13: Your Time Is Running Out
ALEXA
My black dress clung to my body like a second skin, and the slit ran so high that it might as well have been an invitation to wandering eyes.
I hated it because this time I was wearing a dress I hadn't chosen myself. It made me feel like a freaking puppet. My lips were stained with blood-red lipstick that I hadn't chosen, and my hair was twisted into an elegant updo.
Killian hadn't told me where we were going yet. Only what I had to look like, and it involved the words 'expensive', 'controlled' and 'quiet'.
The message was quite clear. Killian kept his gaze on me the entire time, and there was a strange sparkle in his eyes. It was the kind that screamed how much he wanted to get me naked and in his bed. I hated that I noticed that.
"You look..." he finally said. "...like a weapon."
My fingers curled in my lap. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It is."
Cool. Love that for me.
He reached into his coat pocket and handed me a small silver earpiece. "Put it in. Left ear only."
I did, and it clicked into place.
Killian continued, his expression turning serious. "Tonight's gathering isn't a party. It's a covert negotiation. My associates think it's just a luxury auction, but one man at that table has been leaking intel to a foreign syndicate. His name is Viktor Damaris. I need confirmation before I end him."
"And me?" I asked, dread crawling down my spine.
He turned his full attention on me then. And fuck, that stare.
"You," he said slowly, "are there to watch. You have a photographic memory. You always did. Even before the amnesia. You remember patterns, names, hand signals, and eye shifts. I need that."
I blinked. "So I'm a spy now. Cute."
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "You're bait."
Oh.
Cool.
My pulse drummed in my throat.
"I'll be seated beside you," he went on. "You will smile. You will not speak unless I address you. If I squeeze your knee twice, it means danger. Three times? Get ready to move. If I tell you to smile, you smile. If I tell you to leave, you leave."
He leaned in then. "No questions. Understood?"
I stared at him, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
This is what I get for asking to leave the house. An invitation into a den of wolves.
I was being asked to perform as a version of myself I didn't recognize.
And for reasons I hated, I nodded.
"Understood."
A slow smile spread over his lips, and he reached over to adjust the strap of my dress that had slipped off my shoulder.
...
The room smelled like cologne, wealth, and an impending danger.
Men sat around the long oak table dressed in custom suits. Their gazes were particularly invasive. I felt like a helpless lamb in a designer dress.
Killian walked beside me, his hand resting on the small of my back like a leash. He didn't smile or speak, but his presence alone announced him.
'I own this space. And I own what walks beside me.'
I sat where he gestured, crossing my legs slowly. I kept my shoulders high and my mouth shut.
Killian's expression was lethal. I'd always known that he was dangerous. But, right now, I realized how much I'd underestimated him.
Across from us, one of the men stared at me with a hunger I knew too well. The kind that didn't care what your name was. Just how long it would take to ruin you.
I barely held myself back from flinching.
Then he arrived.
Viktor Damaris.
I knew it was him judging from the way my husband's cold gaze lingered on him.
The auction started, and deals were discussed in vague codes.
I watched Viktor as he eased off his chair with his phone pressed to his ear. He was speaking in Russian, I realized.
"He's on the move," I whispered to Killian, who nodded and rested a hand on my thigh.
"This was just a test. Congratulations, you passed," he said, and my eyes widened.
"What are you talking about?"
Killian squeezed my thigh gently. "You can relax and enjoy yourself now. If there's somewhere else you'd like to go, I can make arrangements," he said.
Anger bubbled inside of me. How dare he toy with me?
"I need to use the restroom," I hissed and rose to my feet, storming out of the room. Thankfully, he didn't follow after me.
I stepped into the marbled restroom, my heels clicking against the floor. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror, my eyes wild with anger.
The door opened, and I stiffened, instantly reminded of the way Vincent had followed me on the night of the gala.
I turned slowly, my heart racing in my chest.
A tall man in a navy suit leaned against the wall, his gaze raking over me. He was one of the men from the table. I didn't know his name, but I knew his type. Perverts.
"Didn't mean to startle you," he drawled. "You looked lonely."
He took a step forward, and I backed up towards the wall.
Then he reached out for me and grabbed my wrist.
I gasped, trying to yank my hand out of his iron grip.
"Let go of me," I snapped.
But he just smiled. "What's a pretty thing like you doing with a man like Killian Cross? You deserve someone who actually sees you. Someone who knows how to handle you."
That's when I felt it, a chilling shift in the air.
The man didn't even have time to turn.
A sharp flash of silver cut through the air. In one terrifyingly clean stroke, a katana tore through the man's arm, severing it just below the elbow. Blood sprayed like ink across the porcelain walls.
The man screamed, stumbling back as his limb hit the tiled floor with a wet thud.
Behind him stood Killian, his eyes shimmering with unadulterated icy fury. He held the katana loosely at his side, but his chest rose and fell in lethal rhythm.
"You touched what's mine," he said, his voice a terrifying whisper. "That was your first and last mistake."
Then, without looking at the writhing man again, he reached for me, his fingers closing tightly around my wrist. I didn't resist. I couldn't. My entire body was frozen, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.
He dragged me out of the restroom, and the hallway blurred around us. His grip was firm, but not painful.
And we reached the car parked at the curb, he yanked the door open.
"Let go of me," I said, my voice trembling.
He did.
But then his eyes met mine. They were colder than I'd ever seen them.
Quietly, I stepped into the car, and he slammed the door shut.
I shivered involuntarily and turned my face towards the window, trying to steady my breath. My wrist still tingled from where he'd held it. Not from pain but from the heat of his rage. Killian joined me in the car, but I refused to look at him.
That's when I saw it.
From the corner of my eye, standing across the street beneath the streetlight...was Vincent.
His hands were buried in his pockets, his lips curled in a wicked smirk.
He locked eyes with me.
Then he mouthed the words:
"Your time is running out."
Blood drained from my face, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. I had truly almost forgotten about what he'd asked me to do.
"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" Killian suddenly asked, and I flinched, nearly jumping out of my skin.
“I just want to go home,” I mumbled, swallowing hard. Killian’s gaze softened.
“You saw him again, didn’t you?” He asked and I bit my lower lip.
His jaw clenched and he reached for the inside of his jacket, bringing out a gun. My eyes widened.
“W-what are you going to do? We’re in public, Killian!” I whispered and he let out a sharp exhale.
“Do you still see him?” He asked and I looked back at the spot where Vincent had been. But he was gone.
“He’s gone,” I breathed and he lowered his gun.
Just then, my phone vibrated, a new text flashing on the screen. It said: ‘Do you really think he can protect you? You can run and hide. But, I’ll always find you.’
My blood froze in my veins right then.