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Chapter Nineteen
Alena
Idris.
Strong. It fits him. I can’t take my eyes off him as, with his hand still in mine, he hurries us from the explosion to a nearby parking lot. I should worry about the women, but honestly, I have more important things to deal with. Like hunting the bastards who did this to us. That’s how I’ll help them.
I watch, my mouth open, as he breaks the window of a car, opens the door for me, and then hot-wires it. We drive through the city as I sit sideways, watching him. “Where now?”
“First we need guns, and you need to clean and bandage those wounds,” he rumbles as he switches lanes. I nod and go quiet for once, staring out of the window. I feel a bit faint, and my head is killing me. Ten minutes later, we pull up at what he tells me is Serenity, but to me it looks like a hospital. One of those old-style ones. Idris drives beneath the building, pulls into a parking garage, and presses his arm to the back of my seat as he reverses into the spot.
Fuck, why is that move so hot?
“Let’s go,” he mutters and gets out. I slide out after him, and he leaves the destroyed car in the middle of a bunch of sports cars and black Jeeps. It sticks out like a sore thumb, no doubt like I will, but Idris doesn’t care. He drags me into an elevator, and within a moment, we rise. It stops at reception, and the door slides open. It’s early morning, so not many people are here, but those who are turn and stare.
Not at him… at me.
Eyes widen, and people begin to whisper. I see pity and knowledge in their gazes, and it pisses me off. I snap my teeth at them. Idris reaches down and cuffs my neck, holding me as he leads me across the space to stop me from attacking anyone.
There’s a perky blonde receptionist at a nice desk who starts to talk, but he ignores her and goes to another elevator, which opens as soon as we reach it. He pushes me in and stops before me with his arms crossed and eyebrows arched. I shrug and act like I don’t care. Like everything isn’t too bright, too loud. Escape was always my plan, but I never considered what it would be like out of that cell.
Or the way people would look at me and how it would make me feel.
Dirty, disgusting, ugly.
Like he can sense my thoughts, he moves closer, backing me into the wall. “Do not let them get to you. They don’t know what it took for you to survive. Wear your badges of honour proudly,” he murmurs softly, the kindest I’ve heard or seen him.
I nod, sucking down the self-loathing that sparked in me. Tilting my chin higher, I blow out a breath and let it wash over me. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve become to survive. Their opinions don’t matter to me, and the fact Idris, the Boogeyman, is watching me with something akin to admiration and flaming desire pushes all those negative thoughts away.
The elevator stops moving and the doors open, but he doesn’t step away until I crack a smile. “I’m fine,” I murmur.
He lifts his hand and rubs his thumb along my cheekbone. “Want me to kill them for you?”
In that moment, I decide that even if it kills me, I’m going to fuck this man over and over again. The idea of him killing everyone for simply looking at me? Hot as hell. My pussy throbs as I imagine him doing just that as I stare into those serious eyes.
“Maybe later,” I whisper, and his lips kick up at the side, even as we hear a throat being cleared. He keeps his eyes on me for a moment longer before turning and striding out of the elevator.
I follow after him and step into a living area. The ceilings are so high, I can barely see them, and there’s a fancy as fuck open kitchen to my right. The living room is directly before us. Idris doesn’t look around, he marches to the sofas where a man is sitting, watching us. He’s an older man, a silver fox for sure. He’s attractive, put together, and fancy. He has short, cropped grey hair with controlled stubble on his face. His bright, piercing blue eyes watch our every movement, and his muscular frame tugs at his fitted grey suit. He’s built. I’ve never seen an older man with such muscle, but when I meet those cold eyes, I realise why. He’s an assassin. It’s in the calculating, cold way he watches us. Analysing, intelligent. I find my eyes darting around the penthouse just to avoid that unnerving gaze.
Who is this man? Why did Idris bring us here?
“There are women over at the docks, 843 Southwest,” Idris begins as the man observes us.
“Hello to you too,” he greets, sipping amber liquid from a crystal glass balanced on his knee. Encased in grey slacks and a button-up white shirt, he looks elegant, rich, and scary as shit. Beside him on the sofa, I see a picture, a flash of red before he covers it. “This one of them?” he asks and smiles at me. I think it’s supposed to be reassuring, but I narrow my eyes.
“Name’s Alena, not ‘this,’ asshole,” I sneer. His eyebrows rise, a smile playing on his lips.
“My apologies,” he offers, toasting the glass to me. “Alena.”
Idris steps in front of me, crossing his arms and ignoring the question. “I need guns, and she needs medical assistance, then we’ll be going.”
I peer around him to see the man sigh. He sits forward as he drains his drink and places it on a gold coaster on the glass table before him. “And why do you need guns? I thought we discussed you staying retir—”
“I have no choice. They took me, so they will die,” he snarls.
The man’s eyebrows rise. “This complicates matters somewhat.”
“How?” Idris demands.
