Chapter 2

He looked up at me with eyes glinting with mischief and a corner of his lips titled up. "You're late,” he said in a low whisper, audible enough for me to hear but barely. He was dressed in black pants and a black button up shirt, with its first buttons left undone and the sleeves folded up to his elbow. He took a step closer, disregarding my statement.

"I said 'drop your weapon'!" I shouted, tightening the hold I had on my gun. My legs shook slightly. Out of fear or something else? I wasn’t sure. But it was certain I was scared. I grinded my teeth and aimed the gun in between his eyes ,"I'll shoot! Drop the damn knife."

"Dagger,” he corrected, tilting it in between his fingers whilst adjusting his posture a bit," Knife is what you use to butter bread."

"Do I look like I fucking care?"

I think there wasn't a lot of spite in my last statement because it amused him, broadening his smirk so much—it was a full smile now. He didn't move. Didn't even flinch at the gun aimed between his eyes. Just a smile that never reached his eyes.

"What's your name detective?" He asked, staying put but not dropping the weapon.

"That's none of your business."

He hummed, taking another step closer, "You won't like to tell me your name?"

"Drop the weapon or else I'll shoot!"

Another step, my fingers tensed a bit on the trigger. "No, you won't." He said softy.

"Try me." I spat, loosening my grip on the gun and tightening it right back. I had to be focused, put my guard up. He was toying with me, trying to get a reaction so he can make it to his advantage. I squinted my eyes at him, daring him to take another step.

He caught the hint because his eyes flashed with something. Something dangerous. "You would have, If you wanted to detective."

I felt myself flatter a bit. He wasn't wrong. Why hadn't I pulled the trigger yet? I had just watched him slit a man's throat. That was my cue, a sign to get justice. Not just for Drogo but for my parents also, if my guts were right.

But something held me back.

I let my guard down, cause he used that split moment of vulnerability to his advantage. In a split of an eye, my weapon was knocked out of my hand and I was slammed against a wall, with his dagger on my neck and his face mere inches from mine. I didn't see even see him move.

His body caged mine and his dagger pressed against my throat. Not hard enough to cut but present enough to feel its deadly edge.

"You're persistent, little detective," he murmured. His breath smelled like mint and expensive whiskey. "Tell me, do you really think you can hunt me?"

I tried to keep my face blank, but I felt his chest rise and fall against mine. Felt my heart racing. Knew he could feel it too.

"I'm not hunting you," I seethed,managing to keep my voice firm, "I'm bringing you in."

I sounded pathetic. A fool, that was what I was.

His body vibrated a bit as he laughed, it sounded—like a mix of something beautiful and dangerous, "I don't really think that's the case here love. You have no backup,your hands...they shake when you hold a gun and your eyes..."

His free hand came up, one finger tracing the outline of my jaw. I flinched, pushing back some more against the wall and away from him.

"Your eyes tell me you're looking for something else."

"Get your hands off me." I hissed, struggling in his grip.

The pressure of the dagger increased slightly. "Or what?"

We stood there, frozen in a moment that seemed to stretch forever. His dark eyes studied my face like he was trying to memorize it. I noticed things I shouldn't have—the scar above his left eyebrow, the way his lashes curled slightly at the ends, the perfect stillness of his breathing.

He was stupidly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that felt like a setup. Like a piece of glass wrapped in silk. Clean lines, sharp jaw, that scar above his brow like a signature on chaos. His dark hair was pulled back in some kind of lazy bun, like he just woke up from sleep and didn't care how he looked—how his hair tied behind his head made him look.

"May I take this off?" His fingers brushed against the eye mask I wore. At first, I was confident enough I wouldn't be left vulnerable like this. My eye mask was there to protect my identity. It was worn by every officer whereever we were, in our uniforms and on a mission.

I wasn't an officer for now and I wasn't in my uniform but I had it on and a gun in my hand. Well, I used to have a gun in my hand.

"No, let me go."

Without warning, he stepped back and the dagger dissapeared behind him.

"What's your name?" he asked again.

I stared at him, confused by the sudden change. "Why didn't you kill me?"

He tilted his head at me, his eyes scanning me like he was trying to figure me out. "Answer my question first."

I shouldn't tell him. Every instinct screamed against it. But some deeper part of me, the part of me that wanted to tell him kept on forcing the word up my throat.

"I'm not telling you that.” I managed to say, keeping my face blank and hoping he didn't see the internal struggle to shove the word down my throat.

He bent down and picked up my gun, examining it before placing it on a nearby table, close enough that I could grab it, far enough that he could stop me if I tried.

"Next time you come after me, little detective, bring more than just this."

"There won't be a next time," I said. "I'm taking you in now."

I was so stupid. Taking him in? How was I supposed to do that?

His laugh echoed through the room again. "No, you're not. You're going to walk out of here. You're going to try to forget what you saw. And then, when you can't sleep tonight, when the faces of the dead haunt you, that's when you'll realize you'll never stop hunting me."

He stepped closer again, and I planted my feets on the ground, forcing myself not to back away.

"And I'll be watching," he whispered, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "Always watching."

Then he was gone, moving toward the balcony with inhuman grace.

"Wait!" I called out. "The Black Rose, what do you know about the fire?"

He paused at the balcony door, looking back with genuine surprise. "What fire?"

Before I could answer, he was gone, vanishing into the night like he'd never been there at all.

I stood there, wondering what the hell just happened. How did I loose my guard so easily? Why didn't I put the damn bullet in his head?

"Why?" my voice shook as I brought my right hand up to my face and stared at my palm, leaning against the wall I was against minutes ago.

I let out a sigh and stood properly, walking over to Drogo to check his pulse. I knew he was dead but I just wanted something to distract me from my selfish desire for clarity. Nothing. He was dead. And it won't be long before the NHPD gets here. I needed to bolt.

I grabbed my gun and left the same way I came in. My hands were still shaking and I could feel a mild headache coming up.

Outside, the night air felt colder than before. I walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance between myself and the penthouse as possible.

A chill crept up my spine as I walked away—that unmistakable weight of being watched was all over. It took everything in me not to whirl around and frantically search for him again.

I kept walking, pretending I didn't feel those eyes on me. Pretending I wasn't already thinking about our next encounter.

Because there would be a next one.