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"It’s okay, little one," he thundered, sounding anything but okay as he fell back against the corner before sliding across to me.
His arm tunneled around my waist and he hauled me into him as the elevator car rocked once more. With his other hand, he dragged his cellphone out of his jacket pocket, pushed the button on the side, then hollered at Siri, "Call Conor!"
His arm tightened around me as the mechanics beneath us made a groaning sound that was like nothing I’d ever heard in my life, a sound that I never wanted to hear again, a noise that would haunt me for the rest of my life if I even lived that long.
My mind flashed back to Emilio Estévez at the beginning ofMission Impossible, all the while I tried to tell myself it was like that fucking ride at Disney World. The one where your stomach felt as if it were falling through your body as you were plummeted tens of floors at a time before being dragged up the tower again.
This time, when it dropped, I screamed. It was squeezed out of me by gravity, like I was an overripe orange in need of juicing.
The lights flashed on, then off, and Aidan’s arm tightened around me before he let go, and twisted around so he was facing the door. I could feel his heat, so intense, such a forceful amount of energy as if—
God.
I felt the protection coming from him.
I felt the way he pushed me into the corner, shielding me with his body.
Oh, God.
He thought we were going to die, but not by this elevator crashing.
He thought it was going to be stormed.
Tears prickled my eyes as the car came to a juddering halt, and then Conor hollered, "I’m on it!"
"Are we going to be boarded?" Aidan snarled, his ass shoving me deeper into the corner as if by squeezing me, he could make me a smaller target.
As grateful as I was, my terror soared.
What if he was hit?
What if he was shot again?
I sobbed, unashamed to be dealing with my terror at that moment, needing simply to let it flood out of me as I shoved my forehead between his shoulders.
I’d have called myself a pussy, but two murder attempts in less than forty-eight hours was just too much for me.
I pressed my arms around his waist, holding him close, needing his solid strength, his staunch resolve.
Aidan wasn’t scared.
He was in fight mode.
He wasangry.
Hell, that was an understatement.
He was fucking FURIOUS.
He throbbed with it as Conor snapped, "I don’t have time to talk."
Over the thunderous beat of my heart in my ears, I could hear the pounding of his fingers against the keyboard.
When there was another groan, a creaking snarl from the mechanics beneath us, I tensed, preparing myself for that horrendous feeling of the floor being stolen out from under us, and then, out of nowhere, there was a whining, screeching noise and the entire mechanism shuddered like we were in the middle of an earthquake.
Except, we were fifty stories up.
Maybe less, considering I had no idea how far we’d fallen.
