The Bad Boys Target (#1 Royal Academy Series)

Chapter two

I sprinted with my knees to my chest. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I heard footsteps behind me, even though I'm pretty sure they weren't there.

The wind whistled and shadows raced alongside me. Maybe it was my imagination as I constantly keep glancing behind me. 

Racing forward, my breath escaped in pants. Relief flooded through me when I realized I was in my neighborhood.

At last.

My feet seemed to take me to the front of my house, I dashed in and shut the front door quickly, pressing my back against it. 

Oh my god, that did not just happen. That did not just—but it did. I just witnessed torture in an abandoned alleyway. 

Holding my chest, I try to calm my discordant breath. 

What if they followed you? The little voice in the back of my head taunts.

My aunt isn't home, no one to defend me, I'm on my own or maybe I could start to string up silly traps like the kid from Home Alone. But those bad guys didn't beat a man half to death in an alleyway. 

Damn, Kevin didn't even touch them, most of the time. He had a little secret spot around the house, hatched with a dozen traps like he was catching a mouse. But this was real, what if they had weapons?

A shiver of coldness ran up my spine, what if they followed me and broke in?

I sprinted to my room where I locked the windows and did the same to my aunt's room and the kitchen. Every entrance had bolted and locked and called it paranoia, but I shoved most of the furniture up against them. Just in case. 

Then I frantically searched for a weapon, a frying pan was the most I could find. My aunt keeps the good stuff stitched away somewhere. Typical protective as she was when it comes to sharp objects. I didn't trust myself with them either, especially at this moment. 

My whole body is still shaking from the encounter. This isn't the new start I often conjured up in my naive mind. Scared, with a frying pan as a weapon awaiting the bad guys who may or may not come. 

I must look silly. Or overreacting. Paranoid even.

They saw my face, I saw their faces. I don't know what kind of assurance it was but it made me feel more targeted, more vulnerable.

A shuffle came from the living room, every hair on my skin stood up, my brain clicking to drum up explanations. Just like I had witnessed that, I inched closer to the living room. My grips around the frying pan handle, eager to pummel whoever comes insight. Maybe it's them.

Footstep, sharp harsh footsteps clicked against the tile of the room. Steadily, I slipped against the wall, my arms shaking and a cool sweat painted my forehead.

They come closer, in view and I swing out.

''What the hell are you doing?''

My aunt's voice thundered, the frying pan froze mid-air. I let out an exasperated sigh.

''Thank God, I thought you were someone else.''

''You thought I was someone else. Give me that, you silly girl!'' She wrenches the pan from me and stomps into the kitchen, I follow closely behind her.

''You watch too many horror movies, that's what it is.'' 

I don't. Horror is the least genre I would watch. Nothing is interesting about it. Bad acting and impossible situations, like a girl running in the woods from a dude carrying a big ass chainsaw and she is in heels because she refused to take them off. After all, they are '3k Gucci. Ridiculous, based on a true story is more like my thing, keep me in touch with reality. But most of the time I watch documentaries on Saturday morning.