Chapter 5
Jordan
The silence in the car presses against my eardrums until every breath echoes in my chest. My heart pounds so loudly, I’m certain he hears the heavy, unbroken rhythm filling the dead air.
But if the shark guy notices, he gives nothing away.
I try slow, measured breaths. In and out. I tell myself to stay calm and present, but my electric body tingles with the never-ending circuit of fear. My lungs hitch like they forgot what to do. Primal danger lurks beneath my ribs.
The door is so close I could reach out and open the handle if I wanted to. Hurl myself out into the night.
The wild, desperate idea thrums through me. The pavement racing past outside would rip me open and probably break me to pieces. I might even die on impact.
But at least my death would be my choice.
Not his.
Now I understand why wild animals will chew through their own legs to get out of a trap.
I glance at the speedometer. Sixty-five.
My hands go clammy when I picture the asphalt pulling strips off my flesh. Even worse, I’m certain that if I survived, he’d come right after me. Pick me up and toss me back in the car. Maybe even in the trunk.
If I’m lucky.
I know what awaits people who try to escape him.
I felt the aftermath under the tires.
So I stay where I am, trapped in a quiet so loud I’m drowning, with every instinct screaming.
Four bodies. And that poor guy he left alive…
I squeeze my eyes shut, eager to block out the memory of blood on pavement and screams cutting through the night air.
Breathe out fear. Breathe in abundance.
The words slide through my mind, working to push away everything else. This mantra has gotten me through so many bad experiences over the years.
But tonight, the fear sticks to my ribs like tar, proving impossible to dislodge.
Each breath brings the scent of his skin. Soap and copper and cold, like steel left out in winter.
That’s not copper. There was so much blood. It’s still on his hands.
I try another approach, reaching for the familiar framework that makes sense of the world.
The universe doesn’t deal in accidents or coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.
This man, this moment, must have a purpose. I’ve survived terrible things before. Been surrounded by violence with little hope. When I slept under that bridge for six months, I had nothing but day-old bagels and the clothes on my back.
I survived that, and I will survive this.
Opening my eyes, I force myself to really look at him.
His profile is carved in shadow, his face as blank as glass. No flicker in those moonstone eyes. He just drives, every movement practiced and spare. Hands at two and ten on the wheel, steady as a clock, each shift of the gears relentless and smooth.
I take in the hard line of his jaw. The absolute stillness of his expression. The way his hands sit loose but ready, like weapons at rest. His dominating presence fills the car.
In any other circumstance, he’d be the man of my dreams. The strong, decisive, capable, handsome…
Killer. A real dreamboat.
Since when do I find murder sexy?
I shake the thought away.
He’s not a monster. He’s a wounded soul trapped in a cycle of violence.
His aura is a tight black knot, constricted by trauma, his pain turned outward instead of processed.
He’s operating from his root chakra, which houses basic needs.
Survival instincts, security, stability, and shelter.
His chi is completely cut off from his heart, stifling his compassion.
I find a strange kind of comfort in this assessment.
I have a role. I’m not a victim. I’m a healer. And he’s a challenge, sent by the universe to test my abilities. This is a high-stakes energetic realignment.
I just need to stay centered, find the crack in his armor, and shine a little light. I’ve guided people through worse. Helped them transform.
I can do this.
His head turns, and his eyes leave the road to fix on me.
That bright blue gaze reveals nothing.
No anger or cruelty. Not even curiosity. Just deep and absolute awareness. A shark’s eyes.
I return his gaze, the hair on my arms prickling. I won’t back down, won’t show this predator any fear. His unblinking eyes remain on my face. Heat tingles in my cheeks and travels down my neck.
I’ve never had a man’s attention this long. This…intensely.
Cold sweat breaks out all over my body.
Seconds stretch, elastic and unbearable.
“Watch the road.” The words barely clear my constricted throat. Getting in a wreck might be safer than jumping out of the car, but I’d still rather not endure an accident for no good reason.
He just stares, like I’m a puzzle he’s deciding whether to solve or trash. My hands clench into fists on my thighs.
I glance away first, unable to hold that empty gaze a moment longer.
The car drifts a little in the lane, and my heart leaps up into my throat.
We’re going to crash.
After everything he’s done, he’s going to kill us both with his indifference to basic traffic safety.
The passenger mirror scrapes against a bush lining the sidewalk. I gasp, gripping my seat belt as my chest seizes.
The car coasts back to the dead center of the lane.
I dare to peer back over at my captor. When I find him watching the road again with an unchanged expression, I exhale a slow, careful breath.
This might be more of a challenge than I anticipated.
We veer off the main highway, weaving through suburban streets where houses huddle behind high fences like frightened things. As we drive, the neighborhoods grow progressively nicer. Larger lots, taller gates, and fewer streetlights.
Wealth that desires privacy. Money that demands to be left alone.
It’s unerringly familiar.
He slows the car as we approach the massive wrought-iron gate that materializes from the darkness. The metal slides open without a sound. No code entered. No button pressed.
The car crunches over gravel, the headlights illuminating a long, curved driveway bordered by perfectly shaped shrubs.
A house more reminiscent of a modern fortress than a home stands at the end, with gray slabs that form differently sized squares squished together.
The building is all sharp angles and defensive blocks. Stone and glass and concrete combine in a structure that seems designed to repel rather than welcome. Vacant windows gape from behind white trim and dark shutters. The grass-covered yard is trimmed short like a recruit’s haircut.
The place screams high-end architecture.
Who wants to live in…
The thought stops as I look at the man who snatched me from my home.
This guy matches his house.
“Scary.” The word tumbles out before I can stop my mouth.
His cold eyes narrow. “Not if you’re good.” Stark fact, delivered with no hesitation. No question of my obedience.
I snap my mouth shut. I’m not a blind follower of orders, but what else can I do? If I fight back, if I try to run, I’m willing to bet he won’t hesitate to punish me.
For a moment, my mind slips out of this car and into the house.
Maybe, if I bolted, he’d grab me by the wrist and force me into a bedroom. If he tied me down, or tied me up, then he’d have to stay right by the bed to ensure I didn’t try anything else…
What the hell am I thinking?
I chance a glance at the man and find him still staring. My face tingles under his frigid—but no longer empty—gaze.
Was he thinking the same thing?
No way.
I dig my nails into my palms, the pain bringing me back to reality.
The chaos of the night has fried my brain cells.
He stops the car in the vacant driveway and gets out in one fluid motion.
No wasted movement. Nothing unnecessary.
The door closes with a soft click that somehow feels more threatening than a slam.
He peers at me through the windshield. “Come.”
A muffled command, not an invitation. Like I’m his dog.
I frown but scramble out, smoothing down my loose cotton dress with shaking hands. The fabric feels absurdly soft and insubstantial now. Its flowing tie-dyed pattern clashes against the brutal architecture surrounding me.
The house, a temple to minimalism and intimidation, looms above us. He glides toward the black front door without checking to see if I follow. He doesn’t need to.
We both know I have no other choice.
Inside, the space is vast and cold.
Marble floors capture our footsteps and throw them back, amplified and accusatory.
Everything appears immaculate and brutally clean.
Leather and metal and glass arranged with surgical precision.
No photographs. No personal touches. Nothing to suggest a human being lives here rather than some sentient algorithm.
I address him with a feigned smile. “Is this your house?” I’ll find something to compliment about it, I’m sure.
He jerks his chin toward the black couch. “Sit. Don’t go anywhere.” He vanishes down a hallway, his footsteps soon fading to nothing.
The silence that follows seems like a test. I stand in the center of the living room, a splash of patterned color in a world of black and gray. There are no salt lamps here. No crystals catching light or tapestries to soften harsh edges.
I’ve never felt more out of place or exposed.
I wait until I’m sure he’s gone before I wander. I need to understand this place. To feel my way through and around, to find its secrets and energy.
I drift to the wall beside the stone fireplace and press my palm against the cool gray surface. Nothing comes back to me.
Only dead space, insulated against intuition. I trail my fingers over a metal sculpture perched on a glass side table. Cold glaciates my palm, radiating an emptiness that causes my teeth to ache.
Abstract, expensive, and meaningless.
The black leather couch is the same. Butter-soft and recently reconditioned but with no imprint to suggest people sit here. No memories or echoes of life.
This isn’t a home. It’s a clean room.
A space designed to leave no trace behind. Even the air appears filtered and scrubbed clean of any identifying particle. I’ve never been somewhere so resistant to being known.