ie

t my mind was operating a

he balance in his hips screamed elite athlete-specifically, a power skater who lived on the ice. His tailored charcoal suit couldn't hide the bruising alo

a man accustomed to commanding arenas an

al cords, fighting the neur

gh. "Save the amateur acting, S

my head as he marched out of the shop. The sharp ridge of his collarbone dug into my ribs, but I kept my eyes

treet, and the br

was locked down. No civili

d every five yards stood men in matching dark suits with tactical earpieces-roughly ninety to one hundred security pe

he pavement, every guard snapped to attention

stepping forward to pull open the d

attled through m

hundred trained guards sealing the perimeter, and an armored vehicle. A

nding white spots dancing across my vision. Before I could reorient my slumping torso, h

ressed. He leaned over me, his mas

ing at me?"

muscles offered only a faint tremor. He pulled out my smartphone-my o

eet. A guard outside caught it cleanly, dropped it to the asphalt, and crushed it beneath the

nymore," he said, roll

neurotoxin's half-life. Devil's Thorn sap: neuromuscular blockade peaks at fifteen minutes, plateaus for forty-

g out another hoarse whis

breath brushing my ear. "B

linching, I held his gaze with cold, clinical defiance. His fingers hovered in mid-air, a

he had captured a petulant runaway. He had no idea he was transport