The Killer's Rose

In the Devil's Arms

[Isla's POV]

"Catch her! Don't let her escape!" I could hear the men's voices echoing at my back. I stumbled to the ground, my legs grazing the floor, leaving a slight sting, but even so, "I can't stop," not now when I had come this far.

The one fact still remained—my mom. I had to go check on her, see how she was doing. I couldn't waste any more time.

But was there really any form of hope for me escaping?

It only felt like I had been running forever. Memories of that kid, Marcus, that was his name, knowing his condition, part of me wanted to stay back, help him through. But yet again, I couldn't.

My gaze darted back at the men who gained more footing, getting closer to my side.

The rain dripped, falling on my skin. My vision grew blurry by the seconds.

I turned to a side, hoping to hide my presence away from their sight as they ran past.

"We need to find her before the master kills us..." they said.

I pressed my back against the wall harder, trying to manage a breath that had seemed to escape me earlier.

My eyes closed for a moment before I opened them back. "How am I going to return back to my mom?" I wondered. I hadn't thought of that when I had left. Wouldn't they find me when I try leaving the town? Yet, it seemed my last hope was just that.

The drizzling rain dripped on my skin the more as I walked on the half-lit street. I had lost the men finally.

Sometimes I wondered how I really found myself ending up in all this. How I still hoped things could have been better than this.

I clung tighter to my clothes, feeling the tingling cold that pressed on my skin, as though my blood was freezing up.

Where could I possibly stay for the night? I knew nobody here.

My legs failed me as I crumbled, trying, forcing myself back up. I gasped for breath harder.

Taking little steps, I paused when I witnessed some men from a side gathered together around a firewood.

The way they dressed, those half-burnt cigarettes as they took a drag, inhaling a puff.

I turned, hoping to leave and take another route, but it seemed my hope of them not noticing me had failed in an instant.

"And where do you think you're going, pretty?" one of them said, as I could feel it, even though my gaze wasn't on him. I felt his presence getting closer at my back.

"A girl like you, walking in such a time, isn't safe now..." he whispered to my ear as I flinched, withdrawing back. My gaze turned to them, who huddled around.

The same man I presumed their leader, the one with a scar along his eyebrow, threw the half-burnt cigarette on the ground as he stomped it.

The echo of the stumble caused my heart to seize from beating. My gaze on them, "Run!" My mind kept on echoing, knowing less of what they were planning on doing to me.

I turned, hoping to make a run, only to hear a loud gunshot that echoed in the sky. I paused, freezing at that moment as I drew my gaze back at the men, one holding a rifle aimed to the sky.

"I know you, don't I?" he said. "Wait, boss, you can't be serious. I thought..." the other was saying, only for his voice to trail off.

"I'm sure it's her. The same woman who reeked terror in her wake... the wife of that bastard, Damien Salvatore."

I watched those exclaimed looks on the other men, their legs trembling. Should I really say out of fear?

The same leader took steps, closing the distance between us, aiming his gun at my head. "You're the one, I'm right about that. This face, I can't forget now."

But how should I really put it? Telling them I wasn't her. Would they even believe me in the first place?

"That bastard ruined my business; as revenge, I will send him his wife's corpse."

But how, just how can this be happening? People seeing me as his wife's lookalike also. I wasn't her. I was never her. So why should I be put to take her death? Why must I have to face all this?

"I am not her..." I whispered.

"What do you mean? I know how you play your dirty games. Don't think life will be so merciful for you this time." Those sly grin that painted on his lips, what had happened between them and that devil? Why was I to be involved in it all?

"Now, die..." I heard his voice, my eyes flinching shut as the loud gunshot echoed in my ear again, one that I thought would be my last, only for my shut eyes to open back.

Watching the same leader standing right in front of me, his legs staggered backwards, and then I saw it, a hole through his skull.

"Ahh!" I screamed, stumbled back as I watched him drop dead to the ground, blood gushing from his skull.

"Boss," the other men shouted, hastening toward their falling leader.

While I remained there on the ground, trying to reel in what had just happened.

"Are you alright...?" I heard a voice, one that seemed way too familiar. It couldn't be... I turned, only to catch sight of Damien making his way with some of his men.

"Kill them all!" Those order's rang, with each of them harmed with weapons. And just in a blink, the street turned into a blood bath as guns pierced through the air... echoing with each shot.

Watching more men drop dead, covered in their blood.

This was a world I was forced into, one that I couldn't get used to—the killings without a simple sympathy, making it seem like a normal act. How?

The last man, who seemed like the only one still standing and alive, made a run for it when outnumbered.

Just then, Damien turned back at me. "Can you stand...?" I heard him say.

But yet, I was lost in words at that moment, gazing upon his half blood-stained face. I was wrong at first, thinking the rumors weren't true. He was the devil himself, wasn't he?

I tried standing but crumbled back, my legs numb from the cold, only for me to pale when I felt his grasp on me as he held me in his arms. "You shouldn't be walking for now..." he said.

Yet, if he was the devil, why did I find myself feeling this way—like he isn't. Like there is some sort of kind heart deep inside those stoned eyes of his.

My eyes shut eventually as everything went blank.