Snowfall a slashes in th.., p.6
Snowfall: A Slashes in the Snow Prequel,
p.6
“Like what?”
“I feel like someone is watching me. When I’m sleeping. When I leave the house. It’s just a creepy feeling.”
“Why come to me? Why not just go to the police?” Ky straightens up, folding his muscled arms across his chest. All the colorful tattoos peeking out from the hem of his short sleeves bulge and ripple as if animated for a short second. The serpent around his forearm eyeing me makes me inwardly shudder. I despise snakes.
“I went to the police. But I have no hard evidence. Just a feeling. They can’t do anything about that.”
I know it sounds insane, but it’s true. Someone is watching me. I feel it every time I walk into my house. It’s freaking me out. And I’m scared. Scared to be alone. Scared to sleep. Scared to walk in and out of my own home from fear of the unknown. Someone, I’m convinced, is fucking with my head.
“Why aren’t you in Paris?”
“With my mom and Gerard? I’m supposed to go at the end of the month. After finals. I’m in grad school.”
“I see,” he muses. “So, what is it that you want from me?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. Help?”
“What kind of help? A bodyguard?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just . . . just . . .”
“Just what?” Ky presses. The weight of his stare feels like a thousand pounds of sand being poured on top of me. I suffocate under it.
“Scared, okay,” I exasperate. “I’m scared.” I hate admitting that, but it’s the truth.
Ky continues to gaze down at me in all his menacing glory. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He’s more stoic than a Roman statue.
“I’m nobody's bodyguard, Snow.”
Snow?
“Please,” the word springs from my mouth. “I have money. I can pay you.”
Ky actually laughs. “I don’t need your money.”
“Then there must be something. Something I can trade or give you?”
His humor dies, and the cold, calculating man from earlier reappears.
Ky is skin-tinglingly silent for way too long. I wait on pins and needles for a response, and finally, he gives me one. “You don’t have a goddamn thing I need.” With that, he slams my car door shut. Conversation over. I watch him head back into the bar, boots kicking up dirt as he strides away. He walks with so much confidence and authority. So much hostility, too.
My last resort disappears into the bar called The Lion’s Den, which is aptly named since it feels like I just narrowly escaped from one.
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M. Never, Snowfall: A Slashes in the Snow Prequel
