Chapter 12
KENNA
K enna sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a little nervous. The hotel room was nicer than she’d expected—modern decor, soft lighting, and a faint hint of lavender in the air, probably from some overachieving cleaning spray. It wasn’t homey, but it felt...safe.
She smoothed her skirt over her thighs as Cliff emerged from the bathroom. He was still wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and his grin was disarming as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“So,” he said, his voice teasing, “is this the part where you tell me I look better online?”
Kenna laughed. “No way. You’re even cuter in person.”
“Good,” Cliff said, closing the space between them. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been dreaming about this for months.”
He leaned down, and she tilted her face up, meeting him halfway. His kiss was soft at first, testing the waters, but it deepened quickly. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, and she felt her heartbeat quicken as his fingers reached behind her for her dress’s zipper.
And for a moment, she let herself get lost in it. Cliff smelled like cedarwood and something warm, like cinnamon, and his touch was careful, like he was afraid to go too far too fast, and compared to his prior urgency in the car it was...sweet.
Then the door exploded open, slamming against the wall.
Cliff spun, shielding her instinctively, as a towering figure stormed into the room.
It was him—the man from the coffee shop and again at Chelly’s party.
The one with the too-intense stare and the unsettling way of speaking.
But now, under brighter lights, clean-shaven and dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he looked even more imposing.
His sharp brown eyes locked on hers, and her stomach dropped.
“What the hell?” Cliff snapped, staying between them. “Who are you, and how did you?—”
“I don’t have time for you, human,” the man growled, shoving Cliff aside like he wasn’t even there.
Kenna scrambled to her feet, her pulse hammering in her ears. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re in danger. We need to leave. Now.”
He made to grab for her, and she shrieked in surprise, dancing back.
“Know that I regret this,” he announced, his voice calm, yet terrifyingly final. He waved his hand at her. “Be silent.”
She inhaled to scream—and nothing came out. Air rushed from her lungs, but the silence was absolute. Panic surged as she turned desperate eyes to Cliff—and froze.
Cliff was holding a gun.
“As for you,” the stranger said, wheeling on her erstwhile boyfriend.
“I would tear off every part of you that ever touched her,” he said, not concerned by Cliff’s sudden armament in the least. “But I don’t want to scare her.
So you will be silent, too, or you will wish that you had never been born. ”
The gun in Cliff’s hand wavered, and he missed his moment to shoot as the stranger swept the firearm from his grip, looking at it with disdain.
“Another one of these,” he muttered before hurling it into the back of the hotel room.
Then, with nothing left between him and her, his gaze softened—but only slightly.
“Seris,” he said calmly, his voice softer, but no less resolute. “You are coming with me.”
And before she could protest—like she even could protest—he picked her up, took her out of the room, and started carrying her down the hall.