Faithless by E.S. Carter

Author:E.S. Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: E.S. Carter

Twelve

Lily

* * *

Shit. I should’ve known the Russian pig wasn’t alone.

I was so consumed with stripping out of that slutty crimson dress which was saturated in that bastards cum and blood, that I almost didn’t hear this new man approach until it was too late. And even then, I only heard him because I caught his smell first.

He didn’t smell like the others.

His scent tore through the stench of bodily fluids and that awful fucking violet perfume like a strong wind, obliterating the stink of wickedness and death.

His scent was the colour of the ocean—wild but calm, soothing but dangerous. And, with my stolen knife in his side—the one that had just cut off the fat Russian’s cock and balls—I didn’t fear him.

That didn’t mean I was letting my guard down around him. I’ve learned not to trust anyone. Faith in people’s goodness will get you killed.

“Walk slowly over to the bastard on the floor, then sit next to him with your back against the wall.” I press the knife harder into his side, it only causes a surface wound, but it gets my point across. “Don’t think about trying anything. I’ve got nothing to lose here.”

I surprise myself with the strength of my voice and the power in my limbs. It was mere hours ago that I could barely move, yet, right now, despite the shaking under my skin and the churning in my belly, I feel almost invincible.

“Okay, I hear you,” the man that smells like the ocean says as he takes his first slow and steady step, then another. He stops a mere foot away from the dead man lying in a puddle of his own blood. “You want me to sit in that?” he questions, his head nodding at the mess on the floor before him.

“That’s what I said.”

He lets out a quiet huff but does as I ask, first going down onto his hands and knees and then slowly turning until his back is pressed against the bare, breeze-block wall.

I watch in satisfaction as the blood of the Russian paints his hands and sinks into his dark clothing.

With both dripping red hands held palm up towards me, he grimaces and asks, “What now?”

What now? Good question.

Before he became part of the equation the only plan I had was stripping, throwing on a blood-stained t-shirt that I’d found in the corner of the room and getting the hell out of here—I didn’t even know where here was. I could be in any country in the world for all I know.

Fuck. What if I’m in Russia? I’ll never escape.

I glance at the gun on the other side of the room, and his gaze tracks mine until he spots it too. It’s almost as if he’d forgotten he’d had a weapon before I slashed at him and kicked it out of his hand.

“You can get it if you need it. I’m not moving,’ he says calmly, his smell staying consistent. His words are honest.

“Are you with him?” I ask, nodding to the disgusting pile of flesh on the floor at his side.

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