And my throat. God, my throat. Like invisible hands are already wrapped around my neck.
That’s how he does it. That’s how he kills them. He chokes them. And you’re walking toward him like a lamb to slaughter.
My phone is in my purse. Right there. Three letters away from extraction.
But my hands won’t move. My brain is cataloging escape routes—the Wawa at Broad and Walnut, the Chancellor Street exit, anywhere but that elevator—and my body isn’t cooperating.
My heels click too loud on marble.
“Marcus, I really think?—”
My voice comes out wrong. Strangled. Like I’m already being choked.
He hears it. I see it in his eyes—that flicker of recognition. Of pleasure.
He likes that I sound like I’m dying.
“Dylan.” He stops. Turns me to face him. Both hands on my waist now. “You trust me, right?”
No. God no. Never.
“Of course,” I lie.
“Then come with me. I promised some very important people you’d be there. The kind that can make your career.”
My career. His hands. This hallway.
“Former Speaker Dupree wanted to discuss?—”
“Alaina can wait too.” Impatient now. Mask slipping. “Everyone can wait. This is important, Dylan. For us.”
Us. There is no us. There’s only him and what he wants.
We’re at the elevator. An elevator at the end of the hallway. Marble floors. Gold fixtures. Staff in crisp uniforms suddenly very busy not looking.
The serpent at my spine goes into overdrive. That crawling sensation spreading up my back, wrapping around my throat. Coiling so tight I can barely breathe.
“Marcus, I?—”
“Dylan.” His voice is soft now. The voice you’d use with a spooked horse. With prey that might bolt. “The elevator’s right here.”
His hand is on my lower back. Pressing. Guiding.
I can’t feel my feet anymore. Can’t feel anything below my knees. My body has decided that if I’m going to walk into my own murder, it’s not going to participate.
“Just a quick drink upstairs. Important people. Good for your career.” His thumb strokes my spine through the dress. Slow. “Then we’ll come back down. I promise.”
Promise.
How many women heard that promise?
His hand reaches past me. Presses the button.
The elevator dings.
The sound is so loud in the quiet hallway that I flinch. Actually flinch. Like a gunshot.
Marcus notices. His smile doesn’t change but something behind his eyes does. Something hungry.
