He stands, towering over me, and I take a step back. I didn’t realize he’s at least six feet tall. “There’s no getting out of it, Alana. If you try, it means war.” All of a sudden, Cal drops his ever-present charm.
For the first time, an actual chill sweeps through me at the thought of marrying him. Just beneath the charm and the good nature is something else, something I don’t want to see. Someone brushes by my elbow, and I turn to see his older brother. “Hendrix. What a surprise,” I say. The man doesn’t belong in this dive in his gray designer suit.
He looks me over, surprise flashing and then cooling in his blue eyes. “Alana. You’re stunning.” He sounds shocked.
“Thanks?” I’m on social media constantly. Maybe the guy running the show at Hologrid doesn’t have time to follow accounts. “I’m not planning on joining your family.”
His gaze locks on my lips. “Perhaps we should renegotiate. You’re much more my type than Cal’s. He likes blondes. I adore brunettes. You’ve grown up nicely.”
Cal elbows closer. “You bang blondes and marry brunettes. The contract is with me, brother.”
“We’ll see.” Hendrix gives a little bow, turns, and strides confidently out of the VIP area.
Cal rolls his eyes. “Forget him. I’m sure you’re accustomed to that response from any hot-blooded male who meets you in person.”
Multiple marriage proposals? Um, no.
Suddenly, a shot rings out and the mirrored wall to my right bursts into pieces, sending shards flying. I yelp. Cal screams and ducks down, with his hands over his ears. I turn, trying to find the shooter. Three men, all masked, rush through the crowd toward us. I search for an exit as Cal huddles on the sofa yelling for his guards.
Another shot is fired and I duck, scrambling toward what appears to be a door to a back room. The cute waiter yanks it open. “Go, go, go,” he urges, trying to wrap his big body over me.
I run inside with him on my heels as more shots ring out.
“God, run. We have to get out of here,” he huffs, slamming the door shut.
Strong arms yank me into the dark. I catch sight of eyes. I know those eyes. I’ve seen those eyes before.
It’s the man from the darkness. I push against him, trying to find a path to safety when danger lies in every direction.
The waiter tries to nudge me aside and tackle the man, but a knife flashes, and blood instantly spurts from the waiter’s throat, washing over my front. His eyes bug out, and he grabs his bleeding neck, dropping to his knees.
I scream and try to help him, reaching for the convulsing kid.
But his killer grabs my hips and tosses me over his shoulder, and my stomach lands against what feels like solid rock. The air bursts out of my chest and my entire torso protests in pain.
Then, we’re running toward the storm.
SIX
Alana
Panic stifles the scream in my throat. This impossibly strong man has an arm around my legs as he jogs through what appears to be a storage area and kicks open a door. How could he murder the sweet waiter like that? The guy was just trying to help me.
Terror clogs my throat, but I keep my lips shut. The waiter’s blood is on them and I don’t want to taste the fresh liquid. Then we’re barreling through the abusive rain. I’m tossed into the backseat of an SUV and I roll over, my shoulders hitting the far door. The murderer jumps inside. “Go,” he snaps.
The driver punches the gas, and we speed down the alleyway. I scramble to sit up, trying to focus my eyes in the darkened interior. I futilely try to wipe the blood off my face. “Who are you?”
The man turns toward me. Everything inside me goes quiet before exploding tumultuously alive with raw terror. A jagged scar slashes from his forehead, through his left eyebrow, and across the bridge of his nose to the other cheekbone, and blood also dots his lower jaw. From the poor waiter.
The killer’s mere presence is a warning as he takes up more than his fair share of the backseat. In contrast with the men in the bar I just left, he wears a rough black leather jacket, ripped and faded jeans, and battered but high-end combat boots. Rain dots his thick black hair, curling the mass beneath his ears. The breadth of his shoulders alone intimidates me, and that’s before I notice more blood on his neck and the bruises on his knuckles.
So I turn, facing him, pulling one leg up on the seat in case I need to pivot on my knee and attack him. The difference in our sizes makes that idea stupid. But I know letting any kidnapper take me away from a public space is a death sentence.
“Who are you?” My voice trembles this time. His eyes are black with, I swear, flecks of silver. Not gold, not brown, not amber, but silver. I have never seen the color before, but I know those eyes. “You’ve been watching me.” I flash back to the other night.
“You’re very watchable,” he says, his voice deep and rich like a Macallan Sherry Oak 18 Year Old scotch.
A chill snakes through me and I shiver. “Why did you kill that poor kid?” I whisper. This guy is big enough he could’ve just knocked out the waiter.
“He was in my way.”
My stomach revolts and I wipe frantically at my lips.
“Stop it.”
I stop. Hopefully the blood is off my mouth, at least. I can feel the stickiness on my shirt, soaking through to my bra. I don’t want to die. “You don’t know my father, but he won’t pay a ransom.” It’s the truth and a fact that has been drummed into me since I was a little girl.
My kidnapper’s eyes twinkle for a second as if I’ve amused him. If he doesn’t want money, what does he want? Panic has me pushing away from him. “Just let me go.” I reach behind my back for a door handle.
“That door doesn’t open,” the driver says, sounding bored, even though he’s driving so fast the buildings on either side of the rainy night meld together.
I look again at the man who carried me so easily away from the building. “Did you plan this whole night? How many people just died?”
“You’d do better worrying about yourself than others right now,” he says, losing the amusement.
I search for any sort of escape.
He settles his massive shoulders against his seat. “You should relax because we have a bit of a drive in front of us.”
