The air has curdled in the space between us, and I don’t understand why.
After what feels like no time at all, we stop under the blinding canopy of a luxury hotel. Not our last one, but someplace new. The kind of hotel you see in glossy ads, not real life.
Polite, eager valets swarm us, opening doors and offering umbrellas.
“What are we doing here?”
Kirill kills the engine but remains in the driver’s seat, frozen. His eyes remain on the windshield, trained on some far away point.
When he speaks, the flat, robotic voice I haven’t heard since the second safe house emerges. “The penthouse is booked for a month. Your name. I’ll get you a permanent place after that. Also in your name. No strings. You won’t have to deal with me.”
Deal with me.
Like I’m a frustrating customer. Or a bomb he needs to disarm and walk away from.
The words leave an ugly bruise along my soul.
I don’t want out. I want the chaos and heat. I want him. “Deal with you? I… Kirill, I don’t understand.”
When he finally meets my eyes, it’s with the same look he gave me that first night. Bottomless, hungry, and full of black holes. “You don’t belong in my world, Jordan. I break things. And I work alone.” I’m about to insist that he’s wrong, that I’m not scared of him, not for a second, but he’s already out of the car and opening my door. “It’s better this way. Safer.”
With my limbs on autopilot, I stumble out.
As soon as I’m safely beneath the hotel awning, Kirill slips back behind the wheel and his Audi glides off into the dark.
No backward glances. Not even the bright red of his brakes.
Just…gone.
I stand alone underneath the glare of the fluorescent lights, damp from the sprinklers, while clutching the limp shreds of a ruined gown. His taillights vanish, consumed by the river of traffic.
Every second, the distance between us grows, untethering me from a world I started to believe I was part of.
Not even an hour ago, I considered us partners. We worked together to locate the safe and fight off the bad guys that came out of nowhere.
Last night, he broke me, took me apart, and meticulously glued me back together. He showed me the truth of him, let me see the man beneath the monster.
I hunch my shoulders. Or maybe…it was all a lie.
Maybe the man I thought I glimpsed was just another layer, another trick to lure me in and encourage my cooperation.
He got what he came for.
And now, to him, I’m nothing.
Handled.
Rejected because I don’t fit in. Not good enough.
A concierge glides up with a polite smile. “Miss Thorne? Your suite is ready. And this was just delivered.” He nods to the bellhop beside him.
A luggage cart holds my battered laptop and bag, along with two black cases. Polished. Anonymous. Ominous.
In a daze, I follow the bellhop and concierge through glittering halls and up to the penthouse.
The prestigious suite is all cream and gold and cavernous silence, with plush white carpets, a kitchenette with black appliances, and a jetted tub. Luxury hums in the hollow air.
I ignore the skyline, the complimentary champagne, and the bed’s king-sized promise.
