Page 110 of Filthy Elites

“Viks!” I hunker down, practically burying my face against his chest. “Put me down,” I practically beg. “Please.”

He doesn’t even break his stride. In fact, his only response happens when we hit the elevators. “Grab my keycard out of my pocket,” he orders.

I look up at his face. “And if I don’t?” If I don’t then he’ll have to put me down, right?

His cool eyes meet mine once more. “You’re testing the limits of my patience, sweetheart.”

I reluctantly slip my hand into his pocket—trying hard not to think about what else is nearby. The only thing I can feel aside from his car keys is a flat card that turns out to be black when I pull it out. “Is this it?”

He nods. “Swipe it against the elevator button,” he orders, moving me closer so I can lean over and do so. The elevator doors slide open and he steps inside.

“Which floor?”

He shakes his head as the doors shut behind us. “The card only takes us to the appropriate floor—they’ll probably put in codes soon so there’s no need for the card itself.”

“Wow,” I mutter. “Fancy.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, but only slightly. And, as if he catches himself, it’s gone a moment later, replaced by that familiar frown of his. We ascend in the elevator in relative silence as I contemplate my options.

What will convince him to let me go? What do I have to do to prove that this is unnecessary? I think.

A moment later, though, another thought forms—what if it isn’t unnecessary? I mean, he has a good point. The dealer knows who I am now; I’ve seen his face and he could want to get rid of me simply because of that. What small time drug dealer goes around killing everyone they run into, though? No, wait. Would he even be considered ‘small’ if someone like Viks is after him?

I turn my eyes back up to the man holding me as the elevator slows to a stop and the doors open once more. He steps out into a short hallway. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he sets me on my feet and then moves ahead of me, leaving me with little else to do but trail after him.

“Viks…” I start, only to drift off as we walk out into a sunken living room that looks straight out of a High-rise Living Magazine.

A large, white U-shaped couch dominates the space and instead of a massive television, there’s just a massive wall of windows overlooking the city. I’m not sure what I was expecting of him—barren walls maybe, a TV for sure, but certainly not a perfectly clean living area. It doesn’t have any hint of him at all.

In fact, it looks as though he moved in just like this—there’s no hint of him even living here. No small knickknacks. No clothes strewn about. Even the plants that line a few of the corners of the big open room are fake. It’s as if he’s only here for a short time, perpetually waiting for the day he just disappears and leaves it all behind. That almost makes me sad.

Viks is either unaware of my perusal of his space or he doesn’t care because he doesn’t comment on it as he walks past me and into the kitchen situated directly across from the living room. I blow out a breath.

“If I stay here,” I start, following after him. “I’m going to need clothes.”

He nods towards an open doorway off the living room. “I had a friend stop by and pick up some of your things,” he says. “You’re welcome to check it out.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “What about my classes?” I press.

“Your instructors have been informed of your absence from class for the foreseeable future and special accommodations have been made.”

“Special accommodations?” I repeat. “What does that mean? I still have my senior project to work on. I can’t exactly do that here.” I gesture around the room. Just imagining it full of dust and paint and drop cloths makes me feel kind of itchy—like I’d be invading the space of some unknown stranger. If this place looked even a little bit like him, it wouldn’t be nearly as odd.

Viks walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water before turning towards me and setting it on the island counter between us. “You can do whatever you need from this apartment,” he states. “Until further notice, you can consider yourself under house arrest.”

“House arrest?” I frown at him.

He arches a brow. “Are you going to keep repeating what I tell you?”

Propping my hands on my hips, my frown morphs into a scowl. “Yeah,” I snap. “I am until you start making some sense. I can’t do my art here.”

“Oh?” He uncaps his bottled water and then takes a sip. My gaze slides down to the strong lines of his throat as he swallows. “Why not?” he asks, lowering the bottle a moment later.

“I-it’s your, I mean, I don’t want to mess up your place.” I look away, letting my arms drop.

He snorts. “Ruin it,” he says. “I don’t care.”

My head jerks up and I gape at him in shock. “This place is probably super expensive,” I say.

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