Page 17 of Mess With Me

Samknew.He knew how dangerous this man was—that he owed him something—and he let me walk right in like a lamb to the slaughter.

Well, I’m not a fucking lamb.

“I thought it might be a simple exchange,” Vincent continues, contemplative even as he tightens his grip, making my hand spasm with pain. “But my God, when I saw you in that photo—I think I’ve got the better end of the bargain.”

I give up trying to yank my hand free and stand up. It’ll be harder for him to hold me when I’ve got my whole body to use as leverage.

But Vincent stands, too. “That’s the Sasha I wanted to see. That’s the one I was promise—”

A shrill alarm cuts through his words, so loud it makes both of us wince.

But relief floods through me. An alarm means evacuation. People.

Freedom.

And the chance to get him off guard. I wrap my free hand around my wrist and grit my teeth, pulling hard and fast.

He’s not prepared, and I slip from his grasp.

I should run, but I’m so bewildered at suddenly being freed—and then immediately furious at being held on to in the first place—that I do the first thing I can think of. I rear back, curl my fist, and punch the man square in the face.

Only, I’ve never punched a man before, and I used the hand he’d been holding. The pain is explosive, radiating in excruciating shockwaves up my arm.

But the satisfaction of seeing his head crack backward is delicious. I bite my tongue not to react to the screaming agony in my hand.

But when he turns his face back to me, his fingers at his lip, red with blood, his eyes are steely.

So are the eyes of the man that emerges from the foliage on the other side of the balcony. My heart lurches to my throat. My back was to him at the table, but how did I miss him when I came in? He’s at least six and a half feet and built like a tank, with tiny eyes set in a giant, square face.

“She wants to do this the hard way,” Vincent says over his shoulder, and the big man says nothing, just strides our way.

“No!”

Adrenaline screams through my body.Run.

I whirl around. But the hallway’s not there. I crash head-on into a broad chest. At first, panic chokes me as I think it’s another of Vincent’s men. He’s big and broad. But his coat is heavy under my splayed hands as I push myself away.

I look up. The man’s face is in shadow, a helmet pulled low over his head. But the helmet is red and has a shield on it. Letters, too.

FDNY.

I let out a cry of relief. “Holy shit!” I throw myself back at the firefighter.

He catches me easily, pulling me against him. “Miss,” he shouts over my head. “We’re evacuating the building. You need to come with me.”

He didn’t see what just happened, clearly. Except his words sound tight. Angry, almost. Probably because we’re up here ignoring a fire alarm. “Great, sounds great,” I babble. “Let’s go.” I could sing, I’m so thrilled.

The firefighter, who’s a full head taller than me and feels like he’d be solidly built even without his heavy fire gear, grips me by the waist and tucks me around so I’m behind him.

I’m so surprised I let out a little squeak, though it’s drowned out by the alarm. But there’s something familiar about the way he did that. It was almost like—

“Downstairs. Now,” the firefighter barks over his shoulder. His voice is hard. Gruff.

That tingling familiarity grows to something like recognition.

Even though I should be running away, I lean around him, squinting at his face in the shadow of his helmet.

Then I suck in a breath. It’s not a fireman standing between me and the man who was going to hurt me.

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