by Skye Warren
Philip pressed the button to go down, and there was a tense silence while we waited for the elevator, in a stalemate with the cops.
The door opened, revealing Sloan inside.
His eyes widened when he saw me. “Ella. Oh God.”
“Move,” Philip said, his voice like granite.
Sloan scrambled out of the elevator, and before I could even think of what to tell him—help or please don’t help, you’ll only get yourself hurt—Philip had moved us into the elevator and the doors were sliding shut.
And then it was only Philip and me, alone in the elevator, heading down.
My room was on floor twenty-four. The display flickered to twenty-three. Twenty-two.
He still held the gun, but at least it wasn’t pointed at my head anymore. I jammed my elbow into his stomach, and he grunted. I moved to the other side of the elevator, clinging to the cold metal bar.
“I hope that opens up your injury,” I said.
His expression was taut with pain—but a faint smile flickered over his lips. “That’s right, kitten. Give me hell.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, confused and upset. Why did he have to change the game?
I had known he was a dangerous man, but I had always sort of trusted him. After all, he had saved me when I was at my weakest. But then, maybe he had only done it for Shelly. They were having sex at the time—fucking was the word she would have used—and I had suspected he was in love with her.
She had ended up marrying someone else—a cop, no less. So maybe being nice to me, or at least not killing me, was off the table now. Maybe it didn’t matter what happened to me with Shelly out of the picture. Something cold settled into my stomach. My breath came a little faster, the air thin and stale in this elevator.
“What the hell?” I asked, my voice small. I hated how hurt I sounded.
I hated that I let him hurt me. Floor fifteen. Fourteen.
He didn’t even look at me, his gaze on the gun as he flicked some small lever. Then he held it up for me to see, sideways. “Turning the safety back off.”
Realization flooded through me. The safety had been on while it had been pointed at my head. At least, if I believed him. I didn’t know enough about guns to know if he was telling the truth. “It was still dangerous,” I said. “The cops could have shot me.”
“They wouldn’t have done that,” he scoffed.
Horribly, tears sprang to my eyes. I fought them. “That’s not the point. Anything could have happened. There were guns everywhere, and you put me in the middle of it.”
He sobered. “I’ll always protect you, Ella. That’s a promise.”
The words filled a space inside me that had been hollow for too long. And I couldn’t regret that he had held a gun to my head, if that meant surviving. Couldn’t regret that he had come to me in a moment of weakness. He’d been in a vulnerable state—a rare moment for a man like him. And he’d trusted me with it. There was a kind of power in that.
A dark kind of hope.
We were on floor five now. Almost to the bottom.
“So what’s next?” I asked, a hitch in my chest. “Am I still your hostage?”
“I thought I’d told you, kitten. You’re with me now, for better or for worse.”
With those disturbing words, the elevator dinged its arrival. The doors slid open.
Chapter Fifteen
WE MADE IT through the lobby without any threats at gunpoint.
We did earn a lot of stares, however.
The lobby of the dorm had seen many wild things, drunken antics and one notorious whipped-cream dunking booth. There had never been a man like Philip Murphy, clearly dangerous, clearly powerful—shirtless and bloody as he strode to the exit. He nodded once, politely, at an openmouthed student clutching a pile of textbooks. And the entire time he kept a firm grip on my arm, propelling me forward.
I didn’t bother to fight him. It would only have slowed us down, maybe get him caught by the cops, who must have been on their way down after us. And definitely none of the soft, slender boys watching us in shock could have rescued me. Only Sloan would have tried, but even his determination was no match for the barrel of a gun.
The sunlight burned my eyes, blinded me. The campus where I had lived and gone to school looked the same as ever, but different too—a fun-house mirror version of the place I knew. In a flash of glinting chrome and shiny paint, a black SUV screeched to a halt at the curb.
Instinctively I took a step back.
The men who took me, the car waiting behind the club that night to take me way—they’d come in a black unmarked car too. It was the kind of car designed to look anonymous, even though it was anything but. Ordinary people may not have known who was in the car, what horrible crime they had committed today, but they knew bad people were inside. Dangerous people.
Nothing good ever came in black cars. Except for now, apparently. Because instead of evading the car, Philip went and opened the door.
“Get in,” he said, but he didn’t wait for my compliance. He used his grip on my arm to bodily push me inside, lifting me from the ground. I toppled onto soft leather seats as he climbed in behind me.
I scrambled upright in time to see the door to the building burst open with Barnes in the lead, gun in both hands as he bolted toward us, surprisingly fast for a man who looked like he was pushing fifty.
The car was already in motion, tires squealing as we moved away from the curb. The car door slammed shut on its own, and I was tossed backward again, my world upending for about the millionth time since I’d found Philip at my door last night.
“Where to?” a man asked.
“Out of town,” Philip said, sounding casual and not out of breath. “I need to let things cool off while I call in a few favors.”
Why did everything he said sound like a riddle? Things to be cooled and favors to be called in. That was how he talked, how he worked, with evasion and secrecy. That was who he was. I couldn’t forget that.
From the outside this car looked like a regular Escalade, the kind rich moms use to drive their kids to soccer practice. From the inside it had clearly been modified to work like a limo. The backseats were gone and replaced with smooth leather rows lining the front and back, the windows heavily tinted.
Philip sat in the seat closer to the driver, facing the back of the vehicle. One arm was slung over the top of the seat, his legs kicked wide. He looked like some kind of savage royalty, with no shirt and hard muscles. A trickle of fresh blood wound down his side and over his black suit pants, turning invisible.
When I righted myself on the backseat, I saw a pair of curious eyes watching me through the rearview mirror. Adrian. I remembered him from before. Philip’s right-hand man—his butler, his driver, his anything-that-needs-to-get-done guy.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, a faint note of humor in his voice.
I fought the smile, but it came anyway. Adrian had always been nice to me, and back then I’d needed all the friends I could get. “Right outside my dorm? What a coincidence.”
“A sociology major, huh. I always pegged you for something in business. You know, tough-as-nails manager with a killer manicure.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just because you dream about a woman telling you what to do…”
That earned me a snort-laugh. “If that’s the case, I might need a new boss. One with a little more X chromosome.”
Philip made a sound not unlike a growl. He pressed the button to raise the divider between the front and the backseats. “Stop pestering Adrian.”
As if he had anything to worry about, as if anything I said could annoy Adrian or make him quit. Even back then I had suspected that Adrian had a crush on Philip, but maybe it was unavoidable if you worked that close to him. We were like flowers, helplessly turning our faces to the bright sun of him.
I met Adrian’s eyes right before the black divider reached the top. We shared a moment of mutual understanding and sympathy. It was hard to love
a man and know nothing could come of it.
When the divider slid shut, closing us in, I turned on Philip. “What did you mean I’m with you now—for better or for worse?” I said the last part in an exaggerated imitation of his voice, low and slightly menacing.
“Really?” he asked drily.
“That’s how you sound.”
The dire look he gave me promised retribution, and a shiver ran through me. “Do not test me unless you’re willing to face the consequences.”
“The kind of consequences where you let me leave? Because I could go for that one, actually. Helping you when you were hurt is one thing. I have no interest in being a fugitive for…well, nothing. I haven’t done anything.”
“Hostage, remember?”
Yeah, I wouldn’t be forgetting the breath-stealing terror of having a gun pointed at my head for a while. “I’m serious. I want to go back.”
He sobered. “You can’t. They know where you are. They know who you are to me. You wouldn’t be safe.”
“Wait…” My heart was suddenly beating faster. “You mean, ever? I wouldn’t be safe ever?”
He was silent for what felt like an eternity—an eternity in which my entire life, my future, my family all turned to dust, leaving a wasteland of nothingness for me to live in. “They know who you are to me,” he finally said, almost painfully quiet. As if he understood exactly what he was asking me to give up.
No, what he was forcing me to give up.
“This is crazy. I’ll just go back and I’ll—I’ll talk to the cops. I’ll tell them what happened—”
“And what, kitten? They’ll interrogate you for everything you learned about me, both last night and years ago. They’ll arrest you for harboring a fugitive. Is that what you’re so eager to go back to?”
My lower lip trembled, and I bit down hard to make it stop. “They’ll understand.”
“Barnes is out for blood, and he won’t mind fucking you over just to mess with me.”
“This is crazy. There has to be another way. I can’t just be…gone.”
“And that’s just the cops. The men I saw from the window? They were something else. The cops can’t protect you from them, no matter what they tell you. These men—they’d hurt you. I mean really hurt you, kitten.”
I swallowed, knowing exactly what kind of hurt he meant. The kind with rough hands and cruel sneers. The kind that almost got me years ago, that had been in the process of getting me before Shelly stepped in and saved me. The kind that had kept me afraid and withdrawn all this time, unable to bear even a kiss from a boy, even one as sweet as Sloan.
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t just leave.”
Philip’s expression went completely blank. “You’ll be safe with me. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable—”
“God, you sound like you’re reciting a grocery list. This is my life we’re talking about. My friends. My family. You can’t just tell me all that’s over.”
In a flash the blank mask was gone, replaced with a kind of wild fury. “You think I don’t understand what’s at stake? I avoided you all these years. Avoided touching you, avoided talking to you. All so you’d be safe.” He laughed, a hollow sound. “And in one night it’s ruined.”
A wave of dark pleasure washed over me, to know he wanted me. He had said it in the dorm room, but God, it was hard to believe—after all this time. A man like him could have any woman. I had been a broken little girl. He wouldn’t touch me then.
He’d hardly even looked at me.
He was looking at me now, his eyes piercing, probing.
Part of me wanted to ask more questions, to find out what could have happened between us—without the world intruding. A man and woman, without the masks we wore, the criminal and the ingenue, the master and the student.
The world intruded, though—in the form of red and blue flashing lights.
“Shit.” Philip pressed the intercom. “Get us the fuck out of here.”
Pretty sure Adrian had figured that one out already.
The vehicle sped up and took a sharp turn, tilting on two wheels. Philip settled into his seat, looking determined but not especially worried. Apparently they’d done this chase before.
It was a cold splash of reality. We were not just a man and woman. We could never be as simple as that.
He had an entire criminal empire. He had all of Chicago up in arms, fighting against him or for him. He had the entire police force looking for him.
And me? I was just a girl with no place to call home. No family, no future.
Again.
Chapter Sixteen
RAIN BEGAN TO fall as the sirens faded behind us. I could tell from the way Adrian twisted and turned through the city that we had a long way to go—evasive maneuvers to shake them off our direction.
Philip got on the phone, more riddles, more lies.
The pitter-patter of raindrops was a dark lullaby, and after hours of driving in circles, after hours of soft threats, I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke, I knew only warmth—the kind of warmth that came from another body, the kind of security that came from being watched over. My eyes blinked rapidly as they focused. I could see the seat in front of me, the one Philip had been in—empty.
And closer, beneath my cheek, black fabric.
I was resting on Philip’s thigh. The knowledge seeped into me like hot chocolate on a cold day, heating me up from the inside. He must have moved to sit by me. He must have moved to cradle me with his body, and after a lifetime of cold shoulders and stiff hugs, it felt incredible.
I let the movement of the vehicle jostle me. I didn’t want to wake up from this. I didn’t want to move.
“I don’t have time for his excuses,” he said on the phone, his voice low, almost blending into the purr of the engine, the rhythm of the rain. “Everything went sideways, and I want to know how.”
There was silence while the person on the other end spoke. I wouldn’t want to be him right now.
Philip growled. “I don’t care who you have to talk to. Kick down a fucking beehive. No one pulls this kind of shit on their own. They have friends, and you’re going to find them.”
Another pause.
“And get that fucking warrant withdrawn. Who signed it?”
My blood ran cold. I’d always known he had cops and lawyers in his pocket.
And judges too, apparently.
I sat up and pushed away from him. My body immediately missed his warmth, his solidity. But my heart needed the space. It especially needed the space when he snapped, “Remind him who he’s dealing with. Pretty sure he doesn’t want the world finding out about his grandson’s little problem.”
Then he hung up.
God, was no one innocent these days?
I wrapped my arms around myself and pressed against the far door, gaze trained on the window. The heavy rain had stopped, leaving the skies a dull gray and a smattering of drops clinging to the glass.
Philip definitely wasn’t innocent. Threatening judges, taking hostages. Really, that just scratched the surface of a man like him. Whatever had happened last night, whatever had led to him getting stabbed. Whatever had propelled him to my door in the middle of the night. They were sitting on top of Pandora’s Box, but if I looked inside, I would find horrible things.
Now that I had some space, there was a burning anger inside me.
It had seemed sweet, almost romantic that he had watched me, wanted me, waited for me. But the truth was that it was basically stalking. And the truth was that if he’d never watched me, he never would have shown up at my door, even in a moment of weakness.
And I wouldn’t have been facing the end of my former life.
“You feeling pissed off, kitten?” He sounded more amused than repentant.
I scowled at the window, refusing to face him. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“You should be raving fucking pissed, yeah. You should punch me in the face.”
“Are you mock
ing me?” He was. He was mocking me. “I could do it, you know.”
He spread his hands wide, which only emphasized the thick bulge of his muscles, the broad plane of his chest. “Come on then. One free punch. I won’t stop you.”
Without meaning to, I moved my body to face him—as if I was really going to do it. As if I was really going to punch him. I wasn’t going to, though…was I? I wasn’t even sure. This felt so topsy-turvy, as if I was in a room full of fun-house mirrors again—or I had never left. I looked like myself but different too. Both scary and afraid.
“I’ll do it,” I threatened, holding up my fist. But I was mostly stalling for time. I didn’t think I could hit him. I wasn’t sure it would even hurt him if I did.
“Go ahead.” He glanced out the window beside me. “We’re almost there. The offer expires in three…two…”
The truth was he deserved worse than a punch for ruining my life. It wasn’t the classes I would miss most or the date with Sloan. It was the chance at a normal life. A chance to have a family. There were strands I’d been braiding my whole life, and he had come along to cut them.
Of course I wasn’t sure I could actually punch him, even if he deserved it. Not without him physically threatening me. Back then, when those men had come for me, I’d fought them. I’d even hit Shelly, pumped up on adrenaline and terror.
If someone was attacking me, I would have fought back. But hitting someone who was just sitting there? Hitting Philip? I couldn’t, no matter how much he deserved it.
“Hit me first,” I told him.
That startled a laugh out of him. “What?”
“Come at me. You start to hit me, then I’ll do it.”
“I’m not going to hit you, kitten.”
“Well, I can’t hit you any other way.”
He sighed. “You know this is ridiculous, right?”
“How is it ridiculous?” To my underwater brain, this made the most sense of anything. “You know you deserve it. And if I were more…you know, bloodthirsty…I would have already done it. This is just…just enabling me.”