Chapter 195
Chapter 195:
He didn’t wait. He kissed her hard — possessive and desperate, tasting of bad coffee and fear. His hands gripped her waist and drew her flush against him.
“I hate this plan,” he muttered against her lips.
“I love you,” Eliza whispered.
Dallas went still. He pulled back just an inch and looked at her — really looked at her. It was one of the few times she had said it so freely, without duress, without tears blurring the words.
“Tell me that again when we’re home,” he said. His eyes burned with a clear, steady blue fire.
He pressed his lips to her forehead once, hard. Then he turned and slipped out the door, a shadow dissolving into the grey morning light.
Eliza stood watching the door after it closed. She was alone again.
She crossed to the far corner of the room, pulled her ghost phone from her bag, and checked the signal. Two bars. Enough. She picked up the stale bagel and forced herself to eat.
She needed strength for war.
Evening came like a shroud.
S𝗵𝗮𝘳𝖾 yо𝗎r 𝘧𝗮𝘷𝘰𝗋i𝗍𝖾s 𝘧𝗋𝗈𝘮
Margo met Eliza in the motel lobby at 6:30 PM sharp. “Time to get ready,” she said, without looking up from her watch.
Eliza was taken to a room on the second floor. A dress had been laid out on the bed.
Red. Silk. A slip dress with a neckline that plunged dangerously low and a slit running up to the thigh.
“Dante likes red,” Margo said from the doorway, applying an aggressive coat of pink lipstick.
Eliza touched the fabric. It was cold. It felt like a costume — a victim’s costume. She put it on. It fit perfectly, which turned her stomach. Margo had either kept it from her own younger days or bought it specifically for this transaction.
Eliza picked up a small beaded clutch from the dresser. She slipped her ghost phone inside. Then, angling her body away from the doorway, she slid a compact black voice recorder into the inner pocket.
“You look… marketable,” Margo said, running a critical eye over her.
Buck’s voice carried up from downstairs. “The car is here p>
They went down. A black sedan waited outside — not the mud-caked SUV from before, but a hired town car. Buck sat in front. Margo and Eliza took the back. Eliza watched in silence as the Manhattan skyline grew closer through the window, a fortress of rising lights.
Using the phone hidden in her clutch, she typed quickly: En route. Onyx Club.
No reply. He was already in position.
The Onyx Club occupied a fortress of black stone in the Meatpacking District, fronted by velvet ropes and a line that stretched half a block.
Buck walked her past all of it. The bouncer acknowledged him with a nod.
“VIP elevator. Penthouse suite. Mr. Luna is waiting,” the bouncer said, unclipping the rope.
Margo stepped forward.
“Just the girl,” the bouncer said, blocking her path with one massive arm.
Margo stopped, visibly affronted. Buck placed a hand on the small of Eliza’s back — clammy, insistent — and pushed her forward. “Be nice,” he murmured. “Save the family p>