Page 195 of Safe Word

‘I won’t leave you,’ he said – an oath, not comfort – as his arm wrapped tight around my waist.

The lift jolted to a stop on the lower level.

Cain moved fast. He shoved me behind him, scanning the shadows as the doors peeled open with a robotic sound.

‘Stay with me,’ he growled, and took my hand.

We broke into a run.

Out of the metal box, into the yawning expanse of concrete and silence, our footsteps rang sharp and loud. The air was colder here, damp with exhaust and something fouler: fear.

Cain didn’t slow. I trailed behind, tethered to him as he led us towards the black Audi parked under a flickering strip of ceiling lights.

He looked larger somehow. Harder. As though fury had expanded the confines of his frame until even his shadow walked taller.

His head whipped left and right, each flick of his gaze cutting across the dim space. I followed the movement of his eyes, dread creeping in wherever the dark corners swallowed the light.

Then—

A double chirp – the Audi blinked its lights in a fragile moment of reprieve.

I ducked low as we reached it, spine folding tight until the smell of new leather hit me and I settled onto the seat.

‘Lower,’ Cain ordered just above a breath, eyes still cast over the roof of the car.

I slumped deeper into the seat until the only thing I could see was the overhead concrete through the windscreen, and the glare of reflectors slicing across the space.

Cain slid in beside me onto the driver’s seat. No words.

He yanked open the glove compartment – metal clinked, leather rustled – then he drew it out.

‘Oh my God,’ I breathed, air tearing in my chest.

The Bowie knife gleamed beneath the garage lights as he unsheathed it halfway, tested the edge, then slid the leather strap under his jeans. He fastened it to his ankle as if it were routine.

‘You’ve seen it before,’ he argued, as if that justified the glint in his eyes.

‘Not for this purpose.’

I tried speaking, but every syllable sounded like a breath gone astray.

We strapped in. The engine roared.

All I could hear was my own heart and the snarl of the motor as we sped out of the garage, headlights punishing the night.

Cain’s hand dropped to mine, white-knuckled around my purse. He glanced at me – not soft or comforting. His eyes had darkened to obsidian, as if carved from vengeance.

‘He’s never hurting you again, Paula,’ he said with a finality that sounded less a promise than a verdict.

My heart stuttered – not only with relief, but with the cold shock of sitting beside a man who would relish the damage he could deliver.

Cain wasn’t protecting me like a man guarding what was his. He was a shadow broken out of his own pain.

And I knew – God, I knew – if he ever came face-to-face with Travis again, I’d lose him. Because the kind of punishment Cain would hand out wouldn’t come from mercy and protection – it would come from a place much darker and colder.

‘The penthouse is safe. There are alarms everywhere, cameras… and a guard always stationed. You don’t go in unless ID’d and with a keycard.’

‘I don’t understand…’ I whispered, staring out at the streaking lights. ‘Why is he here? Why now? Halfway across the world.’