VANESSA BELMONT
Malone. Nathan's right hand man. Relief flooded through me. I was saved!
He crouched in front of me, the car's headlights highlighting his face. For a moment, I felt like we were in a noir film, all dramatic angles and tragic backstories. Too bad I was less femme fatale and more femme faint-now.
Malone's professional gaze swept over me, clinical and detached. He saw the blood, the shaking, and the whole gonna-puke-then-die vibe I had going on.
"Are you all right, Madam Jang?"
"If by all right, you mean scared out of my ever-loving mind, craving donuts, and hoping this wound on my side isn't fatal ... then yeah, I'm all right."
Malone's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile—more like the ghost of one, as if his face had briefly remembered what expressions were before abandoning the effort. The man communicated in grunts and loaded silences, and yet, somehow, he was still better company than most people I knew.
He reached into his coat, and my pulse jumped. Oh good, what now? A gun? A handkerchief? A strongly worded note about my terrible life choices? But no—just a knife. Of course. Because nothing says "you're safe now" like a blade flashing between you and a man who could probably kill someone with a paperclip.
He sliced through the last zip-tie still clinging to my wrist like some kind of sadistic friendship bracelet. The plastic snapped, and I flexed my fingers, wincing at the angry red marks. Classy look, Vanessa. Very damsel-in-distress chic.
Malone didn't comment, because why waste words on something as trivial as my near-death experience? Instead, he gripped my arm and hauled me up like I was a bag of feathers. Which, given how gracefully I crumpled the second I tried to get my shaky legs to hold me upright, might not have been far off. Pain shot through my ribs, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath, and I stumbled right into him.
To his credit, he didn't drop me. Just steadied me with the same effortless efficiency he did everything else—like a man who was used to dealing with clumsy, half-conscious women who escaped from psychotic kidnappers.
"Where's Nathan?" I asked, my voice raspy from screaming. Malone's expression didn't change, but his grip on my arm tightened slightly. That could mean anything from "he's fine" to "we're burying him at sea."
"Safe," was all he said.
Helpful. Malone could make a single syllable sound like a threat and a reassurance all at once. I wanted to press, to demand details, but the way my vision blurred at the edges told me I'd be lucky to make it to the car without passing out. So I let him half-drag, half-carry me forward.
He opened the passenger door with the same deliberate calm he did everything—like bullets weren't a possibility and assholes weren't actively trying to kill us.
"Wait—Viktor's men are still out there," I said, twisting in my seat to peer through the rear window. Somewhere in that labyrinth of busted buildings was Viktor and his gun-toting compatriots. Well, maybe not Viktor. There's no way he could run around with that messed-up leg.
Malone circled to the driver's side. The car dipped under his weight as he slid in, his movements precise even in the confined space.
"Hey, Big Guy, I just got un-kidnapped, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Don't be afraid, Madam. You're safe." He said it like he was commenting on the weather—flat, factual, utterly devoid of the panic currently making my pulse do the cha-cha in my throat.
"Right. Safe." I exhaled sharply as I collapsed into the seat, the leather creaking under me. "I hope you're not shocked, Malone, but ... safe isn't how I feel right now."
"All of Mr. Jang's vehicles are bullet-proof. They're custom made to withstand attacks from the outside." With one smooth motion, he killed the headlights, plunging us into near-darkness. The only illumination came from his phone screen as he pulled it out, the blue glow shadowing his face.
"She's alive," he said. "She did most of the work herself."
"Are you talking to Nathan?" I snorted. "Tell him I also picked up a new skill: zip-tie escape artistry."
Malone shot me a look that might've been amusement—or possibly indigestion. Hard to tell with him.
Another pause. Then, "Yes. Ten minutes." He hung up and started the engine. Malone put the car in gear. "We're going to meet Mr. Jang."
I slumped back, watching the warehouses shrink in the side mirror.
My thoughts were a tangled mess, frayed wires sparking in different directions—what happened to Carver, why was I really kidnapped, how did Malone find me, where the hell was Nathan.
Also, why wasn't my need for donuts being met? The universe owed me at least a cruller after tonight. Maybe even a fancy maple-bacon Long John. I'd even take a questionable gas station bear claw at this point.
The car turned onto the freeway, tires screeching against the asphalt as the sudden acceleration pressed me back into the seat. The engine roared, a deep growl that vibrated through the frame, and the wind howled outside the half-open window. I gripped the door handle, my knuckles whitening, as the world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow.
The scent of gasoline and warm leather filled the air, mixing with the faint, metallic tang of my own nervous sweat. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, focusing on the rhythmic hum of the road beneath us.
After what felt like an eternity, the car began to slow. The engine's growl softened to a purr. I opened my eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness of headlights from passing cars.
Malone took an exit ramp and entered an area of Ash City I wasn't familiar with. The streets narrowed, lined with boarded-up storefronts and flickering streetlights. Graffiti tags bled across brick walls. He turned down an unmarked alley, the car bouncing over potholes hard enough to rattle my teeth.
The deeper into this section of town we went, the harder my heart pounded. Malone looked scary with his expressionless face and overwhelming presence. "Malone ... where are we going?"