For a second, I just sit there, hands still locked on the wheel, pulse hammering.
She’s still quiet.
I climb out, the cold night air slapping my face, and round the back of the car. My chest feels too tight. I thumb the latch.
The trunk pops with a soft click and lifts a few inches.
I don’t even get the lid fully open before she explodes out of it.
She lunges like a spring released, hands locking onto me—shirt, shoulders, anything she can grab. Her weight hits my chest hard enough that I rock back a step on instinct.
She doesn’t waste it.
She uses the momentum, legs snapping up, thighs clamping around my neck. She twists, body flipping with that feral, desperate grace she gets when she thinks it’s her last chance.
She pulls me down.
I could plant my feet and fight it.
I don’t.
I let my knees bend with the force, guiding the fall, taking it into the pavement in a controlled drop instead of letting us both crack skulls. Theworld tilts, and then I’m on my back on the asphalt with Ayla on top of me, breath hot and ragged, hair wild around her face.
Her hand is already moving.
She pulls her knife from God knows where and brings the blade to my throat in one smooth, trembling motion.
Cold steel kisses my skin.
Her eyes are wild.
There’s a heartbeat where we just breathe at each other, the knife pressing just enough to let me know she’s serious.
Then I move.
My hand snaps up, palm striking her wrist. The knife jerks aside. Before she can adjust, I knock it from her grip with a sharp, practiced hit, the blade skittering across the pavement with a metallic scrape.
Her eyes flare.
I catch her other wrist before she can swing.
She startles, but I’m already rolling, using my weight, flipping our positions so fast her breath leaves her in a shocked sound. I pin her to my chest instead of the ground, hauling her tight against me.
She squirms, furious, breath coming fast.
“When you pull a weapon,” I growl into her ear, voice low and lethal, “you use it or you run.”
She goes still.
I squeeze once, hard.
“Now cut the shit,” I continue. “I have to be here. Which means you’re going in with me.”
She’s breathing hard, chest heaving against mine. I can feel her pulse hammering at her throat.
“You can walk in,” I say, loosening my grip just enough that she knows I’m giving her a choice, “or I can drag your ass in. Your choice.”
She lifts her head, eyes locking on mine in the dim lot light.
