Page 30 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

Rowan gets out without a word and comes around to my side. The door opens and cold air wraps around my bare legs.

I step onto gravel in my gardening boots, clutching the towel at my chest.

He eyes my cell phone. “You won’t need that here. There’s no cell service.”

“As a matter of fact, I think I do.” It’s my only way of communication. There’s no way I’m handing over my phone.

“Have it your way.”

Funny, nothing has gone my way for a while now.

He walks toward the cabin and doesn't bother looking back to see if I'm following. Either he's confident I will or he doesn't care now that we are both out of danger.

I look around and then down at my lack of real clothing. Off in the distance I hear wolves call up to the full moon.

Yeah, okay. That gets my feet moving in the direction of the cabin. My other option is standing in the woods in a towel at one in the morning, and my survival instincts have terrible taste but they're not stupid.

He leads me through the front door without turning on lights, navigating by memory through a sparse living room. Book in five different languages fill the shelves, but I don’t get to linger. He moves quickly past them, past a kitchen with only one chair I notice and deeper still. Back here the moonlight can’t reach so I have to place a hand on his shoulder or risk smashing into something.

He pauses and I can feel him turn his head and look at me over his shoulder more than see the action. A few seconds later he turns on a small lamp on a side table to reveal something I did not expect to see in a single story cabin.

“An elevator?”

He steps inside and turns to face me.

“An elevator.”

The elevator light catches him and I get my first real look at the man who just carried me out of my apartment like a rolled carpet.

He has no suit jacket nor tie. He’s got on a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone at the neck. The sleeves are rolled to the elbows. Blood streaks across the white of his shirt in dark smears, some of it from the split across his knuckles I’m guessing, but most of it is from the men he put down. A close-cropped beard frames a firmly set jaw, the hair a shade darker than the dirty blond on his head.

He's bigger than I remember. Broader.

His right hand rests against the elevator door, holding it open. The silver ring catches the light and below it, inked into the skin of his hand is a viper's head with ruby eyes. The black ink is so detailed I can see the individual scales. The body of the snake disappears beneath his rolled sleeve and my eyes follow the dark lines up the inside of his forearm, tracing the coils until the fabric cuts them off.

I can’t help but wonder how far it goes.

He doesn't rush me as I take all of him in and weigh my options. He doesn't speak. The man who saved my life tonight simply stands there with his hand holding the door and his pale blue eyes steady on mine. The patience in his gaze doesn’t match the blood drying on his shirt or the violence I watched him deliver tonight. His shoulders are relaxed and his breathing comes out even. He looks like he can stand there all night if that's how long it takes for me to decide.

I look at his outstretched hand and slowly place mine over his. He turns his hand and closes his fingers over mine. His touch is warm, rough and calming.

He pulls me gently into the elevator and we descend in silence.

A few moments later, the doors open and I step into a world that doesn't belong beneath a modest cabin in the woods.

Black marble stretches under my muddy boots. Floor-to-ceiling windows are carved into the rock face. Lake Michigan spreads dark and massive beyond the glass. An underground pool casts blue light across a stone ceiling, the water throwing slow ripples in the light.

We walk deeper and I spy what I think is a library down one of the hallways that branches into different directions. A bedroom. A kitchen. A living room space.

My brow furrows and I look up at him not really knowing what to expect when I ask, “What is this place?”

“My underworld.”

Six

Rowan

Ican’t believe she fell asleep mid-sentence.