1. Liath #2
I pulled the phone away and stared at the screen until it went dark, my jaw locking so tight my teeth ached. I typed out a text with shaking thumbs.
Me: Bish. Where tf are you?
Nothing came back.
I took a sip of my fresh drink, the hairs on my arms lifting again. I was too exposed at this bar, like the overhead lights were peeling me open for anyone who cared to look. I turned on the stool and scanned the room.
Jesus, had The Vault always been this dark?
Candlelight flickered from brass sconces mounted in rich wooden panels, shadows haunting the stone walls.
Ruby wax dripped thick down half-burned candles, pooling like heavy blood across tables crowded with elbows and half-empty glasses.
The mirrors, old and freckled with black spots, multiplied the faces until they warped.
My gaze snagged on the darker corner near the stone arch.
A man sat still, half in shadow. Facing me. Watching me.
I looked away first.
Maybe Michael sent someone after me. To fetch me after I left his stupid fundraiser early.
Maybe this was what happened when I spoke out of turn.
Christ, dramatic much, Liath?
I lifted my glass and downed half in one swallow, it burning down my throat and settling heavy in my stomach.
I checked the antique mirror behind the bar, trying not to be obvious.
He hadn’t moved. His glass sat untouched, his body angled toward me. Not the room. Not the bar.
Toward me.
His hand lifted from his table, slow and deliberate. Two fingers tapped once against the rim of his glass. Then one finger rose to his lips in a quiet, measured shush.
My synesthesia flared, pressure landing on my own mouth as if he had touched me for real, the phantom weight of his fingertip resting against my lips, intimate and wrong.
Shit.
My hand flew up to my mouth, and my breath hitched hard in my chest. Heat followed, low and unwelcome, curling through my stomach and settling there. I caught myself leaning forward.
I hated that. I hated that my body reacted. I hated that I didn’t look away fast enough.
Get a grip, Liath.
I grabbed my bag and my phone and slid off the stool too fast, the legs screeching across the stone floor.
The man moved, too.
“Feck,” I breathed.
He was after me.
I headed for the corridor that led past the toilets and toward the back exit.
He followed.
The music dulled behind me as I pushed through the heavy side door and cold air hit my skin, smelling of damp stone and rubbish. Wind cut across my face and tugged at the hem of my coat as I hurried away from the bar.
Brilliant idea, legging it into a dark alley in heels.
I hit Aisling’s number again. It rang twice, then again.
Nothing.
“Come on, Ash,” I muttered, glancing back over my shoulder.
The shadows shifted.
I redialed.
Still nothing.
My heart thudded so loudly that it drowned out everything else. I called Ava next, barely breathing.
Fuck. Fuck. Straight to voicemail.
“Oh my God, Ava. Help me,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Ava, where are you?”
My chest hitched, and I broke into a run, my heels striking the slick cobblestones in sharp, frantic clacks that bounced off the alley walls and came back at me.
The echo of his footsteps continued to follow me, slow and measured, making my blood run cold.
“I’m being followed,” I said into the phone, even though I knew she couldn’t help me. “He’s coming for me.”
The footsteps simply kept coming.
I ended the call and ran harder.
A shadow shifted near the corner ahead.
I stopped short, pulse slamming hard enough to blur my vision.
A man stepped forward, not the one from the bar but shorter and built differently.
“Been expecting you,” he said, his north Dublin accent rough in my ears.
The alley seemed to narrow all at once, brick and darkness and wet pavement pressing in until there was nowhere left for me.
Fuck. I backed up and turned to run. But my heel caught in a crack in the pavement, and I stumbled.
His hand locked around my arm, fingers biting deep enough that my whole shoulder jolted with the force of it.
I twisted and tried to wrench free.
“Get off me,” I snapped, even as panic clawed up my throat.
His hand slammed over my mouth, his arm knocking my phone from my grip, sending it skidding across the alley.
I bit down hard and slammed my elbow back with everything I had, instincts kicking in.
He let out a curse, but he didn’t let go.
The first set of footsteps came up behind us, firm and measured.
Oh fuck. He had a partner.
My thoughts scattered in every direction at once. Two men. Two exits gone. Brick at my back, his body at my front, another one closing in. I was about to be torn apart between them.
The pressure on my mouth vanished, and the grip around my waist released.
My attacker jerked sideways as a dull thud echoed against brick. He hit the ground hard and stayed there.
I staggered back, sucking air that did nothing to fill my lungs.
The man from the bar stood silhouetted between me and the alley mouth, tall and still, every line of him held with authority.
He crouched beside the fallen man, pressing two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. After a brief pause, he rose to his full height and faced me.
I could not make out his features clearly in the dim light, but his posture radiated control, as if nothing about this moment had surprised him.
“He won’t touch you again,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Relief hit me so fast it made my knees weak. Thank God. Finally, someone decent.
He stepped closer.
My muscles were still coiled tight with adrenaline, screaming at me to run, to back away from this new, towering shadow. But then his scent hit me, dark, warm, and expensive. Musk and spice layered over clean skin.
My synesthesia flared, translating it into a low, bassy cello note dragging across thick strings, the melody vibrating through my ribs. The sheer, overwhelming gravity of it overrode my panic. My body stilled for him, betraying my fear as I involuntarily leaned into his touch.
“Easy,” he murmured and reached for me slowly.
Something sharp pressed into my arm.
I gasped.
The prick registered a second too late.
A needle. He fucking stabbed me with a needle.
My muscles tried to react, but my limbs were heavier and slower. No. No, no, no.
My body went slack as if the strings inside me had been cut. I felt strangely weightless when he caught me and lifted me into his arms, the ground slipping away beneath my heels. His scent intensified, and the cello note deepened, vibrating through me.
The alley light caught part of his face as he leaned closer. A strong, stubbled jaw. Eyes shadowed and unreadable.
But my vision blurred at the edges before I could fix the details in place.
The cello didn’t stop when my eyes closed. It followed me into the black.