~Chapter 8~
Eyes widening in terror as I saw him swiftly raising his gun, shot three tis without flinching, the bullets whizzing towards .
I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact. If I was to die, let it be quick but the expected pain never ca.
Instead, I felt the tight grip on relax, and I was released from Mr tattoo grasp. a thud was heard, like a body falling to the ground, slowly my eyes fluttered open.
The don stood where he was with his eyes glazed over, frozen in a trance-like state. He was looking like he was in shock or unconscious.
My gaze drifted downward, Mr. Tattoo lies on the ground; three bullet holes marred his forehead, each wound a testant to the don's deadly accuracy.
Blood flowed from the wounds, pooling on the floor. So of it had trickled near my bare feet, and I quickly stepped back, revulsion washing over .
My breathing quickened, gazing at the corpse. I had never seen a dead body up close before, and this...this was insane.
Why, why had he killed his own man, what's happening, The don seed to finally co back to himself, as he took in the scene before him.
He looked over to and I saw a flicker of sothing there, sothing that looked almost like a crazed animal.
He walked towards , but I quickly pushed myself backward, desperate to create so distance between us.
I don't feel safe, not with the way he was looking at . he's looking like a mad man, don't co close.
His hand shot out and grabbed mine in a harsh, crushing grip.
It was far more painful than Mr. Tattoo's rough man handling and I started to say, "Let —"
"Shut up," he growled.
I knew that tone and I shut my mouth, intimidated by the aura of danger that surrounded him.
He exuded an aura of "don't fuck with ," and I knew better than to push him. I had learned from my abusive father that sotis it was better to shut the hell up and endure, rather than risk provoking soone into violence.
So I clenched my jaw, swallowed my words, and looked away, trying to appear submissive.
He dragged like a rag doll to an elevator, making stumbled to keep up with his long strides.
I was surprised by the elevator's presence, having assud this was a small, rundown house.
But as we stepped inside, I realized this place was much larger and more complex than I had initially thought.
I wanted to ask about Mr. Tattoo's dead body, about why he had killed one of his own n. But I didn't dare, unsure of my fate or his motivations.
Why would he kill one of his n, especially after what he had done to my father? I had yet to understand the reason behind my father's murder, and now, with Mr. Tattoo's lifeless body lying in the hallway, I was more confused than ever.
I glanced over at him, but he wasn't looking at . Instead, his gaze was fixed on sothing behind .
No.fuck..A shiver ran down my spine, he was staring at the scars and wounds on my back.
Those marks were a constant reminder of the cruelty my father and a painful testant to the abuse I had endured.
"You're hideous and worthless, and these scars will always remind you of that." The mory of how I got those scars flooded my mind, and my face burned with sha.
The familiar sense of self-loathing washed over , but I was slapped by realization.
I was half-naked!!; the dirty bra and underwear I wore offered little coverage, and I'm utterly exposed.
Panic set in, making frantically search for sothing to cover myself with, but there was nothing in the elevator. No clothes, no towels, nothing.
The don, however, looked completely unfazed by my state of undress. I looked away, focusing on the elevator doors, trying to distract myself from my embarrassnt.
My mind began to wander, thinking of ways to escape, I hadn't forgotten my resolve to break free, no matter the cost.
The elevator doors slid open, and he grabbed my hand again harshly; what I saw was a dark hallway, but as we stepped out of the elevator, everywhere lit up, and I looked in wonder.
The hallway was transford, revealing a lavish corridor lined with black polished floors, high crystal chandeliers, and intricate gold adorning the black-colored walls.
Glanced around, expecting to see servants or maybe guards, but there was no one in sight and I wondered if he lived alone.
Yet, the condition of the house suggested otherwise. Every surface and corner was polished. Who took care of this place because the level of cleanliness and attention to detail suggested a team of diligent staff, but where were they? The silence was unnerving.
He continued to drag down the hallway, my gaze looking at everything before falling upon a large, covered fra on the wall. It looked like a picture, but a piece of fabric draped over it, concealing the image beneath.
My curiosity piqued, not knowing if it was a portrait, or sothing else.
But before I could ponder further, the don opened a door and pushed into the room.
My weak legs stumbled from hunger and exhaustion, making fall to the ground.
Everything was white - the walls, the furniture, even the carpet. The space was so pristine and so devoid of color.
I looked up to him, walking into the room with an air of confidence after shutting the door behind him.
He strode over to a plush white couch and sat down. He looked like a king claiming his throne. I, on the other hand, felt, what was I saying I looked like a peasant, discarded and insignificant.
My dirty white hair and dull golden eyes looked like a lackluster in this sea of all these pristine white.
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