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"I don't care," came the sharp retort from beside her. "I have to go."
He let go of her almost as though she'd burned his hands.
The moment his grip on her slackened, her knees gave away and she sank into the plush cushions again, her sluggish eyes watching his muscular back retreat. Utter fury filled her, making her body shake with the sheer force of it, the urge to punch him in the face ardently coursing through her veins even as she knew she couldn't even lift a finger right then.
Amara sat beside her, rubbing her back in a soothing motion, sighing deeply, her green gaze soft on Morana's. "I'm sorry about him."
Morana blinked groggily, her throat working, head pounding as darkness crept along the edges of her vision, the world stilling as her breathing slowed.
"You have to understand why he...."
Morana wanted to. For some godforsaken reason, she wanted to understand the reason for his hatred, for the intensity of that hatred. But even as she tried, Amara's voice began to drift away, her lashes gluing to her cheeks, her muscles going limp as she leaned back into the cushions and completely succumbed to oblivion, not knowing if she would wake up to see another day.
A jerk suddenly startled her.
Disoriented, Morana pried her heavy lids open slowly, her eyes burning, to see trees rushing by at speed in the darkness and long stretches of secluded road ahead. The sound of an engine whirring broke into her dazed consciousness a second later, along with the scent of car perfume, warm air, and leather against the back of her thighs and shoulder blades. All of it extremely familiar.
Blinking, she sat up suddenly, the quick motion sending a shot of dizziness through her system and the dull echo of pain through her skull, and looked around.
Suave cream interior, the little trinket – glasses and a gun - dangling from the rearview mirror, a mystery paperback tossed in the console, along with her black clutch.
She was in her own car.
And a woman was driving her car. A woman in a hot silver dress, glancing at her with concerned forest green eyes. Where had she seen her before...?
"How are you feeling?" the woman asked in a soft, soothing voice that was somehow raspy in the silence.
Something about her seemed familiar. Morana shook her head once to clear it, and thought about the question, even as her eyes checked the woman out for any weapons on her. How was she feeling?
"Dazed, I think," she muttered, a frown taking over her face. "Who are you?"
The woman flashed slightly alarmed eyes at her. "Amara. We just met an hour ago. In the club. You don't remember?"
Now that she mentioned it, pieces started coming back to her. Meeting with Dante. Putting the drive in her clutch. Going to the bar. The weird bartender. The woman coming up to meet her. And...
Her jaw clenched as everything rushed back into her mind. Hot, hot lava flooded her blood, her fingers curling into her palms as acid burned through her chest. The memories returned, and along with them the absolute rage that almost shook her frame, the urge to hit something hard violent inside her.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the woman, pinning her with her eyes. "Why are you driving my car?"
Amara glanced at her swiftly before turning her eyes to the road again.
"Things happened after you passed out," she spoke in the same soft voice that Morana realized was her natural tone. "It wasn't safe for you there anymore, so I thought it'd be better if you got out."
Morana narrowed her eyes at her, trying to gauge how honest she was being. "And you did this out of the goodness of your heart?"
"A little," the woman replied quietly. "Mainly I did this because Tristan asked me to."
Okay.
Morana's heart started pounding the minute the words were comprehended in her brain. Before she could say anything though, Amara spoke again, in that raspy voice.
"He's following us right now."
What?
Morana swiveled her neck to look at the empty road behind them. Sure enough, there was a huge black SUV tailing them on the secluded path, making her realize they weren't that far from the club yet, miles from the mansion. The headlights shone brightly, the vehicle keeping a distance of at least ten cars between them, maintaining the same speed Amara was.
"What is his damage?" Morana muttered to herself, not understanding a thing about that man even as the urge to punch him in the nose prevailed. She grit her teeth.
