“Doubtful,” she mutters. “You’d better text me when you get to… Wait, where are you going?”
“New York City,” I admit, wanting to give her the truth. “And I’ll message you and the others. Don’t worry.”
“Famous last words, Lark.”
I smile. “I’ll be fine.” I pick up my bag, as the car has been parked outside for a few minutes now. Fortunately, the “assassin” hasn’t stepped out yet. I know because I’ve been watching for him. “Talk to you soon.”
“Okay…” The hesitation is clear in her voice. “Text me about bubbles, and we’ll come find you.”
“Bubbles?” I repeat with a laugh. “Really?”
“It’s the first thing I thought of,” she grumbles at me. “You got a better safe word?”
Honey pot, I think. But I don’t share that with her. “Bubblesis fine. I’ll find a clever way to use it. Like in reference to a bubble bath or something.”
“Good.” I can practically see her clenching her jaw. “Be safe, Lark.”
“Always,” I reply. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I really hope that isn’t a lie.
And I’ll do everything in my power to ensure it’s not.
We say goodbye, and I pocket my phone. It’s the only piece of tech I’m bringing with me. It’s innocuous enough that no one will be suspicious of it.
Well, my brother will be suspicious. But that’s just because he knows me well.
Here goes nothing, I think, locking up my place and heading out to where the vehicle is quietly idling.
When the driver’s door opens, I pause and take in the sight of the large, muscular alpha unfolding from his bucket seat. I’m honestly surprised he fit in the sporty sedan. Because he’s huge.
And I suddenly understand Syrus’s concern.
Yep. Definitely an enforcer.
Or anassassin, as Silva called him. In my old world, those two terms were pretty much synonymous.
“Ms. Bia?—”
“Lark,” I interject, not wanting him to give my identity away. “Just…Lark.”
One of his eyebrows—a dark red slash—lifts. “All right.” He walks around to the back of the car as the trunk opens. But he doesn’t pause there to wait. He continues toward me with a predatory grace that makes my heart skip a beat.
Lethalfeels like an inadequate adjective for this man. He’s outright dangerous.
I take a step back on instinct, his eyes holding a touch of insanity that causes my heart to halt in my chest.
But then his natural cologne hits me.
All cinnamon and spice andalpha.
My eyelashes flutter, my pulse kick-starting into overdrive. And I realize with a start that this male—this exquisitely beautiful, homicidal male—is my scent match.
My lips part.
The world stops.
And I find myself gaping up into a pair of multicolored irises.
