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Like a cat, he moves with lithe grace, skipping steps as he closes the distance between us in no time at all. His eyes stay locked on me, even as his body manages the last obstacle separating us. A predator keeping his prey in sight as he prepares to pounce.
With all my might, I grasp the trap door and fling it shut on him.
“Alina!” He grunts, catching it mere inches before it crashes against its frame. Then he lifts it like it weighs next to nothing. “Alina, stop!” he hisses.
He slips through the narrow opening he creates in the floor, then he lowers the trap door without a sound.
I’m dead. I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.
I don’t wait to see what he’ll do next as I bolt toward the door leading from the cigar room and into the hall. If I can get that far, maybe I can find someone to help me.
A scream works its way up my throat as my fingers close around the handle. But before it can leave my lips, one powerful arm wraps around my waist.
Mishka’s other hand clamps down over my mouth, his callused palm forming a terrifying seal over my face as he cuts off my ability to breathe. I’m hauled back against his muscular chest, his grip like an iron band as he holds me close.
My heart breaks into a sprint as my fight-or-flight instinct demands that I do everything within my power to survive. My fingers claw fruitlessly at his hand, struggling to gain purchase and stop him from suffocating me.
And though I know no one will hear me, I release a bloodcurdling scream.
