They don’t answer.
That’s when the unease settles. I look around the empty street, we’re the only ones here. The officers are too tense, their hands hovering way too close to their weapons.
“What is this about?” I ask again, louder this time.
Still no real answer. The officer beside me suddenly grabs my arm in a bruising grip. At the exact same moment, the other man seizes Milana.
“Get your hands off me!”
I twist hard, slamming my elbow back into the man’s ribs with all the strength I have. He grunts but doesn’t let go. Milana screams and starts kicking wildly at the man holding her, her heel connecting with his shin.
“Get your hands off her!” I snarl, fighting like hell. I manage to wrench one arm free and strike the officer across the face. For a second, I almost reach Milana, our fingers brush, but I’m yanked back by my shoulders. Just then two more men pour out from the shadows. And they don’t have police uniforms on.
That’s when it hits me. These are not real cops. My blood turns to ice as they overpower us, dragging both of us away from our car, past the police car and toward a black limo waiting further down the shoulder.
“Milana!” I shout, still struggling, still clawing.
But it’s useless. They are too many, and we are completely alone. I shouldn’t have stopped; I should have kept on driving.
I scratch, claw, and swing with everything I have, nails raking down the arm of the man gripping me. Milana is right beside me, screaming and kicking, her heel connecting with someone’s knee hard enough to make him curse.
We twist and buck, trying to break free, trying to run back toward our car.
It’s useless.
My shoulder slams into the side of the black limo. “Get off me!” I snarl, still fighting as they shove the back door open.
Milana’s scream cuts through the night again, but they’re already forcing her inside ahead of me. I keep struggling, heels scraping the ground, until one of them lifts me off my feet entirely and pushes me forward.
I tumble into the cool, leather-scented interior. “Who are you guys and what do you want…” my words die in my throat as I see the man sitting across from me.
He’s sitting inside, one arm resting along the back of the seat, legs spread with lazy authority. He is not dressed like the fake officers or the other men who grabbed us.
Instead, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored black coat over a crisp black shirt, open at the collar, the fabric stretched across broad, powerful shoulders. Dark blond hair cropped short. Sharp, aristocratic features that look like they were carved from ice and stone. He is devastatingly good-looking in the most terrifying way possible.
Power rolls off him in waves. His presence fills the entire limo, thick and suffocating. Tattoos peek from beneath his cuffs and collar. His posture is relaxed, but there’s nothing soft about it. It’s the kind of stillness that feels dangerous, like a predator conserving energy before it strikes.
I know instantly that he’s in charge.
He looks at us, first at Milana, who is pressed against me, chest heaving, then slowly, deliberately, at me.
His gaze drags over my face, my disheveled hair, the way my chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. There is no heat in it. No obvious lust. Just cold assessment, like he is deciding exactly what exactly he’s going to do with me.
He doesn’t seem like some low-level thug or hired muscle. He seems like something far worse.
I hold his gaze, breathing hard. My arm aches where the man grabbed it, and I can already feel bruises forming. Milana is trembling beside me, but I refuse to let whoever these men are see me break.
I lift my chin and glare straight at the stranger.
“Who the hell are you?” My voice comes out a little shaky. “What are you doing? What do you want with us?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Those cold dark eyes slide from me to Milana, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. Then he leans back slightly, the movement elegant and predatory at once.
“I’m here to collect a debt.”
CHAPTER TWO
Calina
