CHAPTER 2: THE DEMON

FLORENCE'S POV

I was staring at the ice cubes floating in the whiskey.

It was my third. Maybe fourth. I wasn’t counting.

I had travelled to another country but the guilt of stabbing my husband was still heavy on me.

"Rough night?"

I glanced up. The bartender was smirking at me.

He had dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and the kind of lazy confidence that belonged to a man who got away with things.

"Rough life," I muttered, taking a sip.

He chuckled, wiping the counter. "That so? You don’t look like the type to drink alone."

I raised a brow.

"And what type do I look like?"

"The type that breaks hearts, not bottles." He said and leaned in, resting an elbow on the bar.

I snorted.

"You flirting with me?"

He grinned. "Depends. Is it working?"

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips.

"Not really." I managed to say.

"Damn." He said, whilst looking into my eyes.

I paused, the alcohol dulling the ache in my chest.

It had been a while since someone looked at me like that…like I wasn’t just a walking disaster.

The door slammed open.

The entire bar went silent.

A man stormed in, his face was not covered by a black ski mask as you'd expect a robber.

Dumb move.

He held a gun clutched in his shaking hands.

"Nobody move!"

My stomach dropped.

Someone gasped. A chair scraped against the floor.

The bartender’s flirty smirk vanished. His body tensed.

"Alright, alright," he said calmly, lifting his hands. "Let’s not do anything stupid."

The gunman turned the weapon toward him. I had to raise my hands up in surrender too.

"Shut the fuck up! Empty the register!"

The bartender hesitated for half a second.

"Now!" the gunman barked.

He moved quickly, opening the register and putting the cash into a plastic bag.

My heart pounded in my ears.

This isn’t happening.

The bartender slid the bag across the counter. The gunman snatched it up, then turned his eyes on the liquor shelves.

"All of it. Everything. Bottles too."

The bartender clenched his jaw but started shoving expensive bottles into the bag.

A woman near the door whimpered. The gunman snapped his attention to her.

"Shut up!"

I held my breath, my fingers curled into fists.

A minute passed. Then two.

Finally, the bag was full. The gunman backed toward the door, keeping the gun raised.

"Nobody follows me," he warned, then bolted out into the night.

The air was heavy and suffocating.

I let out a shaky breath, my pulse still racing.

The bartender exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

"Well… fuck."

I swallowed hard, pushing my chair back. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stand.

"Where you going?" the bartender asked, his voice laced with concern.

I steadied myself.

"I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night."

I turned and walked out the door. As I walked I adjusted the hood of my jacket, keeping my head low as I walked out of the bar.

It was late, and u was worried.

I felt paranoid

I quickened my pace, gripping my bag tighter.

Calm down, Florence. You’re just being paranoid.

But then I heard the footsteps.

Heavy..

Following me.

I glanced over my shoulder.

A man. Dressed in dark clothes. Tall. Walking too casually to be just another pedestrian.

I swallowed hard and picked up my pace.

Then I heard more footsteps.

More than one.

I turned another corner, my heart hammering against my rib.

Six of them now.

Their voices were low, murmuring among themselves.

"Nice little thing…"

"…Pretty face, wonder if she screams…"

"…Bet she’s tight."

My blood turned cold.

I was being hunted.

I kept walking, forcing my feet to move faster, my mind looking for an escape plan.

But the moment I turned another corner, my stomach dropped.

A blind alley.

Shittt

The brick walls loomed high, trapping me.

"No, no, no… shit." I spun around, my breath quickening.

They were already there, grinning and closing in.

"Look at that," one of them sneered, stepping closer. "All alone. No one to save you."

I stumbled back.

"Please… Just let me go."

Another one laughed.

"Oh, we’ll let you go… after we’ve had our fun."

The first man grabbed my arm, yanking me forward. I screamed and thrashed, but it was useless.

His grip was iron.

"Shut up, bitch," he growled.

Hands grabbed at me—my jacket ripped off, nails clawing at my skin.

I fought. I kicked, I bit, I screamed until my throat burned.

But they were stronger.

A rough hand tore at my dress, ripping the fabric clean down the front.

Cold air hit my bare skin, and panic seized me.

"No! STOP!"

Another hand grabbed my breast, squeezing cruelly.

I sobbed, struggling harder, but then—a mouth.

Hot, wet, disgusting.

Sucking aggressively at my exposed skin, biting down hard.

I gagged.

"No! PLEASE! STOP!"

Laughter. More hands. More tearing.

Then…

A loud gunshot rang though the air.

The sucking on my breast stopped. The weight on me increased. Something warm and wet splattered onto my face.

Then I saw it.

The man who had been on me—the one who had his mouth on my breast—was now a lifeless corpse, his head blown open, blood dripping down his face.

I gasped, too shocked and disgusted to move.

The alley fell into dead silence.

Then, a man stepped out.

He was tall, dressed in all black, his face mostly hidden by a hood.

But his eyes…

Beautiful. Electric blue.

He was staring right at me.

The men who had just been laughing now stiffened, stepping back in hesitation.

"The fuck?! Who the hell are you?!" one of them barked.

The man didn’t answer.

The other men hesitated, then charged at him.

He moved faster than I've seen someone move.

His hand got one man choked, falling instantly to the floor.

He stabbed knife to the ribs of another man, blood spurting from his mouth.

There was screams. Blood.

I scrambled away from the corpse near me.

While I was shifting , within seconds, three more bodies dropped to the ground.

The remaining two ran away, stumbling over deadbodies as they ran.

The only sound left was my own breathing.

The hooded man turned toward me, his face still mostly hidden.

I trembled, wrapping my torn dress around myself.

Then, without a word, he pulled off his hoodie and threw it at me.

"Cover up." His voice was deep, calm.

Deadly… sexy but deadly.

I caught the hoodie with shaky hands, quickly pulling it over my exposed body.

He turned away to leave.

"W-Wait!" My voice cracked.

He paused.

I swallowed, my throat dry asf.

"Who… who are you?"

He didn’t turn back.

"Their worst nightmare."

Huh?

Was that in my head or did I actually hear him say that?

He stepped around the corner. I ran after him, but… he wasn't there.

I looked around but… Nothing. No footsteps. No sign he had ever been there.

Hmm…must've been in my head then.

Gone. Like a ghost.