EMMA'S POV
Emma didn't know where they were going.
The SUV cut through the city like a black arrow, slipping between the late-night traffic, taking turns she couldn't track, merging onto roads she didn't recognize. The streetlights blurred past in molten streaks of yellow and white, and all she could hear was the low hum of the engine and the hammering of her own heartbeat.
Adrian hadn't let go of her hand.
Not once.
His grip was strong—too strong—his palm warm and slightly trembling, as if holding her was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. He stared out the tinted window, the muscles in his jaw shifting, tightening, releasing, tightening again.
Liam drove in silence, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near a concealed weapon. His eyes flicked to the mirror every few seconds, scanning the road, the skyline, the shadows. He didn't need to say a word; the tension rolling off him made everything clear:
They were not just leaving the scene.
