Chapter 3 3

Ines was shoved into the back seat of the Escalade.

The door slammed shut, the lock engaging with a heavy thud.

Dorian slid in beside her. He pressed a button on the armrest, and the black partition between them and the driver rose with a quiet whir.

The space instantly shrank. The air in the cabin was cool, filtered, and saturated with his scent-cedar and danger. Ines pressed herself against the door, trying to put as much distance between them as the leather bench allowed.

The car lurched forward, merging aggressively into traffic. Ines swayed, her shoulder bumping the window.

Dorian held out his hand.

Ines stared at it.

"The phone," he said.

She dug it out of her pocket and placed it in his palm. Her fingers brushed his, and she flinched as if she'd been burned.

Dorian checked the screen. He tapped a few times, verifying the encryption. "You didn't crack it," he noted, sounding almost disappointed. "Smart girl."

Ines looked out the window. The buildings were blurring past. They were heading north, toward the West Side Highway. This wasn't the way to his office. Or his hotel.

She pulled out her own phone-the cheap, cracked one Preston had silently retrieved from the bench before he grabbed her-and typed furiously.

She held the screen up to his face.

WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?

Dorian glanced at the text, then back at her. A cruel smile played on his lips.

"To sell you," he said. "I hear Silas has outstanding debts. You might cover the interest."

Ines's blood ran cold. Her eyes went wide, terror seizing her chest. She believed him. Why wouldn't she? Men like him traded lives like stocks.

Dorian watched her reaction. The amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by something darker, harder to read. He didn't correct himself.

The car sped up. They were on the George Washington Bridge now, the steel girders flashing by. Below, the Hudson River was a gray strip of death. Ines squeezed her eyes shut. She hated heights. She hated the feeling of suspension.

Her fingernails dug into the leather seat, scratching the expensive grain. Scritch. Scritch.

A hand covered hers.

"Stop that," Dorian said.

His hand was heavy, warm, encompassing hers completely. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm that had nothing to do with fear.

Ines yanked her hand away, tucking it under her thigh.

Dorian shifted, turning his body toward her. "You weren't this afraid of me last night," he said softly.

Ines bit her lip. She stared at her knees.

He reached out, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her head up. His touch was firm, demanding eye contact.

"Speak, Ines," he commanded. "You were vocal enough with your eyes when you were begging for more."

It was a low blow. A calculated humiliation.

Ines's eyes filled with hot tears. Her throat worked, spasms of muscle trying to force sound through a closed gate. A broken, wheezing sound escaped her lips. Hhh-uh.

It was pathetic.

Dorian stared at her, his thumb brushing her lower lip. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Then he released her abruptly, wiping his hand on his trousers as if she were dirty.

"Pathetic," he muttered, turning away.

The car exited the highway, winding onto the Palisades Interstate Parkway. The city was gone, replaced by dense walls of trees.

Ines's mind raced. This is where they dump bodies. She looked at the door handle. Locked. She looked at the speedometer. Eighty miles per hour.

She calculated the physics. If she jumped, the impact would shatter her pelvis. The roll would break her neck.

Dorian didn't even look at her. "Don't bother," he said, reading her mind. "At this speed, you'd be roadkill."

Ines slumped back, defeated.

Ten minutes later, the car braked hard. They swerved into a scenic overlook, gravel crunching under the tires. The cliff edge was just yards away, protected only by a flimsy wooden rail.

Dorian opened his door. The wind roared into the cabin, cold and damp.

He walked around to her side and yanked the door open.

"Get out."

Ines stepped out. Her legs were shaking. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She stood on the edge of the cliff, the gray river churning hundreds of feet below.

She waited for the push.