Terror seizes me—ice cold and brutal—and I bolt for the nearest concierge office.
He’s faster. Elias reaches me in a matter of seconds and clamps his hand over my mouth.
His arm bands around my waist, iron and unyielding, and he carries me toward the vault.
I kick and scream, jabbing my elbow into his ribs, my heels dragging on the floor.
Useless. It’s like a fly swatting at a flame. I can’t break his grip. I can’t breathe.
I’m being kidnapped in broad daylight.
“Stop it. I’m not hurting you.” His lips press against my ear. “Now listen carefully. You’re going to enter your passcode to the vault. Quietly. We’ll walk inside. You’ll open your box. No one gets harmed.”
Bastard. I knew he wasn’t trustworthy. My brothers treated him as one of their own, but deep down, I just knew.
“I’m setting you down. You scream, and security will come. You scream, and they will die. Their blood will be on your hands.” His breath puffs against my ear as he whispers, “Do as I say and I’ll get you out. You can hate me later. Nod if you understand.”
I nod, my heart pounding a mile a minute. Anything to appease the monster so he’ll let go of me. If he’s lying, I’ll be dead. If he’s telling the truth—
Get it together, Lana. Calm. Stay focused.
Then I’ll think of a way out of this.
“I’m trusting you, Lana. Don’t make me regret it,” Elias rasps as he sets me down.
Cold air crashes between us, and I shiver.
The four men he’s with have their pistols drawn. The blond one murmurs something—a foreign language—to his buddies.
“Smile, Ms. Anderson. Don’t spook anyone.” Elias curls his hand behind my back, not touching me, but I feel him all the same. A whiff of his cologne—vetiver and smoke—reaches my nose.
My traitorous body hums.
Stop it, Lana.Damn hormones.
“Wh-What do you need from my box?” I seethe. “My brothers trusted you. They took you in. They said you were family. How dare you—”
The maddening man tsks. “Don’t know when to shut up, princess, do you? Do as I say.”
He stops us in front of the thick metal doors of the vault. It’s not just a simple passcode. There’s a biometric component and a retinal scan.
The damn bastard must know all this, and that’s why he needs me.
The weakest Anderson link.
My fingers dig into my palms as anger shoots up my spine.
Get out of this alive, Lana. Do as he says.
I force myself to even out my breaths as I enter my passcode: 2 28 11 24 3 4. My birthday, February twenty-eighth; Kian’s birthday, November twenty-fourth; and March fourth, the day we met.
My pendant thumps against my sternum with every breath, the small gem feeling heavier, almost deceptive, like it’s trying to tell me things aren’t what they seem.
A sharp inhale puffs against my ear. I snap my gaze to the devil.
His eyes. They look haunted. Why?
“Go on,” he rasps.
