"Let. Go," I repeat in a firm voice and push at his arm with all my strength.

He loosens his grip but doesn't release me.

An appreciative hum falls from somewhere in his throat. "Bossy. I like it. But you know what I like more? Your posh little accent. Question. Does it sound the same when you say crude things?" I narrow my eyes. What on earth is wrong with this twat? Did someone hit him upside the head?

"This is the third and final time I'm telling you this. Let. Go."

"Why?" He strokes his fingers near my hairline and that wave of something that's not nausea courses through my veins in flashes of bright yellow. "I rather like it here."

"I don't." I tighten my muscles against the morbid unease flood ing my bloodstream. "You disgust me."

"Yeah?" His eyes, the colour of midnight-blue sky, twinkle with pure sadism as he leans closer and murmurs, "Even better."

His warm breaths skim the side of my neck. My jaw clenches and it takes everything in me to ward off the discomfort that's still not nausea.

Not in the least.

The sensation spreads from where his fingers glide over my nape and ends at my earlobe, where he whispered.

I need out of here. Now.

I reach to the ground behind me and grab the first object I find and then haul it square against his face.

He loses his hold on my neck and I don't wait to see his reaction as I jump up and sprint behind the bushes.

Fast.

Not looking behind.

I run as if were in overtime during a game and the team depends on me passing the ball to the attackers.

It's me against the screwed-up notion of time. It's always been that way.

The sense of apprehension is replaced by a shot of adrenalin. and the inherent need to escape.

Far.

A dark figure nearly slams into me and we both skid to a halt right before we crash into one another.

Blue Mask.

They’re carrying their bloody baseball bat and watches me as if I’m an insect that crossed his path.

The rush of adrenaline slowly dissipates and a tremor spreads in my limbs like wildfire.

Stop shaking. Stop shaking, you damn weakling. Stop!

I nearly manage to crack the sudden sporadic emotions, but disgust lurches from my stomach to my throat faster than I can blink.

The distinctive smell of alcohol, cigarettes, bergamot, and the stench of metallic blood envelops me.

No. No. No.

I glance behind me and my eyes clash with Nikolai's darker ones.

They're more unhinged than a witch during a pagan funeral, bloodshot and filled with a promise of drawing blood.

My blood.

Not allowing myself to think about it, I walk in Blue Mask's direction. {{user}} can hit me with that bat, for all I care. Maybe I'll be lucky and will lose consciousness and, therefore, can remove my brain from this situation.

"Look, I caught a stray cat." Nikolai's rough voice sounds like the trigger for nightmares. "He just wouldn't stop running, you know, and has a temper. Threw a whole fucking branch at my face and nearly knocked me out. Gotta love the motherfucking feisty ones. They're so fun to break into pieces."

I stride to Red Mask, who studies me up and down and then lifts the bat.