“I don’t take orders from strange men.”
“Then consider it a request.”
My fingers tightened in his shirt before I could stop them.
The elevator doors opened. This wasn’t the mirrored one from before. It was a service elevator, metal-walled and harshly lit. One of his men stepped in first. Another held the door.
The stranger carried me inside.
The doors closed.
The elevator dropped.
My stomach dropped with it. Sweat cooled at the back of my neck. My hands had curled into his shirt without permission. I tried to let go, but my fingers wouldn’t obey.
“Almost out,” he said.
“I don’t know if that’s better.”
“It is.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough for tonight.”
The elevator stopped.
A private garage waited below, lit in white strips that shone over black cars lined along the concrete. The air smelled like exhaust, wet tires, and winter trapped underground. A black SUV idled near the elevator, rear door open, windows dark.
Every story I’d ever heard about women who got into cars with dangerous men pressed against the back of my throat.
The stranger felt me stiffen.
“You’re not going back to that room,” he said.
“I know.”
“You’re not going with Kask.”
“I know that too.”
“Then breathe.”
I dragged air into my lungs. It tasted like exhaust and his coat.
He ducked into the SUV with me still in his arms and set me on the leather seat. The seat was warm. That small mercy nearly undid me.
I tried to sit upright.
The garage lights stretched.
He caught my shoulder before I tipped forward.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“No, you’re not.”
“I said I’m fine.”
