Avantika
I swallow the unease creeping up my throat, and it has little to do with the word he said and more to do with how he said it. His deep voice sounds laced with honey but is actually fogged with black smoke. It has to do with how the word vibrated from his vocal cords before rippling in the space between us with the lethality of poison. For some reason, it feels as if I shouldn't breathe the wrong way or else I'll meet my downfall sooner rather than later. The resemblance of light has long since disappeared from his eyes and I'm face to face with that shadowy version from earlier—muted, dull, and absolutely lifeless. "Not you. The photograph." But what would he be doing in such a desolate place that even the locals don't tread near? His hand loosens from around my wrist and when my feet slip back, several rocks fall and meet their demise. A haunted shriek echoes in the air. Mine. I don't even think about it as I grab hold of his forearm with both hands. "What the… What the hell are you doing?" I pant through my choked breaths, my heart stammering. A sense of terror rips through my rib cage, and I haven't felt anything like it in weeks. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He still speaks with utter ease, as if he's discussing breakfast options with friends. "I'm finishing the job you started, so when you fall to your death, I can commemorate the moment. I have a feeling you'll be a good addition to my collection, but if you're not…" He shrugs. "I'll just burn it." My mouth hangs open as an influx of thoughts invade my mind. Did he just say he'll add a picture of me falling to my death to his collection? I have too many questions, but the most important of all is, what type of collection does this lunatic keep? No, scratch that—the ultimate question is, who the hell is this guy? He looks about my age, would be considered handsome by societal standards. Oh, and he gives off a criminal vibe, but not the petty, ordinary kind. He's in a league of his own. A dangerous criminal vibe. The mastermind controlling countless thugs, who usually lurks behind the scenes. And somehow, I happened to appear in his path. Having lived my life surrounded by men who eat the world for breakfast, I can recognize danger. I can also recognize people I should stay away from. And this stranger is the epitome of those two options. I need to get out of here. Now. Despite the nerves attacking my already fragile mental state, I force myself to speak in my no-nonsense tone. "I wasn't planning to die." He raises an eyebrow and the cigarette in his mouth twitches with a slight movement of his lips. "Is that so?" "Yeah. So can you…pull me up?" I could use his forearm to do that myself, but any sudden movement will probably have the exact opposite effect and he could release me to meet my maker. Still grabbing my wrist with a nonchalant hand, he retrieves a lighter with his free one and lights the cigarette. The tip burns like rich orange dusk and he takes his time before he throws the lighter back into his pocket and blows out a cloud of smoke in my face. I usually gag on the smell of cigarettes, but that's the least of my problems now. "And what do I get in return for helping you?" "My thanks?" "I have no use for that." My lips purse and I force myself to remain calm. "Then why did you grab hold of me in the first place?" He taps the edge of his camera, then caresses it with the sensuality of a man touching a woman he can't stay away from. For some reason that causes my temperature to rise. He looks like the type who does that a lot. Often. And with the same intensity he exudes. "To take a picture. So how about you finish what you started and give me the masterpiece I came here for?" "Are you seriously saying that your masterpiece is my death?" "Not your death, no. It'd look too bloody and displeasingly gory when your skull is smashed against the rocks below. Not to mention that the current lighting won't be able to capture a good picture. It's your fall that I'm interested in. Your pale skin will have a wonderful contrast against the water." "You're…sick." He lifts a shoulder and blows more toxic fog. Even the way he slides his fingers against the cigarette and smokes appears effortless, when it's shackled with tension. "Is that a no?" "Of course it's a no, you psycho. You think I'd die just so you can take a picture?" "A masterpiece, not a picture. And you don't really have a choice. If I decide you'll die…" His upper body leans forward and he loosens his fingers from around my wrist, his voice lowering to a frightening whisper. "You'll die." I scream when my foot nearly gives way and my nails dig into his arm with a ferocious need for life bubbling in my veins with the desperation of a caged animal. A prisoner that's been in solitary confinement for bloody years. I'm pretty sure I scratched him, but if he's hurt, he shows no signs of discomfort. "This isn't funny," I pant, my voice choked. "Do you see me laughing?" His long fingers wrap around the cigarette and he takes a drag before pulling it away from his mouth. "You have until my smoke ends to give me something." "Something?" "Whatever you're willing to do in exchange for my chivalrous act of saving a damsel in distress." I don't miss the way he stresses the word chivalrous, or the provocative way he uses words in general. As if they're weapons in his arsenal. The battalion at his command. He's enjoying this, isn't he? This whole situation that started with my attempts to forget has landed me with a nightmare. My gaze strays to the half-smoked cigarette and just when I'm thinking about prolonging time, he inhales what remains in a few seconds and throws the butt away. "Your time is up. Goodbye." He starts to release himself from my hold, but I dig my nails in farther. "Wait!" No change occurs in his features even as the air tousles his hair back. Even as I'm sure he feels me shaking with the desperation of a leaf struggling to survive. Nothing seems to have any effect on him. And it scares the shit out of me. How can someone be this…this cold? This detached? This lifeless? "Changed your mind?" "Yeah." My voice trembles even as I attempt to sound in control of myself. "Pull me up and I'll do whatever you want." "Sure you want to word it that way? Whatever I want might include a number of things that are frowned upon by the general public." "I don't care." The moment I'm on safe ground, I'm out of this crazy wanker's orbit. "It's your funeral." His fingers wrap around my wrist in a merciless grip and he tugs me from the edge with baffling ease. It's as if I wasn't hanging toward death by a thread just now. As if the water below wasn't opening its fangs to chew me in between them. Maybe, just maybe, that's not a good thing, considering the devil I'm facing. My harsh breaths sound animalistic in the silence of the night. I attempt to regulate them, but it's of no use. I was brought up to have a steel will and an imposing presence. I was raised with a last name that's larger than life, and with family and friends who attract attention wherever we go. And yet, everything I knew seems to vanish at this moment. It's like I'm dissociating from who I'm supposed to be and morphing into a version even I can't seem to fathom. And it's all because of the man standing in front of me. His features are vacant, his eyes still dull and lifeless, and every bleak color in the palette. If I had to put a color on him, it'd most definitely be black—deadpan, cold, and a boundless hue. I try to free my wrist from his hand, but he tightens his hold until I'm sure he'll break my bones just to peek inside them. It's been only a minute since I met him, but I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he did break my wrist. After all, he wanted to take a picture of me falling to my death. And while that's odd, it's downright terrifying, too. Because I know, I just know that this stranger would be able to do it in a blink and not think about the consequences. "Let me go," I say in a clipped tone. His lips tip at the corners. "Ask nicely and I might." "What's the definition of nicely to you?" "Add a please or drop on your knees. Either will do. Doing them both at the same time would be highly recommended." "How about neither?" He tilts his head to the side. "That would be both pointless and foolish. After all, you're at my mercy." In a swift movement, he pushes me to the edge again. I try to stop the brutality of his movement, but my strength is a mere straw in the face of his raw power. In no time, my legs are hanging on the verge of the cliff, but this time, I grab hold of the strap of his camera, his shirt, and any surface I can dig my nails in. Cold. He's so cold, it freezes my fingers and leaves me breathless. "Please!" An appreciative sound slips from his lips, but he doesn't drag me back. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" My nostrils flare, but I manage to say, "Can you stop this?" "Not when you didn't finish your second part of the bargain." I stare at him, probably looking dumbfounded as hell. "Second part?" He places a hand on top of my head, and that's when I notice that he's tall. So tall that it's intimidating. At first, he merely caresses a few strands of my hair behind my ears. The gesture is so intimate that my mouth goes dry. My heart beats so loudly that I think it'll rip from my rib cage. No one has ever touched me with this level of nonnegotiable confidence. No—not confidence. It's power. The overwhelming type. His fingers that were just stroking my hair dig in my skull and shove down so hard, my legs give out. Just like that. No resistance. Nothing. I'm falling. Falling… Falling… I think he's pushed me to my death, after all, but my knees bump against the solid ground and so does my heart. When I stare up, I find that gleam again. Earlier, I thought it was a flash of light, some semblance of white in the black. I thought wrong. It's black-on-black. A shade of absolute darkness. Pure sadism shines in his irises as he holds my head hostage, and the worst part is that if he lets go, I'll surely tumble backward. A frightening smirk lifts his lips. "Being on your knees is highly recommended indeed. Now, should we begin?"