My eyes go to his while he stands there talking to another man, gun at his side, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.
What have you done? Whoareyou?
The emcee clears his throat, the sound scraping across the room like sandpaper.
“Well…” he says, faltering only once before he forces himself through it. “That was…an unfortunate turn of events. But the auction will continue.”
People are still gasping. Some are cursing. One woman stumbles to her feet and rushes for the door. Two men in black masks move in, lifting the dead man and dragging him out like all of this is somehow normal.
I still can’t move. My hands are tangled together in front of me so tightly my knuckles throb.
Kirill, though? He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and when he moves toward the stage, I back away a step.
“The last bid at one and a half million still stands,” the emcee continues, voice smoothing out as if we haven’t all just watched a man die. “If anyone wishes to raise to two million, now is your chance.”
No paddles lift. No one even moves this time. You could hear a pin drop if not for the muffled bass thumping somewhere beyond these walls, the club outside this tense bubble still pulsing along like nothing happened.
“Very well,” the emcee says. “Going once. Going twice.” He lifts his hand, gesturing toward where Kirill stands. “Sold. To the gentleman right there.”
My legs feel like they’re made of wet paper as Kira appears at my side, materializing out of nowhere.
“Come on.” Her hand clasps around my elbow. “Let’s get you backstage.”
She tries to steer me away just as Kirill steps onto the stage.
“Don’t touch her.”
Three words, and the air changes. His tone is cold enough that I shrink back.
Kira’s hand instantly falls away and she starts to retreat, but both of us already forgot that she exists, unable to look at anything but each other. The weapon is still in his hand, and when he notices my eyes there, he slides it back in its holster like it will change what I just saw him do.
The longer I look at him, the more I come apart, until a cry barrels free.
How did I let myself fall for a criminal? It’s what he is, isn’t it? Unless he just causally murders people for fun, which would also make him a criminal.
God. Whoishe?
How deep does this go? Is he one of Barrett’s contacts? Is this how Eli knew about him, about this place, this auction? My stomach twists itself into knots so tight I can barely stand it.
And what happens now? Am I his to do with as he pleases? Will he hurt me?
Did I ever know him at all?
Even still, my fingers ache to touch him, to trace the line of his cheek still half hidden by the mask, to feel his lips on mine.
But it’s the eyes that get me. Sharp, blazing, and locked on me like I’m all that he sees. His chest rises on a harsh inhale, and the muscle in his neck tics like he’s forcing himself not to break apart right here in front of me.
“You’re coming with me.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. His hand closes around mine as he leads me to the back and into the dressing room I used earlier, now empty, before locking the door behind us.
I take a step back on instinct, my pulse hammering so hard I sense it in my throat. The room suddenly seems smaller thanit did before, and the man in front of me nothing like the one I thought I knew.
He crosses the room in three strides, his hand closing around my throat, his thumb brushing along my jaw.
“Why?” he asks, and it sounds like it hurts him to say it. “Why did you do this?”
“Kirill…” I manage, my voice shaking.
