Chapter 2 Six Black Cars

XANDRA'S POV The day dissolved into noise and laughter, just as Wendy had promised. By dusk, the boys had taken us to a rooftop bar, and somebody pressed a glass into my hand. I should have noticed Wendy watching me drink. The lights began to blur. I laughed at something that wasn't funny. When I stood, the floor was a long way off. "I need air." "I'll come with you," Wendy said, too quickly.

XANDRA'S POV By the time I got home, I barely had time to breathe before work. I showered, pulled on a white mini dress, grabbed my bag, and was out the door within minutes. The restaurant was one of the few places I genuinely loved: soft lighting, polished floors, quiet music that made the whole room feel like a held breath. Officially, I was a receptionist. Unofficially, I was the reason customers left having ordered more than they'd planned. A smile, a few well-chosen words, and suddenly someone wanted dessert they hadn't known existed. I drifted between tables, answering questions and ignoring compliments from boys my age. Flirting with customers wasn't in my job description, whatever they believed. At one table, a family was celebrating, flowers between the plates and children fussing over their parents. "Good evening. Is everything all right?" "Perfect, dear," the woman said warmly. "Celebrating something special?" "Our wedding anniversary," the man answered proudly. My smile froze for half a second. Yesterday was my parents' anniversary. And I hadn't called. Not even a text. Guilt settled in my chest like a stone. I'd left home because I was tired of feeling trapped in a life that never seemed to fit me. But that didn't mean I'd stopped caring. At least, I hoped it didn't. "That's lovely," I managed. "Happy anniversary." At the counter, I pulled up my parents' number and called. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I walked to the passage by the entrance, where rain hammered the windows and turned the night into streaks of silver, and tried a third time. The call wouldn't connect. "Seriously?" I lowered the phone. That was when I saw the black car outside the restaurant. Same dark, polished body. Same windows, tinted so heavily they showed nothing but my own reflection. The one from school. A cold thread slid down my spine. Coincidence. Maybe. But the word felt too convenient. I waited for movement behind the glass. Nothing. "You're being ridiculous, Xandra," I whispered, and went back to work. By ten, my shift was over. I took an umbrella and stepped into heavier rain. Tris usually picked me up after work, and I'd grown used to seeing her waiting at the curb. Tonight the curb was empty. I called her. The call failed. I tried again. Nothing. The storm, probably. Then I looked down the road, and my fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. The black car was still there. And farther along, at neat intervals, there were more. Five. Six. All identical, all parked as if they'd been placed. The street had gone very empty, and the air felt colder than it should. Taxi, I decided. Now. As I turned to check the road, something moved behind one of the tinted windows. Someone was watching me. A door opened. A man in black stepped out. Then another. Then another. They weren't looking for a taxi. I walked quickly the other way, heels striking the pavement. Behind me, footsteps matched mine. I walked faster. So did they. "Okay," I whispered. "This isn't funny." I cut down the side of the building, hunting for the main road, and two men stepped out in front of me. I turned. The others had already closed the gap. Surrounded. "What do you want? Who sent you?" No answer. "If this is a joke, it's not funny. I don't have any money..." A hand reached for my arm. I twisted free and drove my elbow back into someone's ribs. I got three steps before another man caught me. I fought, kicked, and screamed, until a hand clamped over my mouth and the world became a blur of rain and muffled sound. The night swallowed my voice. Then everything went black.

XANDRA'S POV The first thing I noticed was the bed. Soft. Too soft. The sheets were expensive, the room smelled faintly of something clean and unfamiliar, and pale curtains hung beside enormous windows. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. Then I sat up. This isn't my apartment. I looked down. I wasn't wearing my white dress anymore. Someone had changed me. My stomach turned over. "Oh, no." I scrambled off the bed and went for the door. The handle turned. It opened. That was unexpected. I crept into the corridor. The house was enormous, with polished floors and towering walls, more mansion than home. Everything was spotless. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. I found a staircase and went down, gripping the rail, into a grand hall with a huge front door at the far end. Hope flared in my chest. I grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing. I pulled harder. Locked. "No. No, no, no." I threw my shoulder against it as if that might change something. My breathing turned ragged. "Hello? Is anyone there?" My voice echoed through the empty hall. I pounded the door. "Can somebody please open this?" Silence. Tears gathered before I could stop them. I'd done stupid things in my life. I'd made mistakes. I'd walked away from home without explaining myself. But what could I possibly have done to deserve this? "LET ME OUT!" Footsteps sounded behind me, slow and deliberate. I turned. A man in black stood a few feet away, watching me with no expression at all. "Who are you? What is this place?" He said nothing and kept walking toward me. I backed up. "Stay away from me." He reached me before I could move. I tried to push past him, but he caught my arm, and a handkerchief pressed over my nose and mouth. A sweet, chemical smell flooded my head. Not again. That was my last thought.

XANDRA'S POV The next time I woke, I was somewhere else. A wide, dark, almost empty room. A single bulb hung overhead, throwing long shadows. I was tied to a chair, with two men gripping my arms and two more guarding the closed door. "You have got to be kidding me." Nobody reacted. "Can someone explain what's happening? I went to work, did my job, and now I'm here! I don't even know what I supposedly did wrong!" One of the men pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and tied it over my mouth. I stared at him. Seriously? Apparently silence was their solution to everything. I glared at each of them in turn, composing insults that would have made my friends proud. Then the man at the door straightened. "The boss is coming." The atmosphere shifted at once. Backs straightened. Nobody moved a finger. The boss. Good. At least I'd finally meet whoever was responsible. The door opened, and four men walked in. Two had bodyguards' postures. The other two had the ease of people who'd never been refused anything. One wore sunglasses in a room that was barely lit. He took them off and handed them to the man beside him. Then he looked at me, and smiled. My blood ran cold. I knew that face. The sharp features, the maddeningly calm expression. The man from the club. The one I'd spilled a drink on. Of all the people in the world. The same man who'd looked at a crowded room as though he owned it. The same man who'd frightened everyone near him without raising his voice. And now, apparently, a man who thought kidnapping was a fine way to spend an evening. He crossed the floor slowly, studying my face as if I were something he'd been waiting to see. Then he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I jerked away. He raised an eyebrow. I glared at him so hard that, under different circumstances, he might have caught fire. He pulled the handkerchief from my mouth. "Read my lips," I said, low and sharp. "Fuck you." One of the men behind him shifted. He only smiled. "Why am I here? Why did your men drag me off the street? I know I spilled a drink on you at the club, but it was an accident. Is that really why you're doing this?" He said nothing. He snapped his fingers, and the men holding my arms let go, and I stood and rubbed my wrists, refusing to let him see my hands shake. "Now let me go." "No." "No?" "No." A disbelieving laugh slipped out. "You can't be serious." He looked perfectly serious. I marched up until I was a breath from his chest. "Why not?" "Because I have questions." "Then ask them!" "I will." "Great. Ask, I'll answer, problem solved." "Not quite." My jaw tightened. "What do you want from me?" His gaze traveled over my face with an attention that made my skin prickle. Then he stepped closer. "I want you." For a second I couldn't believe I'd heard it. Then I spat in his face. The room went dead silent. One of the bodyguards took a sharp step forward. Without even looking, the man raised a hand, and the bodyguard stopped. He slowly wiped his cheek with a handkerchief. I folded my arms and lifted my chin. "Congratulations. You've met someone who doesn't care how powerful you think you are." He looked at the handkerchief, then at me. The amusement had gone out of his face, and what replaced it was colder. Something I couldn't read. I swallowed and didn't look away. "You have no idea," he said quietly, "what you've just involved yourself in." "Funny. I was about to say the same to you." For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then he turned to the men. "Leave." They hesitated. "Now." The room emptied. The door closed, and I was alone with the most infuriating man I'd ever met. "Whatever game you're playing I want no part of it." Wyatt. One of his men had said it when they came in. It was the only thing I knew about him. He walked to a table at the far end and poured a glass of water as if he hadn't just had me dragged into a locked room. "You'll learn that wanting something and getting it are two very different things." "And you'll learn I can't be controlled." He turned. The slow, dangerous smile came back. "We'll see, Xandra." The way he said my name made my stomach tighten. I never told him my name. "How do you know my name?" He set the glass down. "Sit." "No." "That wasn't a request." "I'm not one of your men." Something like real interest crossed his face. He studied me, then gave a small nod, as though I'd just confirmed a suspicion. "Interesting." I hated that word. I hated the room, the locked doors, his unreadable eyes, and how much he seemed to know about me while I knew nothing about him. Most of all, I hated that I was afraid. I wouldn't let him see it. "Tell me why I'm here. And how do you know my name?" His gaze darkened. "Because, Xandra, your life got a great deal more complicated the moment you crossed my path." Outside, thunder rolled across the sky. And I understood, with terrifying clarity, that this had never been about a spilled drink. Not entirely. Whatever Wyatt wanted, he had no intention of letting me walk away until he got it.