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I hear Lance wailing and swearing so I try to look back at him as the dark figure hauls me away.
“Don’t know why you bother,” he says casually, as if he didn’t just shoot someone. “Fucker was fine to let me rape you, so I don’t see why you’d care if I fired one measly bullet into his leg. Could’ve been a lot worse. I could’ve shot him dead.”
“Why are you doing this?” I cry out against his hand.
“Keep walking or I go back and finish the job. Don’t fucking test me on this, Hallie. I don’t have patience for bullshit.”
My blood freezes when he says my name. I realize of course he knows my name, he’s the man who came and changed my lock, but how the hell did changing my locks lead to this? It’s not like he spotted anything valuable in my apartment and thought maybe I had money.
Unless he saw the gown and the box of things from Calvin and got the wrong idea.
“Look, I’m not rich. I don’t have any money. Nothing I own is worth stealing. You’ve made a mistake.”
The car waiting at the end of the alley is a black Escalade. He opens the door and shoves me inside. I hit the ground palms first with my feet still on the sidewalk. He grabs my hips and hauls me back on my ass as he climbs in after me.
I’m sprawled gracelessly on the floor of the vehicle when he reaches over and closes the door.
“Go,” he says.
The car starts rolling forward, then swerves as we get back on the road.
I push myself up and sit on my butt on the floor, looking around in utter confusion. I thought this guy was a locksmith, but the back of this Escalade is decked out like a luxury airplane cabin. I turn around slowly, gazing at the massive TV screen, the iPad screens on the walls, the… security camera bubbles?
Where the hell am I?
Tentatively, I turn to look back at the man. His hood is pulled down now and he’s tugging off a balaclava he wore under it just to be safe.
His gaze hits mine, but he’s clearly not concerned about me seeing his face.
“I knew it was you,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” His eyebrows rise. “You want a fucking sticker?”
My cheeks flush. I was going to tell him I recognized him by his ink, but he clearly doesn’t give a damn.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m nobody.”
I’ve lost his interest, apparently. He tosses his ski mask on the seat beside him and sits back, seemingly content for me to sit here on the floor at his feet.
“Where are you taking me?”
His gaze flickers back to me on the floor. “You ask a lot of questions.”
My eyes widen. “You kidnapped me! I have questions.”
“I saved you from Patrick Bateman,” he states. “You’re welcome.”
I can only gape at him.
He was a lot nicer when he was changing my locks.
He doesn’t say anything else for a while, doesn’t really pay attention to me at all. Given all the stuff he said back in the alley, though, I still have pressing concerns.
Feeling my expectant gaze on him, he sighs and looks back at me impatiently. “Yes?”
“Can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me? Are we going to your place, or…?”
