Options

Elle

Aaron's hand is over my mouth the moment my scream rings out.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

“Hey, hey, hey. Shhhh. It's okay. It's okay Angel, I've got you. I've got you,” his voice is soft, calm, melodic even, like a lullaby, like there isn't a literal dead body just inches away from both of us.

I claw at the back of his hand, desperate to get away from him. From this.

How can he kill someone so easily and still be so calm about it?

Against all odds, I continue to struggle. I need to get away from him. I need to... There are patches of blood stains on his neck.

My uncle's blood, I realise as a sudden wave of nausea hits me.

“Stop struggling, Angel." The corner of his mouth tips into a wicked smirk, and I freeze. "Your scratches aren't having the effect you think they are.” And then he winks.

Bloody winks.

There's no way. Maybe I might've imagined it. Who winks at someone after committing murder?

The wicked glint in his eyes tells me that I did not, in fact, hallucinate the last sentence.

Oh my God. He's actually insane, isn't he?

I let a psychopath touch me.

I almost kissed a murderer.

Of all the hands that ever touched me, his should’ve been the one I should be the most repulsed by, yet the familiar churn in my stomach never comes.

“I'm going to let you go now." He says, and it's only then I realise I've stopped struggling. My entire body is now impossibly still against him. "And when I do, I'm going to need you to be quiet. Will you do that for me, Angel?”

Absofuckinglutly not. I'm going to scream for help the moment he takes his hand off my mouth.

But I nod anyway

His hand falls away from my mouth and I don't scream. I try to breathe but it's hard when the air reeks of death and the metallic stench of blood.

“He's dead.” The words tumble out of my lips in a whispered rush. Ever since I was sixteen I've only ever dreamed of this day.

The day the old bastard would finally die has always felt like a future I had no business being a part of.

I'd imagined at least a thousand different scenarios in the last seven years, each one worse than the last, but I've never once imagined I'd be part of a future where it actually happened.

That I'll have the privilege of watching the life drain from his body.

A strange, sick thrill warps its way up my spine, trickling into my bloodstream.

“So it seems.” Aaron muses, reaching into his pocket and retracting his phone. He stands, placing the device to his ear as he starts talking to whoever is on the other end of the line. I have no idea what's going through his mind at the moment, but I do wonder if he's thought about what to do with me now that I have witnessed him murder my uncle first-hand.

“I've called someone to clean this up," he tells me, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Thank you” I murmur, but I'm not exactly sure what I'm thanking him for. Maybe it's because he decided to clean the body himself instead of leaving it to me like a part of me thought he might.

He narrows his eyes at me, observing, “You're shaking.” He points out.

Really? I look down at my hands and sure enough, they're trembling. I hadn't even noticed.

He's in front of me again, crouching, and in a blur of motion, he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over my shoulder. I don't thank him for the warmth it provides.

“What now?” I ask, gazing up at him.

“Now, we wait for Cillian to send over a cleanup crew.”

“And after that?" I ask slowly. "What happens to me?”

He pauses, blinking. It's almost like he hasn't thought that far ahead, and I'm beginning to wonder just how far he's thought about any of this.

“There were lights outside when I came back,” I continued, “Three of them. Which means my neighbours probably heard the shot. They could call the cops.”

He lifts a brow, eyes glinting with a tease, “Are you perhaps worried about me, Angel?”

“No.” I reply almost instantly, “But I am worried about myself. They might not break you but they could easily break me. For all I know you could be planning to pin this whole thing on me.”

He rolls his eyes, “I won't."

"Well, how do I know that?"

"Because my mother taught me better than that." He states matter-of-fact, rubbing harshly between his brows with two of his fingers, exhaling, “But I do see where you're coming from.”

My gaze unwillingly flutters across his form. Even crouched down he's still taller than me. Bigger. His shoulders are broad, and his jaw chiselled to perfection.

How can someone so physically good-looking even exist, I wonder. A glint catches my eye, and my gaze drops to his left wrist, where a Golden wristwatch almost blinds me with the way it shines.

Just how loaded was this guy?

Really.

“The way I see it, you've got two options, Anne,” He says suddenly, drawing my gaze away from the very expensive watch and back to his face.

“Please, don't call me that.”

He tilts his head lifting a brow, “What, Anne?”

I nod.

“I thought that was your name."

“It's only half of it. My full name is Annabelle. Anne was what he called me.” I don't say more than that but the bitterness in my tone is hard to miss. A part of me senses that Aaron understands what I'm not saying with the way his eyes soften before reverting to the hard look he was sporting just seconds before.

“Fine. I won't call you that name. But I am going to have to call you something.”

“You can call me Elle.”

He lifts his chin. “Well, then Elle,” he says my name like he's tasting it. Rolling the letters together with his tongue, and that does things to my stomach.

Fluttering things.

“The way I see it, you've only got three options, " he lifts three fingers, then puts two down. “One, you can either stay here with him,” He points at my uncle's lifeless body, “Until the cleanup crew arrives. Or two," He lifts a second finger, “I kill you.

Fear grips me at that and I find myself leaning away from him. Which, if I'm being honest, wouldn't do much in the slight chance he does actually decide to put a bullet through my skull.

He notices this and tries to comfort me.“Relax, believe it or not, I have no plans on killing you." He pauses, a cruel sinister smirk twisting his lips, "Although, now that I think about it, it would be easier to have you dead than watch you come between my plans.”

My body tenses, and I pull down my lips into a frown.

"I'm kidding," he says, but I only half believe him.

“I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about. I say, "I'm very good at keeping secrets.”

One time when I was younger and still lived with my bio mom in London, my sister told me she’d stolen our neighbour’s wallet just because he'd refused to pay her for taking out his trash. I didn’t say a word—not when he asked me about it hours later, it went missing, and especially not when my mother asked me about it while threatening to split my head in two with the broken heel of her favourite shoes.

So yeah, secrets? I’m damn good at keeping them.

He moves closer. His gaze darts along my face, trailing from my eyes to my nose and then finally, my mouth.

Air is an illusion as I find myself without it. My heart slams violently against my ribcage, and if it wasn't for the glimpse of my uncle's cold lifeless eyes staring directly at me, I might've forgotten who this man is and why I should be afraid of him.

“I don't doubt that about you, Elle.” He murmurs, voice smooth like glass. He reaches out, curling the end of my hair around his finger. “Something tells me that you're the type of girl who guards her secrets with her life." He lets the words hang in the air before continuing. "And besides, if I thought for even a second that killing you would be a better option than I would've done so by now.”

He’s close enough now that I can smell the faint trace of his cologne. He smells good for someone covered in blood.

“You haven't asked me what the third option is yet,” he mutters, eyes glancing briefly at my lips before flicking up again.

Swallowing I ask. “What is it?”

He let go of my hair, "You come with me and I'll protect you from it all.”

I rear back, looking at him in disbelief.

What?

“Come with you?” I echo, when I find my voice

He smiles, then nods. The action is more calculating than genuine. "Stay with me and you don't end up dead or in a prison cell," he replies casually, shrugging his shoulders. "Seems fair doesn't it?"

If I go with option one and wait here, my aunt will undoubtedly come back. She'll know something is up once she comes home and doesn't find her husband waiting for her on his couch like he usually does when he comes back from his trips.

She'll eventually go around asking questions and ultimately find out I was home when he came back.

The second option is no better. My death is an inconvenience I'm not willing to put up with just yet.

Curdling dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I slowly come to the realisation that the only safe option I have is option three and even that isn't entirely safe.

“What's it going to be Elle?”

The buzzing in my ears fades long enough for me to hear the subtle creak of the floor beneath his feet as he shifts closer, still.

He's waiting for me to give him my answer. And although we both know what I'll say, he's waiting for me to say it.

Most people would choose something else. A secret fourth option perhaps. But I'm not most people. The probability of my successfully dealing with this on my own was next to none.

Squeezing my eyes together for several moments, my lips fall apart as I feel my resolve finally give way.

“Fine," I say. "I'll come with you.”