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I swallow hard, his dark, intense gaze focuses so heavily on mine that I can’t even try to look away, but I wouldn’t dare, not when he’s opening up like this. Easton Cross is a man of few words, so when he speaks, bitch, you better listen.
Stepping back into him, I lift my hand to his cheek, my thumb brushing across his face. “It’s okay,” I whisper as Venom slithers up my outstretched arm and down around the back of Easton’s neck. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have pushed like that, but you’re right. You and I, this means something and I couldn’t walk away even if I tried. I want to see this through.”
Easton lets out a heavy breath before crowding me back into the corner of the elevator and dropping his lips to mine. He kisses me deeply, every second of it filled with intense passion, only stopping when his phone cuts through the silence.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pulling back from me and slipping his hand into his pocket. He pulls out his phone and rolls his eyes before showing me the screen with Zade’s name in bold letters. “Get dressed,” he tells me before finally accepting the call.
“What’s up?” he says into the phone as I move around him, finding my sweatpants across the opposite side of the elevator.
I barely get a step before I hear Zade’s tone as clear as day through Easton’s phone, despite the call not being on speakerphone. “Why the fuck do I have my security on the other line telling me they’re watching some little whore getting railed in my private elevator?”
Easton laughs as my eyes widen in horror, not realizing this elevator had a camera let alone a whole security team on the other side watching every fucking second, but why should I be surprised? Easton loves watching, so why wouldn’t he invite others to do the same?
“Because some little whore did just get railed in your private elevator,” Easton says, grinning as he watches me fix my sweatpants into place before trying to figure out what to do about my torn tank that’s been ripped right down the middle.
He goes to offer me his shirt but I wave him off before pulling the torn tank back on and tying the two sides in a knot at the front and deciding it’s cute as fuck.
“So, I suppose now that you’ve gotten your dick wet, you can bring her back up,” Zade says. “There’s no need to take her out to your place now.”
“Fuck that,” I say, knowing damn well that big bastard can hear me. “Easton promised me an outing and that’s exactly what I’m going to get.” With that, I move across the elevator and release the emergency stop before feeling my stomach sink right into my ass as the heavy weight of the elevator begins to drop down to the underground parking garage.
Easton laughs. “You heard her, man,” he says, glancing down and checking on Venom around his neck. “I’ll have her home in a few hours.”
The elevator chimes its arrival at the parking garage, and I smile up at Easton as he presses his hand to my lower back to lead me out, still listening to whatever bullshit Zade is spitting at him. Only as I take a step out of the elevator, Easton pauses, his strong hand curling around my upper arm as his skilled gaze quickly scans Zade’s private parking area.
“We’re not alone,” he rushes out before shoving me back into the corner of the elevator and slamming his hand over the button, trying to close the doors. My heart lurches right out of my chest, panic gripping me, but I don’t see a damn thing outside the doors.
I hear Zade yelling through the phone but can’t make out a single word he’s saying, and just as the doors start to close, I see him—the man from the warehouse, the asshole responsible for the ugly red scar across the top of my arm. I can’t remember his name, but I know the boys said something about him being a ghost. He’s lethal and terrifying, and fuck, I’m sure just like everyone else, he probably wants me dead.
The seconds start to feel like hours, waiting for the doors to finally close, but he’s too far away, he’ll never get here in time, but I don’t miss the way Easton drops his phone into the pocket of my sweatpants, the call still in progress as he frees up his hands, pulling a gun from who the fuck knows where.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, unable to take my eyes off the asshole across the parking garage, standing motionless, simply staring as though he’s waiting for something.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Easton promises me, just as a hand slams into the closing doors, and like some kind of horror film, an army of men dressed in black tactical outfits swarm the elevator.
