FIFTY FIVE

DAMON

“D-Damon?”

Of course, it was Linda. I recognized her voice even if her newly coloured hair did a great job of transforming some little details in her facial features. For instance, the twinkle in her eyes dimmed a little when she was red-haired. But the black hair brought back that sparkle which was presently filled with dread.

Looking around the gloomy area, my hands now clutching her shoulders firmly, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Uh…”

“Where the fuck is that bitch?” A demanding voice hollered from the depths of the mansion. And the owner of the voice soon appeared, his racing and hairy feet staggering as he tripped over a random box-shaped object that was placed close to the entrance.

Eyes narrowed, I watched as this short-haired person picked up himself and ran toward us, a warning finger pointed in our direction.

More agitated, Linda tried to weasel out of my hold but my grasp was really solid. When our eyes met, she silently pleaded, her eyes already shimmerin