"An oath, you say?" Xavier repeated, his voice laced with dark amusement. "And pray tell, who did you make this promise to?"
"Over my dead body," Marco snarled, the words a defiant promise.
Xavier's smirk was pure poison. "That can be arranged." In a movement too fast to follow, he lowered the gun slightly and fired. The sharp, cruel crack of the gunshot echoed through the trees, followed by a sickening thud as the bullet tore into Marco's leg.
A raw, piercing scream of pure horror tore from Naomi's throat. The sound seemed to feed him, his smirk stretching into a twisted, satisfied grin as he watched her face crumple.
A husky groan of agony escaped Marco's lips. His leg gave out from under him, and he collapsed onto his good knee, his hand pressed uselessly against the bloody wound that was already soaking his trousers.
Xavier's amusement vanished, replaced by a terrifying, icy rage. He took a menacing step forward, the gun now aimed at Marco's head. "WHO SENT YOU!" he shouted, the command ripping through the night.
Marco looked up, his face pale and slick with sweat, but a flicker of defiant fire still burned in his eyes. He actually smirked. "Forget it."
The last of Xavier's patience snapped. He raised the gun without another word and fired again. The second shot slammed into Marco's shoulder, the impact spinning him sideways. He cried out, a strangled sound of pure pain, and fell to the ground, his body twitching.
Naomi screamed again, but this time it was a choked, broken sound. Tears fell freely down her pale, frozen face, each drop a testament to the nightmare unfolding before her. This was her fault. He was being tortured because of her.
Marco groaned, a low, husky sound of pure agony as he lay on the damp forest floor. Blood soaked through his trousers from his leg and pooled around his shoulder, the scent sharp in the cold night air. He coughed, a wet, painful sound. "Just kill me already," he rasped, his voice weak but laced with a final, desperate defiance.
Xavier crouched down beside him, his black robe a pool of shadow in the moonlight. He brought his face close to Marco's, a terrifyingly intimate gesture. "No," he whispered, his smirk a cruel slash across his face. "That wouldn't be much fun, would it?"
"You fucking demon," Marco snarled, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the leaves. He mustered the last of his strength, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Naomi run!"
The command was a jolt of electricity, snapping Naomi out of her horrified trance. Her body moved on pure, primal instinct. She turned and fled, crashing into the dark, unforgiving woods. She didn't look back. She couldn't.
The image of Marco on the ground, the sound of the gunshots, was already burned into her mind. Branches whipped at her face and arms, but she barely felt them. Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring the forest into a chaotic mess of dark shapes and moonlight. She just ran, her lungs burning, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.
She ran deeper and deeper, the sounds of the confrontation fading behind her, replaced by the pounding of her own feet and her ragged gasps for air. And then she heard it. A series of sharp, deafening cracks that tore through the night. Multiple gunshots.
The sound hit her like a physical blow. Her legs gave out from under her, and she fell to her knees amongst the damp leaves and roots. A raw, gut-wrenching sob tore from her throat, and then another, until she was sobbing uncontrollably, her entire body shaking with grief and terror. He was gone. Marco was gone, and it was all her fault.
But as she knelt there, broken and alone, a different thought began to push through the fog of despair. Marco's last words. His sacrifice. He had died so she could live. To let his death be for nothing, to be caught now, would be the ultimate betrayal.
The idea of Marco's sacrifice going in vain was a sharper pain than any branch or thorn. It was a fire that ignited in the hollow space left by her grief.
With a choked cry, she forced herself to her feet. Wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of a trembling hand, she took a deep, shuddering breath and started to sprint through the forest, running not just for her own life, but for his.
Xavier stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where Naomi's form had disappeared into the oppressive darkness of the forest.
A genuine, almost joyful smile touched his lips. She was running. The little fox had finally escaped the cage, and now the real fun could begin. The hunt.
He let the anticipation hang in the air for a moment longer before slowly turning his attention back to the broken man at his feet. The amusement in his eyes turning into a cold, heartless cruelty.
"Now look what you've done," Xavier sighed, his voice laced with theatrical disappointment. "You've gone and ruined our moment. Just when I thought we all were having fun." He gave a small, indifferent shrug, as if he were commenting on a spilled drink. "Oh well."
He crouched down, bringing himself level with Marco's fading, pain-glazed eyes. The guard's breath was shallow. Xavier's own expression was one of calm, detached curiosity, like a scientist examining a specimen.
"You should have just answered my questions," he whispered, his tone almost gentle.
Without another word, he raised the silver pistol. His hand was perfectly steady. He didn't hesitate.
The first shot was a wet thud. A precise, brutal entry point that obliterated Marco's left eye. The eye that had dared to see Naomi's hope, that had witnessed her defiance.
The second shot was just as quick, just as clean. It took out the right eye, plunging the man's world into a final, absolute darkness. Two eyes that had seen what they shouldn't have.
But he wasn't finished. He aimed lower, at the slack, bloody mouth. The mouth that had spoken back to him, that had defied him, that had dared to tell her to run.
The third shot tore through Marco's lower jaw, silencing any future words. The fourth, a final shot to the upper palate, ensured nothing coherent would ever pass those lips again.
Xavier stood up, the silencer on his gun muffling the final coughs of the report. He looked down at the mangled, bloody mess that had been Marco. There was no remorse, no satisfaction, no anger. There was nothing. The problem had simply been erased.
He flicked a piece of brain from the sleeve of his robe and turned his gaze back towards the dark, silent forest. The game was on.
With the problem of Marco's insolence permanently silenced, Xavier felt a sense of calm settle over him. The mess was an unfortunate but necessary side effect.
He pulled his phone from the pocket of his robe, his thumb moving with swift, detached efficiency over the screen. He typed out a short, blunt message to his head of security: Cleanup required.
He didn't wait for a reply. Tossing the phone onto the ground beside Marco's mangled body, he knew it was just a matter of time.
His men were efficient. They would use the phone's GPS to find the exact spot, dispose of the evidence, and return his device to him, wiped clean. It was a simple, elegant system.
His attention then turned inward. The hunt was about to begin. He reached for the sash of his robe, his movements slow and deliberate, almost ceremonial.
The black silk whispered as he untied it and let the robe slide from his shoulders, pooling on the forest floor behind him.
The cool night air kissed his bare torso, a stark, refreshing contrast to the simmering rage that had been building in him all night. He stood there for a moment in just his grey and black plaid pajama pants, a powerful figure silhouetted against the moonlight, no longer a wealthy man in his home but a predator in his element.
His gaze swept over the dark, impenetrable woods where Naomi had fled. He could feel her out there, her fear a palpable energy in the air. A slow, genuine smile of anticipation touched his lips.
"Run little fox," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous growl that was swallowed by the forest. "All the more fun for me."
With that, Xavier exploded into motion. He didn't run; he unleashed the coiled power in his legs, a predator finally giving chase. He sprinted through the forest, his wide strides eating up the distance. The dark trees were no obstacle; he moved through them with an instinctual grace, his bare feet silent on the uneven ground. He could smell her fear, a faint, sharp scent on the cool night air. He could hear the frantic, ragged rhythm of her breathing, the snapping of twigs under her feet. She was a terrified, wounded animal, and he was the wolf.
For Naomi, the world had narrowed to a frantic, desperate rhythm. Her lungs burned, her muscles screamed in protest, but the image of Marco's sacrifice propelled her forward. And then she heard it.
At first, it was just a faint rhythmic thudding behind her, but it was gaining on her with terrifying, unnatural speed. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, frantic drumbeat of pure panic. She risked a glance back, but saw only a dark blur moving through the trees. She pushed herself harder, her legs pumping, a sob of terror escaping her lips. She wasn't going to make it.
Before she could even process the thought, a strong arm wrapped around her waist like an iron band. The force of the impact slammed her back against a hard, unmovable wall of muscle, knocking the air from her lungs in a painful whoosh. For a disorienting second, she was pressed against him, his heartbeat a steady, mocking thud against her spine.
Then, the world spun. He twisted his body, taking them both down in a controlled, brutal fall. Naomi felt a moment of weightlessness before they slammed onto the forest floor, a chaotic tangle of limbs. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and before she could even think to struggle, it was over.
He had her pinned. The full weight of his body was on her, his legs trapping hers, his hands pinning her wrists to the soft, damp earth above her head. She was trapped, a cage of flesh and bone, with the monster snarling down at her from the shadows. The hunt was over.
Xavier
I didn't just run. I unleashed the coiled predator that had been pacing inside me for weeks. The moment I took off, the forest became my hunting ground, and the thrill of it was a goddamn drug. My dick was still a rock-hard problem from earlier, but the chase, the pure, primal act of hunting her down, was just fanning the flames. Every powerful thud of my feet against the earth, every deep, controlled breath, sent a jolt straight to my cock. This was better than any fantasy.
I moved through the trees like a ghost, my bare feet finding purchase on the damp, mossy ground. I could hear her up ahead—a frantic, clumsy symphony of panic. The ragged gasps of her breathing, the snapping of twigs under her feet, the occasional sob that tore from her throat. It was the most beautiful fucking music I had ever heard. She was giving it everything she had, and it wasn't nearly enough.
I let her have a few more minutes of false hope. I let her believe, for a fleeting moment, that she might actually get away. It made the inevitable capture that much sweeter. "That's it, little bunny," I growled to myself, a feral grin stretching my lips. "Run faster."
Then I decided it was time to end it. I poured on more speed, my long, powerful strides eating up the distance between us. The sound of my own pursuit grew louder, a steady, rhythmic drumbeat that I knew she could hear. Her pace quickened, her movements becoming even more desperate. She was terrified. Good.
I was on her in seconds. I saw the flash of her dark hair, the pale skin of her neck, and I lunged. My arm shot out, wrapping around her waist like an iron band. The sweet, solid impact of her back slamming against my chest was fucking euphoric. I felt the shocked of air leaving her lungs, her body going rigid with terror for a split second before she started to struggle.
But it was too late. I twisted, using my momentum and body weight to send us both crashing to the ground. I took the brunt of the fall on my shoulder, rolling us so that I landed on top, a calculated, brutal move. The world was a chaotic tangle of limbs and flailing fabric for a moment, and then I had her.
I slammed her wrists into the soft, damp earth above her head, pinning them with one of my hands. My legs forced hers apart, my body settling over hers, a cage of muscle and bone. She was trapped. Pinned to the goddamn earth. Every inch of her soft, struggling body was pressed against mine, and my cock, still hard as fucking steel, throbbed against her thigh in a primal, possessive rhythm.
I leaned down, my face inches from hers, my breath coming in harsh, excited gasps. The hunt was over.
Mine. Fucking mine.