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Now we're heading north, parallel to the river. Up ahead lies a bridge, the bridge I need to get to my first destination, but at least one of Nero's men has picked us up again, his car inching closer.
And up ahead, they've begun to halt traffic in preparation for the bridge to lift and let the waiting boats through.
But I smile. The timing of these lifting bridges was always part of the plan. And I only accelerate as I close the distance, Aurora's arms tightening on my waist.
She doesn't protest. Doesn't scream. She trusts me, I think.
Just before impact, I feather the throttle, sending us surging forward at breakneck speed, just as the road crew waves frantically at us to stop—slow down—anything!
And then, without warning, I rear up on the foot pegs,willingthe bike up and into the air. Aurora moves with me instinctively. For a split second, we hover in mid-air, poised precariously between success and failure over the barricades and the parked cars in front of the bridge.
Thank God Aurora's such a tiny little thing.
I sail effortlessly over the cars, landing with a solid thump on the bridge, and I gun the engine again as soon as I have control of the bike.
I allow myself a self-satisfied smirk at the awe-struck faces of Nero's men in the mirror, and a moment later, we're across the already-rising bridge, just one more little jump to clear the gap, and then skidding past the barricade on the other side, and zooming away, free.
Nero will not forget this day in a hurry. And neither will our father, when he hears of it. If only he could have been there to see it.
Damn him. Wherewashe?
But I refocus. I can interrogate the terrified little kitten clinging to me once we reach the safe house, find out where her dear intended father-in-law was on her big day.
A few blocks later, we pull into an underground parking garage and I cut the engine. Aurora slides off the bike at once, fumbling at the helmet strap with shaking hands. I pull her close to help her, my fingers brushing against the soft skin of her neck. She inhales sharply at the contact.
"Y-you saved me," she whispers, once I get the helmet off. "Why?"
At that, I laugh, and swing off the bike. "Saved you? Oh, sweetheart."
I seize her wrist and stride toward the elevator, Aurora scrambling to keep up on those stupid-high wedding heels. As soon as the doors slide shut I pin her against the wall, forearm across her collarbone.
"I did notsaveyou, Sunshine. I merely reclaimed what was mine. You belong to me now."
She swallows hard but lifts her chin. "I don't belong to anyone."
I press harder, our faces inches apart. Her eyes flash with defiance and I feel that strange ache again. Feel the desire toforceher to say it, to admit that she's mine, to make her beg and plead for mercy…
No one has dared challenge me in a long time. Well, no one but Lyssa, and she doesn't count. It's herjobto challenge me.
"You don't belong to anyone?" I give her my coldest smile, and the darkness in me gives a pleasurable little sigh at her flinch. The elevator doors open and I step back. "We'll see about that."
I pull her into the apartment. This tiny weed of a girl might have gotten under my skin just then, but it was only momentary. The adrenaline from that ride through the streets, the close escape. That's all.
I'min control.
"W-where are we?" she stammers out.
The place is luxuriously appointed, but empty-feeling nonetheless, like it's been professionally staged for an upcoming sale. The walls and shelves are bare, devoid of books, photographs, decoration or any personal touches. I can see Aurora staring around, puzzled.
I shut the door and lock it securely, then check the windows, peeking down to the streets below. Doesn't look like we were followed.
Aurora looks around nervously, her eyes darting from one empty corner to another. "Where are we?" she asks again finally, her voice a little louder.
"A safe house," I reply curtly. "The first stop on our journey."
Confusion flits across her face. "Journey? Where are we going?"
"Stop asking questions."
