Page 8 of Unlocking Ruin

He dodges the book as if he has Spidey-Sense. Shit luck for me, because I am not a Marvel fan.

Run! All I need to do is get on my feet, and… nope! He’s not going to let me stand.

Focus. If this were a hack and I had the upper hand, what would my next move be? I’d gather every scrap of information before making a move. Observe. Maybe I can coax some answers out of this masked man.

The hard light on my phone illuminates the mask’s knitting as he shifts, and his eyes become visible.

Wow!

Rylan! Are you fawning over your soon-to-be-killer’s eyes?

Yes.

If you could envision the perfect cloudless sky, it would be his eyes. Pristine. Calming—if not for the thick black knit framing them.

“Don’t run.” His voice drips with pleasure, leaving a sugary film on my tongue. I brace for him to strike, to seize control. But he only watches, patient and still.

Does he… yes, he wants me to talk. Fine, you twisted freak, I’ll speak.

“That would require me to stand, asshole,” I bite. I wiggle my hips, trying to get the books out of my ass. “Plus, I wouldn’t give you the joy of chasing,” I grumble.

I try to sound feisty and strong; I am not letting anyone else scare me like Frank did!

“What about pouncing?” he asks as he stares down at me.

I raise my foot, pointing it straight at him. “Want to see how my foot feels pouncing up your ass?”

His laugh slams into my lungs, stealing much-needed air. I scoot back, hitting the rack of books. Shit! I’m cornered. There! The emergency exit is just behind him.

“Tempting,” he says as he quiets his chuckle. “If you had heels on, perhaps I would. Pain doesn't scare me.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“No,” he replies with a careless shrug, “I’m just intrigued.” His gaze lingers, lashes flickering as he studies me with renewed interest.

Find a way to stand up. Think like a kangaroo. Jump. Punch. I tell myself. A weak attempt to calm my racing heart.

I have pepper spray in my hoodie pocket, but if I reach for it now, I’ll likely just spray myself and him.

He moves. I scream again. Instead of seeing my life before my eyes, he waves my laptop.

“Thief!” I scold him, feeling a heat rash spread over my neck.

He tilts his head inquisitively, gazing down at me. “Says the girl breaking into the library.”

“How did you get in?” I demand. My chest puffs out, but my A-cup chest does nothing to intimidate him or shield me. It’s like waving a can of green peas in front of a carnivore. Curse my fast metabolism, which has robbed me of any cleavage!

He reaches into his pocket. Slowly. Methodically. Making me wait to see what he pulls out. Jiggling sounds. He lifts out a set of keys. “Keys to the fire escape,” he proclaims, like a victor. I can see the outline of his smirk beneath his mask.

“Still a thief.”

“A deadlier one,” he purrs, his eyes gleaming with what I know is a vicious smile. “Who says I didn’t murder to get them?”

My heart officially stops beating. He slips the keys back into his pocket.

“That’s my laptop, and I hate to break it to you, but if you steal that and try to sell it”—I stand on trembling legs—“you’re going to have a long list of evidence blaming you for a very dangerous crime. So it’s best to hand it over.”

“Maybe I’m in the mood for handcuffs.” His voice drips with mischief as his fingers drum a slow, taunting rhythm on my laptop. “A cold bite of metal wrapping around my wrist, followed by the warmth of your hands, of course.”