He comes straight to me.
I take a step back. The man behind me finally lets go, but I only move as far as Gabriel's hand allows when his fingers wrap around my wrist.
His grip is firm.
Warm.
Unyielding.
"Don't touch me," I snap, yanking against it.
"You’re coming with me," he says.
"Thea!" Sylvie's shout cuts across everything.
I twist, heart lurching.
She's being hauled toward the other side of the stage, heels scraping against the wood, eyes wild. The Russian with the phone has moved closer, his gaze locked on her like a man who just saw his consolation prize.
"Two hundred thousand for the brunette," he says into the mic someone thrust into his hand.
"No." The word rips out of me. I lunge toward Sylvie, but Gabriel's arm comes around my waist, iron band dragging me back against him.
"It's too late for her," he says.
"Like hell it is." I slam my elbow back into his ribs. It's like hitting a wall. "You got your million-dollar maid. Let me get my friend."
His mouth comes close to my ear, his voice low and lethal.
"You don't understand where you are," he says. "Or who you're between."
"I understand enough," I snarl. "You're all monsters."
His chest moves against my back, one short, dark laugh.
"Monsters are the only thing keeping you out of the ground, Thea."
He shouldn't know my name.
But he does.
"Who are you?" I whisper.
"The only man in this room who paid to keep you breathing instead of making you disappear," he says.
He releases my waist only to slide his hand down, twine our fingers together. It looks obscene, how normal it is. Like a boyfriend leading his girl offstage after karaoke, not a buyer dragging his purchase away from the block.
"Walk," he orders.
I dig my heels in. "Go to hell."
He squeezes my hand once. Not cruel. Not kind.
"If you keep fighting me here, you'll get there a lot faster."
Sylvie's voice cracks again behind us. "Thea!"
The sound tears me in half.
