"In due course,malyshka." He tilts his head and a smirk tugs at his mouth. His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "But right now, we have somewhere to be."
I try to jerk my face away, but his grip is firm. He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable in those vibrant eyes.
Then he releases my wrists and steps back, pulling a phone from his suit jacket.
"Bring the car around. We're leaving now."
He pockets the phone and grabs one of my coats from the coat rack, holding it out to me. "Put this on. It's cold outside."
The mundane courtesy of the gesture is so at odds with the situation that I almost laugh.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I carry you out in just that dress. Your choice, but I think you'll prefer the coat."
He's giving me the illusion of choice. We both know it. But some small part of me knows that compliance is smarter than resistance right now. At least until I see an opportunity to escape.
I take the coat with shaking hands and put it on.
"Smart girl," he murmurs.
"Don't patronize me."
That almost-smile appears again. "Wouldn't dream of it,malyshka."
I don’t say anything more. I won’t give him the pleasure of hearing the fear in my voice.
He picks up my suitcase with one hand and gestures to the door with the other. "After you."
I walk ahead of him, hyperaware of his presence behind me. He's close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that if I stopped suddenly, he'd be pressed against my back again.
The hallway is empty.
We take the service elevator as I'd planned to do, but instead of freedom, it's taking me to my own personal hell.
In the enclosed space, the tension is suffocating. I keep my eyes on the descending floor numbers, but I can feel him watching me. Can hear his breathing, steady and controlled, while mine is ragged.
"You don't have to do this," I try one last time. "Whatever you think I saw, whatever you think I know, I'll forget it. I'll never tell anyone. I'll leave Seattle and never come back."
"You could promise me your silence." His voice is low. "And you might even mean it. But promises are easily broken when the right pressure is applied. Threats to family. To friends. To yourself."
"I don't have any family," I snap.
It’s a half-truth. My parents died in a car accident when I was twelve. The only person I have left is Nana, the neighbor who raised me. We’re not blood related, but she’s family, and I don’t want this asshole knowing about her.
The elevator doors open into the basement parking garage where a black Mercedes SUV idles near the elevator, windows tinted so dark I can't see inside. A man stands beside it. He’s tall, muscular, and dressed in all black. His face is hard and scarred, the face of someone who's seen violence and dealt it out with equal measure, no doubt.
"Boss," the man says, opening the back door.
My captor's hand lands on the small of my back, guiding me forward. His touch is firm and possessive. I twist my spine tryingto shake him off, but his grip only tightens—a silent reminder that I'm not in control here, no matter how much I want to be.
"In," he says simply.
I look at the open car door, at the dark interior, and know that stepping inside will change everything. Once I'm in that car, I'm truly his captive. Truly at his mercy.
"Please," I whisper, hating how broken I sound. "Please don't do this."
His jaw tightens. For a moment, just a fleeting second, I think I see something like regret in his eyes.
