Chapter 9 - Forced

~ ZEV ~

He'd kept her eyes on his face by touching his jaw, raking a hand through his hair—something she'd always liked—while with the other, he got the beanie out of his back pocket.

He apologized because he wasn't giving her a choice, and he'd always given her a choice before. But she hadn't yet realized that she would likely die if they didn't get away. So… he prayed she'd forgive him later.

She peered at him, unafraid, but wary. Then he moved.

Faster than she could see, he whipped the hat out and over her head, down over her eyes, her nose, until her entire face was covered by the thick, black, clinging fabric. She squeaked, but she couldn't grab it because he'd taken both her hands and held them as he turned, stooping, to pull her onto his back and lock her hands on his chest, under his throat.

She was the only human being he'd ever allowed to touch his throat and there was a flash in his gut—a spear of fear that if she didn't trust, she couldn't be trusted. But he shook it off. This was Sasha.

He trusted no one the way he trusted Sasha.

There was a dark, heavy weight in his chest—even darker and heavier now that she had admitted she didn't trust him. But there was nothing he could do about it right then except prove to her that he was still the male she knew—and he would keep her safe. No matter what. So he stood and was running, forcing her to hold on or fall, blind.

"Zev, what are you doing?!"

"Hold on, Sasha," he muttered. "Just hold… on."

He launched them off the side of the roof and she sucked in to scream as her stomach went into free-fall. But by the time she'd got her voice, he'd already caught the edge of the parking garage on the other side of the alley and was crawling them over the wall and swinging them both over, safely onto the cement of the parking lot.

But he couldn't stop, because he heard the footsteps on the roof they'd just left and he had to get her out of sight before they made it to this side and figured out which floor he'd jumped to.

Had he been alone he wouldn't have taken such an obvious route—and that might work in his favor. Nick would assume he was smarter than that. At least for a minute or two.

But carrying her and without her knowing everything… he was on the back foot. Just not as badly as they would expect. Because he'd planned for this. Just in case. He'd always planned ahead—and now he was grateful that he hadn't been strong enough to stop himself.

Over the past two years he'd slowly, step by laborious step, placed an escape within two blocks of all her most frequents haunts—her own apartment, Rob's, her office, and even near the university where she'd graduated but still met friends occasionally.

He'd told himself it was just habit. That he was only taking precautions for the day that Nick decided to use her as leverage. But now he could see… he'd been protecting himself. Deep down he'd known he wouldn't stay away. He'd known the day would come when he had to be near her again. And that they'd likely have to flee when that happened.

He just prayed the car hadn't been stolen. He hadn't checked it in a couple of weeks.

With a glance up to the roof to make sure the Handlers hadn't seen him yet, and with Sasha still on his back, he sprinted across the parking level, then shoved through a door and into the stairwell to pound as fast as he was able, thanking God that Sasha was still blinded, to the lowest level—one below the street, where there was no natural light, and several dark alcoves and unused maintenance closets and rooms.

He kept one hand locked around her wrists in case she got the idea to throw herself off his back, but she didn't. She made squeaking noises whenever he took a corner fast, but other than that she just clung and buried her face where his neck met his shoulder.

It wasn't until he made it to the shadowed corner at the back of the parking lot, the narrow space between the old van and the stairwell maintenance closet that he slowed and let go of her hands.

She slid down his back and he shivered feeling her softness plastered against his body for a moment before she stumbled back and yanked the beanie off of her face and glared at him—but even as she opened her mouth, her eyes went wide and she looked around, taking in the dark parking lot, and the tangy smell of gasoline.

"How—"

"Not now," he said. "They know we're here, so we have to leave. Now." Ignoring the shock and disbelief on her face, he turned and yanked the van door open, revealing an interior that defied its dirty, industrial body.

She squawked when he hurried her into the back, but she didn't fight him, letting him strap her into the only seat, right next to the door and slamming the door closed while she looked around the back of the van, her mouth making a little "o."

He opened the driver's door and yanked off his leather jacket, throwing it to the floor on the passenger side, then digging around for the gray work overalls with the nametag "Dave" stitched on it in red, and pulled them on over his jeans and tight, long-sleeved shirt.

His eyes hooked on hers through the window before he clambered in and heat sizzled down his spine, but he ignored it, pulling himself into the seat and starting the engine with a roar.

This would be the test of his planning and the intelligence of the men following him.

If Nick was physically here, he was screwed.

"Hold on," he said quietly, his voice deeper and darker than it had been since his last job.. "This could get hairy."