Page 40 of My Masked Savior
“I…” I don’t know what to say. He’s intense. Heshouldscare me. I should cut ties and run. But I like him so much. Maybe more than like, as insane as that is.
“Look, we’ll talk about it at my place, okay?” Damien says, his cold palm cupping my cheek. “Someone’s going to come through this way eventually.”
I take a deep breath and nod. “Let’s go.”
“That’s my good girl,” Damien whispers, making me shiver from more than just the cold. Before I can psychoanalyze my insanity, he turns to pick Marco up, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman carry, careless as if he were a sack of potatoes. I find a little bit of pleasure in it.
We walk to his car with hurried steps, and I keepglancing around, waiting for someone to see us, homeless people, or another person trying to get to their car. Oh, shit!
“I ordered an Uber,” I tell Damien, looking back in the direction of Times Square.
“I canceled it,” he replies in that low, confident voice.
“H—how?” I stutter.
He grinds his jaw. “I’ll tell you later.”
I gape at him. Jesus. Am I insane for going with him? Who is this man, and just what is he capable of?
14
DAMIEN
Ipull into the narrow alleyway behind my building, killing the headlights before parking near the service entrance. Marco’s unconscious body slumps in the backseat, head lolled against the window. I glance at Morgan in the passenger seat. Her face is pale, eyes glassy in the dim light filtering from the street.
“Stay close and don’t make a sound,” I tell her, my voice low and firm.
She nods, biting her lip.
I exit the car and circle to the back, hauling Marco over my shoulder again. His weight barely registers—I’ve carried heavier loads through worse terrain. Morgan climbs out, wrapping her arms around herself against the winter cold. Her breath forms small clouds in the frigid air.
“Come on.” I jerk my head toward the service door.
She follows without hesitation, though I catch the tremor in her hands as she walks beside me. I punch in the access code, and the lock clicks open. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz, casting harsh shadowsacross the concrete floor and exposed pipes. Our footsteps echo too loud in the empty corridor.
The freight elevator waits at the end of the hall. I press the call button with my elbow, Marco’s dead weight shifting on my shoulder. Morgan stands close enough that I can smell her perfume.
The elevator groans open, and we step inside. I hit the button for my floor, watching Morgan’s reflection in the dull metal doors. She’s staring at Marco’s limp form, at the blood matting his hair where I struck him.
“Eyes on me, princess,” I command softly.
Her gaze snaps to mine. Good. I need her focused, need her with me.
The elevator jerks to a stop, and the doors slide open. I lean out, checking the hallway. Empty. Three doors down to my apartment. I move quickly, Morgan’s footsteps light behind me.
A moment later, I unlock the door, and we’re inside. I lock it behind us with one hand, the automatic deadbolt sliding home with a satisfying thunk.
Morgan stands in my entryway, arms wrapped tight around her middle, watching me with those dark eyes. This moment marks the change between us. Where she either accepts what I am or runs screaming.
I stride down the hallway, Marco’s weight familiar and manageable across my shoulders. At the end, a concealed door waits, devoid of handle or keyhole. Just a small black panel mounted at eye level.
I lean forward, letting the scanner read my face. A soft beep, then the lock disengages with a mechanical click.
The door swings inward on silent hinges.
Behind me, Morgan’s breath catches. I hear it—thatsmall, sharp intake of air. But she doesn’t stop walking. Her footsteps follow mine across the threshold.
I flip the light switch.
