Fold

“What?”

“I...” She hesitates, looks down at her feet. “Breslin told me what happened to your father. I feel like I should apologize, but I know how horrible he—”

“Kit.” My voice is low, lethal. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won't.”

Not now. Not ever. Not with her or anyone else.

That mouth of hers starts to protest again, but I pin her with an icy stare, issuing her a final warning.

“Okay, fine. I'll drop it.”

Her gaze swivels around. “How long do you think we're going to be in here?”

“Not that long.” I look down the length of her body and tell my cock not to react. “Do you have your phone on you?”

She shakes her head. “It's in the cafeteria. Probably dead by now.”

She flinches, and I tamp down the urge to ask her why she never called me back.

It's not like it matters anyway. Her reaction to me showing up was loud and clear.

“Well, in that case, it could be hours. Maybe days.”

It's a cheap shot. I know she's scared and my ego is bruised.

Her eyes go big. “Days?”

“Worst case scenario.”

“What's the best case?”

“We walk out of here in one piece,” I deadpan.

She swallows. “Right.”

When she starts to tremble, I feel like a dick. I told her I'd get her through this and I'm doing the opposite and making it worse. I need to put my sour grapes aside before she has another meltdown.

“We'll be fine.”

Her stare ping-pongs around. “I'm feeling a little claustrophobic.”

I don't want to let go of her wrists because I don't trust her not to lunge for the button, so I tug down the zipper on her jacket. “Better?”

“Not really.” She looks up. “Mind giving me my extremities back?”

“That depends. Are you pla

“Do you think I would tell you if I was?”

Can't argue with that logic. “Fair enough.”

I release her and she wastes no time schlepping her jacket off her shoulders before reaching for the hem of her sweatshirt.

Heat ripples down my back and settles in my cock when she pulls it over her head and I catch a sliver of her toned abdomen and belly button piercing.

“Preston?”

I'm so fixated on the hint of black ink peeking out above the waistband of her jeans, I almost don't hear her. “Yeah?”

“What if he finds us?” She cranes her neck, looking at something behind me. “He could climb the elevator shaft and find a way in. It's not like it would be that hard, there are only two floors in this building, including the cafeteria. It happens all the time in movies.”

I follow her frantic gaze to the blood on the floor and alter my stance, blocking her from looking at it. “He won't.”

She clutches her throat. “How can you be so sure? He's clearly a psychotic murderer who—”

I bring my finger to her lips, silencing her. “I won't let him kill you.”

She pales. “You can't promise something like that. And why would you in the first place? We're not even friends. And you left L—” Emotion clogs her throat. “I don't want to die.”

She's so vulnerable in this moment, so pliable. It chips away at the ice around my heart.

“You're right, I can't promise you that. But what I can promise is, I'll do everything I can to make sure we make it out of here alive. Both of us.” I frame her face with my hands, forcing her to look at me. “It's me and you, angry girl. Until the end, got it?”

She wraps her fingers around my wrists, holding me in place. “You make it sound like we're some kind of dynamic duo.”

I grin. “Who says we're not?”

She snorts. “If that's the case, I think you need a better sidekick. I'm kind of a pussy when it comes to dying.”

“I gave you my lucky poker chip, remember? So, if by some freak chance he finds us, you'll be okay.”

She smiles and even though her eyes are puffy and that black shit is smearing her cheeks, I'm awestruck by how gorgeous she is.

“You really believe in that thing, huh?”

“I'm a gambler, Kit. Superstition is our religion, casinos are our churches, and Lady Luck is the God we worship.”

The corner of her mouth tugs up. “I think you mean Goddess, given Lady Luck is a female and all.”

I smirk. “That she is. Makes getting down on my knees to pray a whole lot of fun.”

She makes a face. “Wow, even in the face of danger you still find time to be a perv.”

“Priorities, baby.”

She scowls. “Don't call me baby.”

There she is.

She crosses her arms with a huff and the logo on her t-shirt catches my attention. It's a hideous goat drinking coffee. “What's the deal with the ugly goat?”

She looks down. “That's not a goat, it's a llama. And he's not ugly.” The offensive bite in her tone is adorable. “I work at the Java Llama Cafe.”

“You have a job?” There's no point in hiding my surprise. “I thought your parents were billionaires and you got an allowance every month.”

She jabs a finger in my chest. “Okay, first—that was rude. And second—yes, I have a job.”

“Why? It's not like you need the money.”

“I went with Breslin when she applied. Figured it couldn't hurt.” She shrugs. “Plus, I hear it looks good on resumes. I'd like to do something more than shop my life away after I graduate. Especially since my Na

The fact that she won't tell me proves otherwise. “What's not?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why would I tell you when I said it's not important?”

“I'm allergic to seafood.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I just told you something that's not important. Your turn.”

“Well, that's kind of important—”

“Why?” I blatantly run my gaze from her small and perky tits down to the curve of her hips and back again. “You pla

“Sure.” Her eyes narrow. “How does an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet sound?”

“Like something you'd really enjoy.”

Her mouth drops open in shock, and then she bursts into laughter. Not just ordinary laughter either. She tosses her head back and clutches her stomach, her small frame convulsing.

The girl laughs just like she cries...with every part of her.

I want to point out that it was more of an amusing retort than it was fu

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “You're a jackass, but I needed that.” Her expression goes slack. “You really want to know?”

I nod.

“My Na

“What?” I roar, causing her to jump.

Grandmothers are supposed to give you ugly sweaters and butterscotch candy, not pimp you out.

Then again, from what Kit told me, her grandmother is a real piece of work.

Anger rolls through me and all I can think about is finding that old geezer and giving her a piece of my mind.

Making her granddaughter sleep with men for money. That's some fucked-up shit.

“I think I understand why you told me your parents were rich now. Man, everything makes so much sense. No wonder you're a lesbian.”

Her brows furrow in confusion, but I hold up a hand. I don't want to judge her, but she needs to know she's better than this.

“Look, I know the money's good. And clearly you're very talented, given your expensive car and other perks. But you don't have to suck dick—”