Page 174 of Fractured Allegiance
"Heading out?" Harry asks from across the room.
"Yeah. Meeting."
He nods, doesn't ask questions. People around here know better.
I walk out into the late afternoon air. The sky's overcast, heavy and gray like it's holding its breath.
I get in my car and drive east.
Toward the tower.
Toward whatever Drazen has waiting.
Chapter 19 – Lydia - Used Things Stay
The first thing I notice is how goddamn cold I am.
My body still feels like it belongs to the last room I was in, back at the Solstice Club. The bite of Silas’s stare. The chill of his absence as he walked away from me after I refused to go with him. The sting of him not trying to convince me further.
I blink.
The second thing is that this room is too perfect. Too precise. Cream-white walls, glass sconces spilling amber light, and a bed that smells like no one’s ever slept in it. No dust. No clutter. Like it’s been waiting for me. Or for someone they expected to bleed quietly.
My wrists aren’t tied. My ankles are bare. I’m wearing the same dress from last night. The black one. The one that made Dom smirk and Drazen narrow his eyes when I walked in.
Dom.
I sit up too fast. My head reels.
I remember him, the way he came up behind me after Silas left the club. That fake, serpent-smooth voice saying, “Driver’s waiting. You’re to ride along, make sure the drop goes clean.”
I didn’t buy it.
Then came the part I can’t remember clearly. The moment after the SUV door’s been opened, I was questioning him about the drop off. A pressure against my spine. A voice, his, getting closer and farther at the same time.
They must’ve used something.
I touch my neck. No bruises. No needle mark. But my memories are scattered. Like they didn’t want to hurt me. Just relocate me. Like furniture.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand.
The room gives itself away in pieces. Too clean to be a hotel. Too expansive to be anything short of a penthouse. The furniture is custom. Glossy black wood, smoked glass, chrome legs. There’s a side table with a crystal decanter and two glasses. Whiskey. Poured for two. Untouched.
I cross to the door. Try the knob.
Locked.
Of course.
I smile without meaning to. Not because this is genuinely funny, but because it’s so fucking predictable.
They could’ve just asked me to stay. Hell, they could’ve threatened me outright. Instead, they do this: lace it all in velvet and call it protection. I’ve seen it a thousand times. This isn’t confinement. This is control wearing perfume.
A click echoes behind me.
I turn.
Dom walks in like he’s entering his own living room.
