Better Luck in Next Life

Chapter 43. Aisha

"Why you again?" I seethed, my anger boiling over. Luke's actions were unlike anything I'd seen before. As he reached for my throat, his demeanor sent shivers down my spine. In a menacing tone, he demanded, "Where is the son, your stepbrother?"

I remained silent, refusing to give in to his intimidation. Luke tightened his grip, his threat hanging heavy in the air. "You think I won't harm you because you're a pathetic damsel? I treat everyone the same. Tell me, while I'm still being civil."

"He's dead," I managed to choke out, struggling to speak with the pressure on my windpipe.

Luke scoffed, dismissing my words with disdain. "Pathetic attempt to deceive me. How laughable. Tell me before I kill you."

He released his grip, his words chilling as he circled around me. "My ultimate motive is to kill you, whether today or tomorrow, no big difference. In the end, Martin Joe will come to you, either to mourn at your coffin or as a soul to escort you to heaven."

His sinister chuckle sent shivers down my spine, reinforcing the realization that this man was capable of anything. He asked one last time for information, and when met with silence, he kicked the chair, sending me crashing to the floor, another painful blow to my head.

With his gun aimed at me, the threat of death loomed ominously. I couldn't bear the thought of dying, not now.  Joining my hands in a desperate plea, I begged, "Please, spare me. I can't die now. I have to live. I have to breathe. I must live."

"You're right. Killing you once won't entertain me either," he declared, his words dripping with malice. "I'll make it a continuous torment, every second, every minute." He ordered his men to untie me.

As I stood, he commanded me to kneel before him. Without hesitation, I obeyed. Then, he ordered me to clean his shoes. Following his command without protest, I scrubbed his shoes as directed. Gripping my chin, he forced me to stand and sneered, "I don't like easy girls," before throwing me aside and departing.

Racing home, my mind consumed by thoughts of Martin, I arrived with only one desire—to be with him, to protect him. As I reached his doorstep, my first instinct was to whisk him away from danger. But before I could act on my impulse, I saw him struggling to push his wheelchair towards me. Without a second thought, I rushed to his aid, determined to protect him at any cost.

"How did you get these wounds? Did you have an accident? What happened?" Martin asked, his voice tinged with panic.

I struggled to find the words to respond, reaching out for an embrace to reassure him that I was alright.

"This hug won't suffice this time. I need an explanation," he insisted.

With a sigh, I explained, "I was trying to save a kid. I had to climb a tree, but my foot slipped, and I fell. It's not too serious."

After washing up the next morning, I prepared two coffees. As I sipped mine, I opened the curtains, only to spot a car parked outside with the man waving at me. My heart raced, and I quickly closed all the curtains, windows, and doors. A sudden knock nearly startled me into a heart attack.

Rushing to Martin's room to ensure he was still peacefully asleep, I stealthily locked his door before cautiously making my way to the main door. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I prepared to confront the unwelcome visitor once again.

As I reached for the doorknob to close it, a strong hand suddenly yanked me outside. I struggled against the firm grip, but it was futile. Abruptly, he released me, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the road, shaken by the unexpected encounter.

A car sped towards us. I instinctively tried to step back, but Luke's grip on my hand tightened, anchoring me in place.

"Luke, please let go of my hand. I'm begging you," I pleaded desperately, but he remained silent and unmoving.

"Luke, if you wanted to kill me slowly, why this sudden change? Please, let me go," I implored, fear creeping into my voice.

"I want us to confront death together. You're probably wondering why," he explained, his words sending chills down my spine. "Because I want to experience what death feels like."

My heart raced with terror. "But you've already experienced it twice. Why subject yourself to it one more time? Let's leave," I urged, hoping to reason with him.

As the car hurtled towards us, its proximity sending waves of fear through me. With each passing second, it drew closer, mere inches away from us.

I muttered to myself, "I need to save myself, shield myself, and protect myself—for him, for Martin."