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"Kindness isn't my usual MO," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice that made me want to scream—or maybe kiss him just to shut him up. The man was a mystery, his every move calculated to draw me in deeper. And despite my better judgment, it was working.
The rebellious spark in me flared, my body responding to his nearness with a maddening heat. Damn these masochistic desires, reveling in the danger and darkness he represented. I should've pulled away, should've recoiled from his touch, but instead, I found myself squeezing his hand back, cursing myself for every shiver that ran down my spine.
"Let's go," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper, drowned out by the sounds of rain and grief. I had nothing left here but memories and a grave I couldn't visit.
"Whatever you say, Little Shadow." he replied, the words laced with a darkness that promised more than just physical escape.
The rain pelted us as we made our way back to the limousine, each drop a cold accusation against my skin. I was shivering, but not entirely from the chill. Nash's hand still held mine, an anchor in a storm I didn't understand, and it pissed me off that his touch was what kept me from coming undone.
"Get in," he said, opening the door with a motion that was all control and grace. I hated how that control seemed to seep into me, urging me to follow his command without question.
"Where are we going now? Back to your lair to plot the next move in this sick game?" My voice was laced with venom, but even I could hear the tremor of need beneath it. Damn him for making me feel like this.
"Something like that," he replied, his eyes glinting with something I couldn't read. "I have a jet waiting. We're going to Italy."
"Excuse me, what the fuck?" I practically spat, disbelief coloring my words. "You're whisking me away to Italy because... what, you fancy yourself my dark knight now?"
"Consider it sanctuary," he shot back. His gaze pierced through me, daring me to challenge him further. "It's the safest place for you while I figure out who wants you dead."
I slumped back against the leather seat, the absurdity of it all crashing over me. Italy? With him? A part of me screamed to run, to reject this insanity and reclaim my life. But then there was the other part, the darker, hungrier part that craved the danger Nash embodied, the part that whispered seductively about protection and hidden desires.
"Fine," I conceded, my heart a heavy drumbeat of dread and anticipation. "Italy it is." The words tasted like a mix of defeat and excitement on my tongue. I glanced at him, the sharp angles of his face softened by shadows. I didn't trust him, not one bit, but my options were as limited as my sanity at this point.
"Good." Nash's lips quirked into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat through me, igniting a fire I wasn't sure I wanted to extinguish. "But don't think for a second this means you're safe from me."
Yeah, Italy might be a sanctuary from whoever wanted me in the ground, but it sure as hell wouldn't save me from the twisted bond forming between me and Nash. And to my own disgust, a part of me didn't want to be saved—not from this, not from him.
What the hell was wrong with me?
The cold bite of the Chicago wind was nothing compared to the chill that settled in my bones as I clung to Nash. He was a predator, dressed in the skin of a guardian angel, and here I was, holding onto him like he was the last shred of humanity left in my upturned world. I cursed under my breath for needing anyone, much less him.
"Keep close," Nash murmured, his voice low and dark—a warning wrapped in velvet. We moved through the shadows toward the sleek silhouette of the private jet, its presence on the tarmac an ominous beacon of our escape.
"Got it, Captain Cryptic," I shot back, feeling the rebellion bubble up inside me like a geyser ready to blow. But despite my sharp tongue, I couldn't deny the twisted sense of comfort that came from his closeness. With every step, I felt the pull of that damned masochistic desire clawing at my insides, wishing for something more than just this fucked-up protection he offered.
"Try not to enjoy this too much," I joked, half-serious, as we ascended the stairs into the belly of the beast. His hand on the small of my back was firm, possessive, sending a shockwave of unwanted pleasure coursing through me. My mind raced, teetering on the edge of fear and something far more dangerous—desire.
"Enjoyment is a relative term, Celeste," Nash replied, his tone unreadable. He ushered me into the cabin, where luxury mocked the chaos of my life. The leather seats and polished wood finishes were a contrast to the turmoil churning within me.
"Sure, jet-set to Italy while my friend's six feet under and someone out there wants me dead. Real fucking vacation," I groaned, buckling myself in with shaking hands.
"Your safety is paramount," he said, and I wondered if he could hear the bitter laughter bubbling in my throat. Safety wasn't a word in my vocabulary anymore, not since my life had become a sick game.
"Paramount, right. Because being kidnapped by a stalker is the epitome of safe," I muttered darkly.
As the engines roared to life, my heart matched their rhythm, pounding a frenzied beat of questions and doubts. But, hell, Italy promised a sliver of sanctuary, a fleeting chance to breathe, even if it was laced with the poison of uncertainty. And so, I leaned back against the seat, letting the promise of safety seduce me, because what other choice did I have?
The leather of the jet's seat gripped my skin as I sank into its cold, unforgiving embrace. My fingers dug into the armrests, claws pretending to find some shred of control in this opulent cage. The scent of leather mixed with a hint of Nash's cologne, an intoxicating blend that sent unwelcome heat coursing through my veins.
"Fuck me," I whispered under my breath, not entirely sure if I was cursing the situation or voicing a darker craving. Chicago was fading away, a speck of reality dissolving into the clouds, but my mind... my goddamn traitorous mind wouldn't stop churning out images of Nash.
I hated how his presence was becoming a twisted comfort. Hated even more that part of me relished it, the same part that had always craved more. That hunger for pleasure laced with pain—it was a familiar darkness, one that now seemed enticingly personified by Nash.
"Everything okay?" His voice cut through my musings, smooth as sin and twice as dangerous.
"Define 'okay,'" I snapped back, not meeting his gaze. "Because being whisked off to Italy by a guy who's probably a fucking murderer isn't my usual Tuesday."
"Ah, Celeste," he said, a laugh hidden in his tone, "always so spirited."
