The city swallowed them whole the moment Blake pulled away from the curb. Manhattan at night was alive and merciless—horns blaring, streetlights glowing in hazy golden halos, neon signs flickering like taunting reminders of sins committed under their glow. The Mercedes purred beneath his control, smooth and powerful, but the weight in the backseat made his grip on the steering wheel clench tighter.
Caroline was sprawled out like a discarded doll, her long legs bent awkwardly, her head rolling against the leather seat. Her perfume—sweet and sharp like wild roses drenched in whiskey—lingered heavily in the enclosed space, weaving into Blake's senses until he almost cursed himself for noticing.
She clapped suddenly, a drunken, uncoordinated sound that broke the thick silence. Her lashes fluttered, her lips curved into a tipsy, heartbreaking smile. "Where are you taking me?" she slurred, her voice hiccupping in between words.
