. °°°°°°