Page 16 of Every Shade of Shadow

Outside, the driver doesn’t speak, or even say hello. He simply opens the back door of the SUV, ushering me inside.

I slide into the plush leather interior, the door closing behind me.

Limos, mysterious SUVs…I could get used to this.

The tinted windows cut off the outside world, sealing me in as the engine hums to life.

Sabrina would kill me if she knew I was stepping into a strange car about to be taken who knows where, but it’s too late. I’m in this now.

My fingers curl into edge of the seat, gripping until my knuckles go bone white.

You’ve done it now, I tell myself.

The SUV is already gliding forward, moving swiftly through the streets.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The soft vibration of the engine is almost soothing.

Almost.

Because underneath it simmers a coil of panic and anticipation. I don't know what's waiting for me at the end of this ride. All I know is that I've handed myself over to Wolf, given him complete control. In a way, it’s liberating.

The thought makes me squirm in my seat, warmth pressing between my legs. I hate how much I want this. How much I need it. How my body comes alive at the mere thought of what he might do to me, but that’s all fantasy. I may never see him again.

We drive for a good half-hour, finally pulling up to what appears to be an airstrip—small, private. My heart’s thumping so hard I'm sure the driver must hear it.

The door opens with a soft click, even that causes me to jump.

"We're here, Miss." The driver stands by the open door beside me, hand extended. I let him help me out, the air hot.

There’s an all-white jet just twenty yards away. “That’s not for…”

“Yes,” he says simply, “I believe it is. Courtesy of the Academy.”

I’ve never been on a jet before. Flew to Dallas once in cattle class so Gran could watch the Cowboys, but this, this is something else.

I notice the driver holding a flute of champagne out, the pale gold liquid sparkling.

Where the fuck that came from, I have no idea. I’ve been watching him the entire time.

“For the flight,” he says, “to calm your nerves, and celebrate. Again, courtesy of the Academy.” He sees my expression. “It’s perfectly safe, I assure you.”

Nerves. So it’s that obvious, huh? That’s how transparent I am?

My mouth goes dry. I stare at the offered drink, suspicion curling in my gut.

Sab’s screaming in my head again.

Don’t drink it! It’s a roofie!

I take the champagne flute but have no intention of drinking.

The driver moves to close the door behind me.

I lift the flute to my nose, the bubbles ticklish.

I mean, it smells like champagne?

And you know what Rohypnol smells like? I consider, though I’m pretty sure it’s odorless.

---