I stumbled backward, desperate to make it into the inner room where the staff usually slipped away. Safety was just a push of a door away, but I wasn't fast enough.
A hand caught mine, rough and unrelenting, yanking me back so hard I almost fell.
"No—please—" I gasped, but my voice broke into a sob as I stumbled beside him. My eyes stung with tears I couldn't stop, my whole body trembling in his grip.
How had I gotten myself tangled in this nightmare?
"You're coming with us," the man with the gun said flatly, dragging me toward the exit like I weighed nothing.
I clawed at his hand, trying to break free. "Please, I don't know him. I swear I don't know anything about the money. You've got the wrong person!" My words came out frantic, choked between sobs, but he didn't even flinch.
Panic burned through my chest, each breath too shallow, too sharp. My vision blurred with tears. I couldn't think of anything except the cold truth that I was doomed—so very doomed. Even the shame of knowing my skirt was damp and stained clung to me, another layer of misery on top of my fear.
The night air outside slapped my skin, icy against my overheated face. A hush seemed to ripple over the crowd that had gathered, eyes wide, whispers darting like shadows. Everyone looked panicked. But none of them moved. None of them would save me.
And then I saw him.
Leaning against a matte red Lamborghini truck, sleek and impossible, stood the man I'd only glimpsed before—the one who'd made my blood turn to ice. Rohan.
"Boss," the man gripping me announced, shoving me forward like a prize. "She's here."
Rohan didn't say anything right away. He simply straightened from where he'd been leaning and opened the passenger-side door himself.
"Get in," he said. His voice was cold, steady, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.
My knees weakened. My throat closed. I shook my head quickly, desperation spilling out in a rush. "Please, I don't know him, I don't know anything. You have to believe me."
But his face remained unreadable. He didn't argue. He didn't explain. He simply stood there, a shadow that had already decided my fate.
The car's interior gleamed in the streetlights—blood-red leather, gold trim curling sleekly along the dash. At the center, the sharp gleam of a logo: RR. Rolls Royce… but different. Custom. Dangerous. Like him.
My stomach turned. This wasn't just a car, it was a statement. It reeked of power, of money, of someone who didn't have to answer to anyone.
"I said get in," Rohan repeated. This time, he pulled a gun from his waistband and leveled it smoothly at my side. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just certain. A promise that if I didn't move, I'd regret it.
My legs wobbled under me. I swallowed hard, forcing down the last bit of my pleading. I knew better than to push a man like him. Still, when I inched forward, a fresh wave of shame stopped me cold.
The back of my skirt was wet. Stained. And the thought of ruining the gleaming red leather, leather that probably cost more than my entire life, froze me.
I lowered my gaze, fingers fidgeting together helplessly. Humiliation burned hotter than fear now. I couldn't move. Couldn't lift my foot.
"What's wrong?" Rohan's voice cut into the air. He sounded… not angry, not gentle either, but curious.
I shook my head quickly, staring at the ground. How could I possibly tell him?
He studied me for a moment, silent, then moved closer. My breath caught when I felt something brush against my waist. He was tying his leather jacket around me.
I blinked down, stunned. His jacket—smooth, heavy, smelling faintly of an expensive cologne and him—covered me.
My eyes lifted slowly to his. His face remained calm, unreadable, but his actions…
I didn't know what to make of them.
His tattoos stretched across his arms now that the jacket was gone, dark ink that made his skin look even more dangerous. My chest tightened. This man wasn't someone I should be near.
And yet, he'd covered me.
"Now get in the damn car, sweetheart." His lips curved, just slightly, almost amused.
Sweetheart?
The word landed strange. Sweet, like he hadn't just pressed a gun to my side. Sweet, like I wasn't shaking, or crying, or bleeding inside. Sweet, like I hadn't just had my entire life ripped apart in front of everyone.
I froze again, confusion tangling with fear.
But then exhaustion... or maybe sheer terror of what he'd do if I resisted, pushed my feet forward.
"Lord… it's your child," I whispered under my breath as I climbed into the car. "Please accept my soul."
The seat cradled me in red leather, warm and wrong. Sinful. My body sank in, my heart rattling against my ribs.
Rohan slid in beside me and shut the door. The click was soft, final.
Through the window, I caught sight of Fredda in the crowd, her face streaked with tears. Watching me go.
My heart squeezed, but I forced myself to breathe. In. Out.
I turned my head slowly toward the man beside me. His jaw was tight, his face carved in stone. Unapproachable.
But as I looked at him longer, a dangerous thought slipped in.
I wasn't only scared anymore.
I was curious.
Curious about the man who had just stolen me from my life.