Page 21 of Behind the Shadows
“He’s coming. We have to go.” I pointed at him running from the tree line toward us. The stupid prick didn’t behave well, but I hadn’t expected him to.
Holland shook as she desperately searched for the car key in her purse. She finally managed to retrieve it, her fingers struggling to hold onto the small metal object. Without hesitation, I jammed the key into the ignition and revved the engine, tires screeching as I drove us out of the parking lot with a surge of adrenaline-fueled speed.
“He’ll get the license plate.” Holland’s voice was thin and laced with fear. She pressed herself against the door, her shoulders rigid. She had no reason to trust me, and she was smart to be afraid.
A protective growl rumbled from my throat. No one else was allowed to fuck with her. She didn’t know it yet, but she was mine. “Let him. I’ll be waiting.”
“Who are you?”
“I’ll tell you but let me make sure he’s not following us first.”
She fell silent as I navigated around the club building and into the back alleyways. We didn’t need to go far to find safety, and from this location I would see him coming a mile away.
Once I parked, I turned to her, searching. I hesitated, looking for any flicker of recognition, but there was nothing.
I studied her, a whirlwind of questions and thoughts consuming me like a relentless storm. If it was truly Samantha, then the way she was sitting calmly in front of me was beyond belief, and I was desperate for answers. No, I didn’t simply want them—I needed them.
A simmering, deadly rage churned in my gut like sour milk on a hot day.
My mother whispered inside my head as I stared at Holland, adding salt to the open wounds. That bitch would have to wait. I shoved the thoughts back into the dark recesses of my soul andfocused on finding out exactly who the woman in front of me really was.
This was the first time we’d been face-to-face, and she was even more stunning than when I’d watched her from her closet. Images of her perky tits and the curves of her toned ass while she walked to the shower flickered through my mind. She could never know that I was in her house … or that I planned to return.
Holland’s fiery red strands cascaded over her cheeks, partially hiding her features. But even through the veil of hair, her beauty was striking—porcelain skin dusted with freckles, a delicate nose, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. As I sat there, I tried to decide if this was the same girl from my childhood. If it was, then that meant somehow, she’d survived, and I struggled to wrap my head around how. There had been so much … blood.
I clenched my jaw, trying to suppress the urge to speak. Every fiber of my being wanted to demand answers, but I knew patience was key. Torn between pressing her for information and waiting for her to open up on her own, I fought against the onslaught of voices in my mind.
Suddenly, protectiveness for her consumed me, overshadowing any other concerns I may have had at the moment. I’d violated her space, her privacy—marked her without her knowing. But the second someone else touched her with the idea of harming her, every shred of possession in me snapped into action. She might not be mine yet, but I’d made my decision. No one else got to break her. Yet, amid this sense of duty, there lingered another issue that demanded attention. The question of who Holland really was and why she was here. Before I could even consider dealing with that shitshow, I needed to unravel another mystery.
“Who is he and what the fuck does he want with you?”
8
HOLLAND
The blood in my veins surged with such force that all I could hear was a deafening roar in my ears. Panic clawed at my throat, suffocating me as I frantically tried to escape the confines of the car. Each second seemed like a lifetime as I struggled to open the door and finally break free.
As I stumbled out into the night, every fiber of my being screamed for me to run, to protect myself from his potential ulterior motives. The stranger who had appeared in my driver’s seat had saved me from Draco, but at what cost? In my thirty-one years of life, I’d learned that every act of kindness came with a heavy price tag. I needed to find out his intentions and rid myself of him before it was too late.
Right as I started to stand, a pair of scuffed boots appeared in my line of vision.
“I asked you a question. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
He knelt and placed a warm palm on my waist as he took my hand in his. The heat of his touch seeped through my clothes, steadying me even as my knees trembled for reasons that had nothing to do with falling. His grip was firm but careful, as if hecould break me in half or hold me together—whichever he chose. A shiver raced up my spine, betrayal from my own body, while my mind screamed that no stranger should feel this familiar. He pulled me to my feet, and I couldn’t look away from him, caught between instinctive fear and something far more dangerous. A part of me thought I recognized him, but my old life was a blur—and Draco’s chase had me too rattled to trust my memory.
I rubbed my arms, warding off the chill that fear brought along with it. “As I said before, he’s evil. Stay away from him.”
Suddenly, his presence overwhelmed my senses, searing into my brain like the fierce heat of a branding iron. His hair was meticulously styled, with a short fade on the sides seamlessly transitioning into longer, thick strands on top. The sharp lines of his chiseled jaw hinted at an untamed strength, hidden beneath the surface, lurking behind the shadows like a predator waiting to pounce.
His jeans hugged every inch of his muscular thighs and long legs, exuding an undeniable strength that was hard to ignore. My attention was drawn to the defined contours of his broad shoulders, straining against the fabric of his black T-shirt. As my gaze slid down his arm, the sinister snake tattoo seemed to whisper a warning of darkness and danger lurking inside him. But the red devil tattoo drew me in like the devil himself was summoning me.
The urge to touch him was sudden and unwelcome. I flexed my fingers, fighting the impulse to reach over and trace the edges of his tattoo with my thumb. He radiated a heat that made the air shimmer, an invisible current that grabbed me and refused to let go.
His brow arched as if I’d offered him a challenge. Completely ignoring my warning, he said, “I’m Kip, by the way. I own the Velvet Vortex.”
For some reason, I had enjoyed time to myself at the restaurant. Maybe it was the warm and inviting atmosphere, but it had always made me feel safe.
“That’s where I’ve seen you before.” I licked my lips, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was.
