Page 46 of Assassin's Obsession

"They weren't talking about my ladybits, they were complimenting me on my strength. Keep up."

Mario licks the tip of his glove covered finger and makes a sizzle sound. "Tsss…"

Done with this conversation and ready for this night to be over, I turn to Derian. "As fun as this is, I need to get home. Can I go now?"

I don't assume I can just leave. I figure there's at least one round of threats about keeping my lips zipped before they'll let me go.

There is a glimmer of something that looks like pity in the made man's eyes. "You know that's not going to happen."

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," I remind him.

"We are not going to hurt you. We're going to keep you safe." As improbable as it should be, the voice of the man who just murdered one of his cohorts rings with truth.

Derian and Mario arenotgoing to hurt me. At all. And sometime during the conversation with Stefano, Derian's hold on me relaxed. He's growing complacent, thinking I'm not going anywhere.

Because I'm talking to them like all of this is normal?

Too bad for him, my guard hasn't dropped once. Taking advantage of the loosened hold, I launch forward with the strength of my dancer's legs and sprint toward the mouth of the alley again.

"Hey!" Mario's voice rings after me.

Derian doesn't say anything, but I know it's the sound of his shoes hitting pavement behind me. I increase the length of my strides, running as fast as I can. I'm a dancer. Every muscle in my body is strong, but my core and legs are next level.

I canpas de bourrée couruacross a stage in seconds. Using a longer stride, I'm even faster as I speed toward the street.

Unfortunately, apparently, made men trained to be on Angelo's crew are also fast. The sound of Derian's feet getting closer spurs me into a burst of even more speed. My foot hits the pavement of the sidewalk just as a hard arm comes around my stomach.

If I had the core muscles of a regular person, his hold and my momentum would knock the wind out of me. I don't. It doesn't. And I scream as loud as I can.

Not a single head of the early morning revelers turns toward me. One man dressed as a ghoul veers into the street to avoid walking near me.

Derian's not going to hurt me, but I'm not under the same compunction when it comes to him. I send an elbow straight into his side and swing my legs forward to gain momentum before kicking backward.

I hit his shins so hard with the heel of my tennis shoes, pain jars up my own legs.

"Fuck," he grunts.

But he doesn't let me go. I don't give up. I throw my head back, trying to connect with his chin. Anticipating the move, he shuffles me downward by shifting his hold on me to his other arm across my collarbone.

His fingertips dig into my shoulder as my head connects harmlessly with his chest. Harmless to him. Pain radiates through the back of my head.

"Stop that. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Let me go!" This time when I yell, a group of people turn their heads.

"You okay, lady?" a youthful voice asks.

"Say yes if you don't want that kid and his friends to end up collateral damage," Derian says in a tone that sends chills through me.

Damn it. No way am I going to let that happen. And somehow my kidnapper knows it.

"I'm fine," I yell. "My boyfriend is an asshole, but he won't hurt me."

"Fuck, don't call me your boyfriend."

"You don't want to be known as a stripper's boyfriend, don't try to kidnap one."

"What I don't want is to die," he says fervently.

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