Fall of Snow: Chapter 3

As I step out of the bar with the bartender who I haven’t bothered to ask his name, a shiver of question runs through my bones. I’ve done this a thousand times, gone home with random men, and then had my brothers knocking on their front door looking for me, but this time feels different.

His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me tight against him. His body towers over mine, and for the first time in all the years I’ve been running away from my security team, I think I’ve made a mistake. I can’t quite put my finger on what exactly feels off, but there’s something in the air that makes it hard to suck in a breath.

I look up at him and, for the first time, really see him. His cheekbones are high and pronounced, his jaw sharp and covered in the shadow of the day, but it’s his eyes that have my heart skipping a beat, and not in a good way. It’s the nervousness I don’t expect to see, the way his gaze shoots from side to side as he walks us through the parking lot toward his car.

It’s a trap.

My step falters, fear pushing through my carefully crafted exterior, but I can’t allow him to realize I’m onto him, not if I want to get out of here safely. The phone in my pocket has been constantly vibrating for the last half hour. Surely someone will be coming for me soon. But they’ve never taken this long before. Usually, the calls start and fifteen minutes later, someone is collecting me. The only exception is when I’m in someone’s apartment, and the team sends my brothers in to do their dirty work.

“Are you okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

I nod, steeling myself to reply. “Yeah, I just tripped.” The lie rolls off my tongue so easily it should concern me, but if lying is the only way to get out of the mess I suspect I’ve made for myself, I’m going to lie through my fucking teeth.

He watches me for another second and then looks up toward the cars parked a few feet away. If I had to put money on which of the cars I’m about to get in, it would be the old beat-up white Honda. Beside it is a high-end Mercedes, too nice for this side of town. The matte black stands out in the dim parking lot, the surrounding buildings blocking any sunlight.

I take a deep breath and stop. “Oh shoot. I left my favorite lipstick in the bathroom.” The pitch of my voice irritates me, but I learned a long time ago that the more stupid you can make yourself sound, the more the people around you will underestimate you, and that’s exactly what I need right now.

“Leave it. I’ll pick it up next time I’m in for you,” he says dismissively as he tugs me forward roughly.

“You don’t understand,” I whine. “They discontinued this color, and it’s my absolute favorite. If I lost it, I just don’t know what I would do.” I’m laying it on thick, hoping he’ll think I’m the dumb blonde of the Saint James family, just like the rest of Chicago.

When his eyes turn down on me, there’s nothing but annoyance behind the green I found so endearing earlier. This isn’t a man interested in getting his dick wet, he’s a man who has other plans, darker plans. “Listen here, you little—”

Before he can finish his insult, my hand wraps around the pepper spray in my bag, and I pull it out, spraying it straight into his eyes. As soon as he drops his grip on me and his hands fly to his face, I take off at a run. I’m not in the best outfit to be running away from an attacker, jeans, five-inch heels, and a knit sweater, but I’ll have to make do with what I have.

The bartender’s grunts of pain get farther and farther away the more I run, which gives me hope he’s not following me. I just have to find a cab and get back to the estate, or at the very least, to Frost Industries. At least there I could find some security and maybe one of my siblings or Everett to take me home.

I chance a glance behind me and let out a breath when the bartender is still doubled over by his car, but before I can turn back around to watch where I’m going, I slam straight into a hard body.

“Hello, my little Snowflake,” they rumble, their deep voice sending a shiver through my body.

My eyes drag up the man’s body, the intricate tattoos I was admiring in the bar meeting my gaze. Wait, did he say my name? Usually, I wouldn’t find it that worrying when a stranger knew my name, considering my family lives our lives in the public eye, but there’s something about the way it rolls off his tongue that disarms me.

“What the fu—” Before I can finish my sentence, a sharp prick in my neck cuts the words off, and a moment later, my legs give way underneath me. No. This can’t be happening. I can’t let them take me.

Seconds pass that feel like hours. Every passing second, I have less control over my body, to the point I worry I may stop breathing. The body in front of me carefully lowers me to the ground, not letting me fall to the hard asphalt. His hands are gentle as they stroke over my body, and his words are the last thing I hear as whatever he’s injected me with takes me under.

“It’s okay, Snow. You’re safe now.”