Page 148 of Wilde and Deadly

She forced her eyes open.

And there he was.

The one who had held her back while Sabin was beaten into the ground. The one who had hurt Weston.

He sat across from her, his flat, dark gaze watching through the holes of the black balaclava he still wore.

Her muscles screamed in protest as she fought to sit up. Thick restraints dug into her wrists. Zip ties. She twisted, testing them, but they held firm. She turned her head, swallowing against the nausea rising in her throat, and saw the looming silhouette of a building through the window.

The Echelon.

Atlas Frost’s luxury hotel. A sanctuary for the world’s most powerful, where billion-dollar deals were sealed over whiskey. And now, it seemed, where captives were delivered like gifts.

She needed to get out of here.

Across from her, the icy bastard sat motionless, his dark gaze fixed straight ahead. Lights on, nobody home. It was weird. Unnervingly weird.

If she hadn’t seen his buddies bleed out back in the tunnel, she might’ve wondered if they were all machines.

But maybe he was distracted. Maybe?—

She sucked in a breath and threw her weight toward the door in a last-ditch effort to escape.

She didn’t have any real hope of it working. But she had to try.

Before she even registered his movement, he was already there, blocking her. One brutal hand wrapped around her throat.

Not squeezing.

Just there.

Just a reminder that she was his prey.

She froze.

He didn’t even glance at her. Didn’t react like he’d stopped an escape attempt. He just… adjusted to the situation. Like she was nothing more than a variable in an equation.

God. Maybe he really was a machine.

Her pulse fluttered under his fingertips as she glared at him, breathing hard.

“If I kick you, do you reboot?”

Nothing. No flicker of irritation, no hint of anger. He simply released her, shoved her back in the seat, and turned his head toward the window as the SUV slowed.

Her throat burned where his fingers had pressed. She wanted to lunge at him again. Wanted to fight, to make him feel something.

“Seriously, I’ve seen mannequins with more personality.”

Still nothing.

She huffed out a laugh, shifting against her restraints, testing the zip ties again—not that it would do her any good.

“What are you, some kind of experiment?”

His fingers twitched, and he finally looked straight at her.

A cold ripple skated down her spine.

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