Malcolm didn't wait for the Enigma to put his "practical" methods into action. With a sudden, explosive surge of adrenaline fueled by pure, unadulterated panic, he tore himself from Dahmer's iron grip. His feet skidded on the slick floor of the tub as he scrambled out, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He snatched a plush, oversized towel from the heated rack with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking, wrapping it haphazardly around his waist as he bolted from the bathroom, leaving the scent of strawberry and sin behind him.
He emerged into the living area of the suite, his hair dripping and his amber eyes wide with the look of a man who had just seen the end of the world. He was so shaken that he didn't even notice Marcus standing by the sideboard until the assistant cleared his throat loudly.
