Her hair was pulled.
The hand gripping her golden strands, yanking her head back, arching her spine. Her eyes found the ceiling, then tilted forward, and she saw him.
The black man.
The one from the alley. The one who had fucked her in the first scene, the one whose tongue had licked her neck while he offered Amanda to his friends. The one she had recognized, the one who had become a gang member, a villain, a member of an organization.
He was here.
In the dream. In the nightmare. In whatever construct her sleeping mind had generated from the fragments of memory and fear.
He smiled.
"So you were the one who used that succubus energy. The power."
His voice was deep. The accent thick. His eyes, dark, carrying the knowledge that made Mika's skin crawl.
"You know what power do I possess?"
She trembled.
"What?"
He smirked.
"It is the synchronicity of my memory."
His hand tightening in her hair, pulling harder, the pain sharp.
