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My throat tightens. I can’t move. My body is trembling so violently that I think my legs will give out if I try to stand.
Without warning, he reaches down and hauls me to my feet, one arm anchoring around my waist, the other pressing the gun to his side.
“Stay close,” he growls, his voice rumbling through me. “Don’t make a sound.”
The rain is still falling, but I barely feel it. My mind is frozen, my body moving only because his hands force it to.
I grip his shirt, my fingers clutching the fabric as we move through the darkness. Every step feels like it takes an eternity.
And somewhere, through the fog in my mind, a strange thought breaks through —I’ve never been this close to a man before. Never been this aware of how big they are, how strong. Never realized just how different men are from girls like me.
Not until now.
They say the worst mistakes are the ones you plan — and tonight, I thought I’d planned mine to perfection.
My friends helped me with this plan. We were so thrilled with what we came up with. It was supposed to be my little rebellion. My rite of passage into adulthood.
Now, I’m shivering in the passenger seat of a sleek black car, drenched and scraped up, my chest still tight with panic.
Zasha slams the door shut after tossing me inside like a ragdoll and stalks around to the driver’s side. He slides in, starts the engine with a violent twist of the key, and the car roars to life. Without a word, he peels away from the bloodstained street, tires screeching as we tear into the night.
The car ride is silent except for the sharp, broken sound of my own breathing.
I’m shaking so badly that my teeth chatter. My hands tremble in my lap, while my soaked dress clings uncomfortably to my skin. I attempt to pull the seatbelt over my chest, but my fingers feel clumsy and useless.
Across from me, Zasha’s face is carved from stone.
His jaw is clenched tightly, muscles twitching, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. His eyes dart constantly to the rearview mirror, sharp and cold, scanning the darkness for threats.
I steal a glance at him through my lashes, heart hammering so hard it drowns out the noise of the engine.
This man-this shadow I’ve seen only twice before—just killed three men without breaking a sweat.
He moved like a storm, fierce and untouchable, cutting them down with terrifying precision.
It should terrify me.
Yet, all I can think about is how he looked hunched over me, rain dripping from his hair, his chest rising and falling like a caged animal.
I curl my fingers tighter in my lap, heat rising uncomfortably in my chest. I open my mouth, trying to speak, but my voice cracks. “I—”
“Save it for your father.” His voice slices through the air, low, sharp, and final.
My throat closes up.
Tears prick my eyes, hot and sudden, but I refuse to let them fall. I stare down at my knees, biting the inside of my cheek, trying to keep myself together.
Outside the window, the city blurs past in streaks of light and shadow. We speed through intersections, weave through empty streets, the tires hissing over rain-slick asphalt.
The longer we drive, the colder the car feels, and the closer I get to my house, where I have to face my father’s wrath.
Zasha doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak.
And I realize, with a sinking feeling, that this man—the one who saved my life tonight—isn’t here to comfort me. I’m nothing more than a duty to him, a duty that ends once he delivers me to my father.
My stomach twists with a sickening dread, and I sink deeper into my seat. I thought I could pull off one small, reckless act and slip back before anyone noticed. I believed I could taste freedom just once, without getting caught.
But now, sitting here in this car beside a man whose world is made of violence and cold, sharp rules, I understand how wrong I was.