“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I snap, grabbing the nearest object with weight and potential. My lamp. “How the hell did you get in here?”
His smile is lazy. Infuriating. “Locks aren’t really an issue for me.”
“Oh.” I heft the lamp. “That’s comforting.”
I throw it.
Hard.
He catches it midair like I just tossed him a pillow, sets it down gently beside him.
Polite. Controlled.
My stomach drops.
Right. Not just arrogant. Dangerous.
“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Asher,” I bite, backing toward the hallway, eyes already mapping exits. “I need to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
He shifts forward—just a little. Predator-ready.
I bolt.
Big mistake.
He’s on me in seconds. Arms locking around my waist, lifting me clean off the floor like gravity’s optional. I kick back hard, heel connecting with his shin.
He grunts. Doesn’t loosen his grip.
“Let me go, you absolute psychopath!” I claw at his arms, thrashing, and twisting. It’s like fighting a wall. A smug, infuriating, and unfairly strong wall.
“Relax, Kitten,” he murmurs, breath warm against my ear. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Promise?” I snap, throwing my head back for his nose.
He shifts. My skull slams into his shoulder instead. Pain explodes behind my eyes.
Fuck.
“That’s enough.” Still calm. But sharp now. Edged.
I pant, breath burning. “You—are—completely insane.”
“Maybe.” He adjusts his hold and starts walking. “But at least I’m not stupid.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means running right now is the dumbest move you could’ve made.”
Before I can respond, I’m flipped over his shoulder like cargo.
“Oh, hell no,” I snarl, pounding his back. “Put me down, you asshole!”
He chuckles, and pats my ass. “Not happening.”
Next thing I know, I’m dumped into the backseat of a sleek black car. I scramble for the door immediately—but he’s already there, blocking it, with his arms crossed.
