I shoved my feet into the sneakers and swung the bag over my shoulder, only for him to snatch it from me.
“You’re not carrying anything,” he snarled, like I’d broken some unwritten rule, hitching the bag over one of his big shoulders.
Sasha held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, I took it. His long, rough fingers entwined with mine, and we walked toward the door.
My heart did another violent and traitorous jump. The pressure of his hand wasn’t controlling, it was claiming.
I couldn’t help but lean into it ever so slightly.
This wasn’t a kidnapping. It was me stepping toward something dangerous, recklessly yet unapologetically, because it made me feel more alive and more wanted than anything else ever had.
As we stepped into the hallway, I realized with sudden clarity that it was his calm, terrifying certainty hooking me right from the beginning. Sasha wanted me, perhaps to a scary degree, but I didn’t care.
I chose it, which might have been the most unhinged decision I have ever made.
“You’re not actually going to murder me, right?” I whispered one last time because apparently I needed verbal confirmation.
He squeezed my hand, just once. “No. You’re mine. I protect what is mine.”
My stomach flipped. His words shouldnothave been romantic and yet the fucked-up part of my brain decided it absolutely was.
Against all reason, I walked out the door with him, somehow feeling lighter than I could ever remember feeling.
Chapter 23
Sasha
LeavingAddy’sapartmentfeltlike willingly being pulled into a hurricane, with my chest pinned to the eye. She was the storm: the chaos and exhilaration I knew I would never escape, yet couldn’t stop pursuing.
She gripped my hand like she wasn’t entirely sure whether to hold on tighter or run away. Which, frankly, I considered both thrilling and adorable. I wasn’t opposed to some chasing but she’d never escape me.
Addy had packed with chaotic efficiency, and I watched her every move, my pulse ticking faster than it should have for a simple observation. She was the kind of beautiful that pained you, the kind of human chaos threatening to dismantle your control. And somehow, I felt like the anchor in her storm.
“Eyes off me, stalker. You’re making it hard not to like it,” she muttered, her cheeks staining pink.
“I’m allowed to stare.” My thumb brushed against hers where our hands were linked, deliberately, because I could.
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m appreciating.”
Appreciating was not merely staring, it was cataloging. Every flare of her nostrils, every impatient twitch of her jaw, every little microexpression she didn’t know I could already read — it was all mine.
“Appreciation, sure,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “That’s the kind of thing a criminal mastermind would say to justify stalking.”
“I prefer ‘obsession’,” I offered smoothly, and she almost tripped.
Almost, but I was there to catch her of course. Addy felt way too fucking good in my arms, just how I knew she would.
We reached the stairwell and the humid Florida night embraced us. Her duffel was slung over my shoulder, and I tightened my grip on her hand ever so slightly. It was the kind of small, deliberate pressure making it impossible for her to ignore me, impossible for me to ignore how her body seemed to hum in rhythm with mine.
“You don’t have to hold my hand like I’m going to bolt.”
My chest tightened abruptly, as if someone had twisted a knife in a spot I hadn’t realized was vulnerable.
Yeah, not taking any chances, Little Devil.
“You might trip again,” I countered.