Hollows In Time (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book Ⅱ

Chapter Seventy-Five

I frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know yourself?" He asked. I shoved him off me as he tried to cup my cheek.

"You're insane." My voice rose, the hysteria and confusion clear in my tone. I managed to get several metres away before I hit the wall again. Literally.

"No. But you are—or, well, you know what they say: 'If not now, later'." He flashed me a menacing grin.

"I've never heard that before." I stuttered. "But when I get out of here, I'll make sure that everyone hears about this." The confidence was an act. I was about to go into cardiac arrest from fear.

"Ah, she makes threats." He smirked, then started clapping. "You're much better than what I thought."

I shook my head. "You disgust me." I spat.

He leaped out, pressing me against the wall. "You intoxicate me." He said, trying to kiss me.

I hit him with my bare hand. "You don't need me to be intoxicated."

He cackled. "Of course, Beau, the humour that only comes out when you're about to die." He ran his index finger down my face. I tried to move away from his touch, but it was everywhere. I couldn't rid it from me.

"Wait," he said abruptly. I froze as he raised a finger. "Didn't you say you were going to get out of here?" He asked, cold humour in his voice. When he saw my expression, he sneered mockingly.

I shook my head. "Just lock me back up. What's the point in gloating?" I asked, my lip trembling.

He shoved me so suddenly that my head smashed against the wall. "Beau, weren't you taught? You've never won until people know that you've won."

"That's a sick belief." I hissed, trying to push him off me.

"No, it isn't." He flashed a deadly smile. "But this is sick." He said, pressing his lips against mine and slipping his hand up my shirt.

I squirmed around in his tough hold. But it was no use.

And then he pulled out a gun.

It clicked. I froze in my place.

"Hey, Beauty, do you wanna play a game?" He asked, mouth against my ear as he held my throat, his hold tightening by the second.

"See, these are the rules: you stay perfectly still, and if you do—you win. You win a fast, and hopefully painless death; a bullet, straight through your head. If you don't stand perfectly still—you lose. You lose your life still, except I'll just shoot you in your stomach and let you bleed out. You need a good night's sleep."

I stayed silent. Trembling, I was trembling. Either way, I was going to die.

I imagined the  funeral—wait, there'd be no funeral. Because no one would know.

He was a monster. But he was damn good at a plan. He'd probably bury me below sedimentary rock in the lake outside the mansion.

"It's May, now," he said suddenly, running the tip of the gun down my face. "You're going to die in the season of new life."

And as the cold metal was placed against my temple, it happened.

Everything danced across my vision. Like a kaleidoscope of good memories—happy memories. From Angela and Carter, to talks with the girls at the Academy, to flippant chats with Toby, to Alexi and her persistent care for me. Then, finally, to Jameson.

And then he was there. In front of me. Tears fell from my eyes. But he wiped them away. The gun pressed in to my head further, but he took it away. In that moment, it was just us. He reached out, cupping my face, and he planted a kiss on my forehead.