“I do.”
“And that could take me home, yes?”
“It could.”
My pace increases, arms wrapping around myself in this light sweater because of the cold getting colder. “And what would I need to do for that to happen?” The vast shadow of him rushes the floor in front of me, near drowning my own that flitters about under these lights. It makes me glance back, watching as he emerges out of a corner.
“There would have been many answers for that a while ago,” he says, walking to my side and looking at the knife still in my grip. ”Only one now.” I frown. I’m not fucking him.
Moving sideways to create some room - because I’ve just realised I’m alone in an empty tunnel with a very big man - I watch on as he smiles and takes his jacket off. It gets passed to me, his head nodding. “Put the jacket on, Alice. It’s about to get extremely cold.”
I do, oddly comforted by the courteous intent. Especially in this place. But that half smile isn’t courteous. It’s anything but. It’s full of devilry, just like Malachi’s is. They might look different, and they might act differently, but here, under these odd surroundings, all men seem possessed in some epiphany of control or escapism. It’s odd considering his clear medical knowledge and relative intelligence.
“Why do you come here?” I ask.
His brow arches, the smile quirking. “Strange question. And not something I have time for.”
Quiet begins settling in, as we keep walking, the only memory of the noise that was here being the dull throb in the walls, and he’s right – the air is getting colder. Very fucking cold. I tighten his jacket and keep moving with him, less interested in the answer than I thought I was anyway.
“Okay. So what do I need to do to get home?” He stops as we round a corner, his finger circling the air above his head again. “Why are you doing that?” A groan and creak echo’s back to us from somewhere up front, a blast of wind and gales and piercing cold air coming soon after.
“I’m asking for permission,” he says.
“Who from?”
“Security. You need to ask for permission to leave, as you do to arrive.”
His hand goes behind my back, guiding me forward along the tunnel and towards brightening lights. Eventually they’re so blinding my hand goes up like a shield, trying to avoid the glare. Another corner turned and I finally realise they’re not lights at all. It’s the sun reflecting off the snow stretched out in front of me for miles.
The collar on the jacket gets pulled tighter again, my body hunching over to the side of the rock face for protection against the cold. There’s nothing as far as I can see, other than some steps and a small track to the outside world. Just snow and wind and never-ending horizons.
“Off you go then,” he says again. “Run.” He looks around and walks out into the weather, his hand eventually pointing over towards the right. “New York is that way.”
Grumbling at the idiocy of that statement, and relatively pissed at everything that’s going down around me, I lean on the wall and look him over standing out there in a shirt and pants. Pompous ass. Another freak. Somewhere near normal compared to the others perhaps, but he’s still a freak in comparison to other normal humans. Maybe that's what wealth does to people. I wouldn’t know.
“Pretty sure I’ll need a plane, which I don’t like by the way,” I mumble.
“I agree.”
“And you have one.”
He nods and smiles at me, as his body gets battered by the wind. The smile does something to his face, reminding me of someone. Don’t know who. “Yes, but you’ll need to help me before I let you get in it.”
“Help you?”
“Yes. Or you can go. Your choice.”
“Go where?”
He looks out to the horizon, another wry smile that speaks of the desolation that option presents me with. “Wherever you like. I don’t kidnap people. That’s Malachi’s forte.”
It sure is.
Inching out into the snow, I run these heeled boots over the white powder, conceding to the fact that I’m not going anywhere unless I help him out in some way. “What exactly do you need helping with?” His head tilts, as if that was a stupid question. “I’m not fucking you,” I snap. “I’m not doing that with anyone.” Even if I might have done it already. Not that I’m actually sure if I have or not. I’m going with not until I remember clearly if I have. It’s bad enough that I can’t remember that, and that I know Malachi’s inside me even if he physically hasn’t been. Or might have been. Who knows? “I’m not, Gray. Won’t.”
“I wouldn’t even if you threw yourself at me.”
Oh. I relax a little at that, happy to put that idea to bed rather than concern myself with the fact that he might start hunting me at some point. “Then what?” He just keeps staring, dark eyes boring into me to remind me of another man here.
