It leads to an industrial-looking hallway with concrete stairs and metal railings. But we stop in front of a small service elevator, where Ryker pushes the button for the parking garage.
My one hand is in his, the other still wrapped around my stomach. His free arm comes to the small of my back, his fingertips brushing against the ones at my waist.
This man is not my port in the storm. He’s not even my friend. He’s been more than clear that he’s blackmailing me into…something.
And yet, I have this urge to sink into him, hide my face in his chest. His scent has wrapped around me, cedar and musk, strong but with a smooth velvet finish.
I close my eyes and draw in a breath through my nose, using his smell to black out the stale air in the elevator that whooshes at my face as the doors open.
He leads me in, his touch strong enough that I don’t need to open my eyes, I just respond to the pressure of his hands telling me when to stop and start.
When the doors close, I let out a rush of air, my lashes fluttering open. That’s when I realize we’re in the elevator alone. The goons are gone. “Where are dumb and dumber?”
He lets out a rumbling laugh. “How do you know that movie?”
“I watched a lot of American television back in Russia,” I answer with a small shrug even as his fingers at my waist slide into mine, pulling me into his body.
I have no idea why my sister’s fiancé would hold me like this. Maybe just to calm me down so I don’t go telling my sister what an asshole’s she’s marrying. Spoiler. She already knows.
“Why is that?”
“There’s not much else to do when you can’t leave the house.” I make the mistake of looking up at him then. His eyes are back to unreadable, dark and deep pools that make me feel like I might drown in them if I’m not careful.
I look away again, watching the descending floors of the elevator on the lights above the doors, instead.
We hit the parking garage and the doors slide open. This isn’t the main lot of the casino but a private parking floor where only a handful of matching black SUVs wait in a row.
Ryker finally lets go of one of my hands to pull a key fob out of his pocket, one of the SUVs flashing in response. He walks me to the passenger side and opens the door for me, taking my hand to help me in. “Chivalrous,” I murmur, even as my lip curls.
He ignores the sarcasm. “Thank you. I try.” And then he closes the door behind me.
The locks don’t click, and I reach for the handle, my fingers brushing the cold metal. Can I run? How far would I get?
For another second I hold, second guessing myself. Would I make the situation better or worse if I try to escape now?
But I no more than wrap my fingers around the lever when the driver side door opens. Ryker slides in, shutting the door, and clicking the locks.
Then he backs out of the parking spot, driving through the lifted gate, and out into Vegas traffic.
I consider asking him again what he’s planned for me but it’s useless, so instead, I slide down into the seat.
I wanted money to be able to leave comfortably, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen.
So I’m just going to have do without. I’ll find a way to leave this city somehow. Outside the city limits are a bunch of shit casinos. I’ll move through them, winning enough money to escape.
I draw in a breath, looking over at Ryker Smith. Will he up the security at the apartment? Make it even more difficult for me to escape?
In all likelihood…yes. But I do have another chance. Everyone is liable to be distracted at the wedding.
Sneaking out in a bridesmaid gown is a little obvious but I’ve got a few days to come up with a work-around.
The idea that I still have a chance at success helps me relax back into the plush leather bucket seat.
It doesn’t take long to arrive at the building where I’ve been living. What took me over an hour to walk is accomplished in a few minutes of driving.
Ryker pulls into the parking garage and finds a spot in the near empty lot, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
He dials the line, and I hear it ring twice before a male voice answers. “Ryker?”
