Let Me Go. I Want to Leave

Eleanor Vance POV

The man standing in front of them was not someone they could escape from.

The moment he stepped forward, they stumbled back fast. Their bodies crashed into each other like scared rats trapped in a dark corner with no way out.

One of them clamped a hand over his mouth, choking back a scream. The other shook where he stood.

Two calm steps. That was all it took.

He faced them with his tall, solid body, watching them with slow, measured eyes. The cigarette still rested between his lips. How did he stay this calm, for God’s sake?

I had heard a lot about military life. About how harsh it was. How it carved men from the inside out. But what about a General like Julian Blackwood, a man who had spent decades in service?

He faced death every single day. Until death became familiar. Almost gentle to him.

But not like this.

Not killing with this kind of calm. As if nothing had happened at all.

Did he think he had just crushed an ant or what?

I followed his steps as he moved closer to them, slow and unhurried. Then he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, calm as ever. He did not need to show his power. He did not fake it. He lived it. In every cell of his body.

He lifted the phone to his ear and spoke in a low, brutal voice. Strong enough to freeze my father’s guards in place like salt statues.

“There is some trash that needs to be taken out.”

He pinched the cigarette between his fingers and slammed its burning tip into one man’s neck.

The scream was sharp. Raw. It ripped through the silence.

But Mr. Blackwood did not give him time.

He leaned in close, so close his hot breath brushed the man’s face, and whispered in a voice that made them tremble even harder.

“This is for daring to touch the General’s wife. The rest of the punishment is for my men.”

He did not pull the cigarette away. Not until the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Pain pulsed through the space. I could see the skin turning red. Angry. Ruined.

Then his harsh voice cut through my shaking again.

“What did you want from my wife?”

One of them staggered back, terror owning him. His voice came out broken. Shaking.

“We were ordered to take her to the club. She is collateral. A bet.”

His whole body shook from head to toe. His eyes stayed glued to the floor, afraid to even glance at Julian’s face.

I bit my lip in burning shame and dropped my head when the General’s gaze settled on me for a few seconds. I felt the heat of it sink into my skin before he looked back at them.

I felt sick.

Embarrassment. Pity. Both bitter.

He knew now. About my father’s bet.

I could not even imagine what he thought of me right now.

God. This was humiliating.

He slowly rubbed his thumb over his lower lip.

“The name of the place?”

“Belacaza Club.”

The man answered instantly. No hesitation. Fear for his neck.

Julian hummed and stepped away from them. Then he walked toward me and stopped right in front of me.

I lifted my face to him.

I had no idea what he was thinking. Not even a guess.

Suddenly, he grabbed my hand.

I felt the roughness of his palm. Its size. The way it wrapped around my wrist.

He pulled me after him without a second thought.

We reached the restroom door. The moment we stepped out, I froze.

A line of large men in black stood there. Shoulder to shoulder. Perfect formation.

“Do your job.”

They nodded and stormed into the restroom.

I frowned, confused, and looked at Mr. Blackwood, waiting for an explanation.

I did not understand.

Who were these men? What were they doing? Why did they rush in like wild animals?

My eyes dropped from his face to our joined hands.

His hand wrapped around mine. Warm. Possessive.

It swallowed mine whole.

His hand looked massive. Powerful. Marked with strength.

Compared to mine, it was unfair.

I yanked my hand back fast and cleared my throat, embarrassed. Especially when I caught his focused stare, like he was reading my pulse under my skin.

So embarrassing.

Then I heard it.

Male screams. Loud. Many.

Heavy crashes against doors.

I froze.

When I realized what was happening inside, I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold back a gasp. Terror crawled through my veins.

“Mr. Julian, what is happening in there?”

He shrugged, calm. Like whatever was happening was routine.

“Extermination.”

I gasped and stumbled back two steps, my legs stiff.

Was he joking?

Did he really send his men to kill the ones inside?

Oh God.

He gestured for me to walk ahead of him.

I obeyed instantly, moving fast, desperate to escape the sound of bones breaking. Sounds I did not even want to hear in horror movies.

But the moment I tried to pull away, his iron grip closed around my wrist again.

My breath hitched.

“Where do you think you are going, little one?”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance at that stupid nickname and met his dark gaze chasing me like a shadow.

“I am leaving.”

“You are leaving. Yes. But with me.”

What?

Leaving with who?

General Julian?

Where?

“What do you mean?”

His grip tightened as he dragged me forward, cutting through the hotel halls, ignoring my question completely.

I frowned, watching the hard line of his face. His eyes fixed straight ahead.

Fine.

“Answer me. Do not ignore me like I am nothing.”

I let out a deep breath as he headed toward his car, while I was still held beside him like a hostage.

Why was he holding me like this?

Did he think I was a child who could not walk?

“Get in.”

The order came sharp. Final.

I scowled and crossed my brows.

“Listen, Mr. Blackwood. I am grateful for what you did. I will not forget it. But I need to go home.”

His eyes scanned my face. Slowly. Every detail.

When his gaze reached my lips, it stopped.

He stared. Long. Bold. Deep.

My blood boiled.

Then, calm and infuriating, he looked away and said,

“Get in, Miss Vance.”

Again.

I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to argue.

I never got the chance.

In two steps, he closed the space between us and slammed my back against the cold metal of the car.

A soft groan slipped out of me as pain shot through my back.

Shock stole my breath.

I lifted my head and found him staring down at me, dominant. Fierce. Unblinking.

Like he was trapping my soul.

I froze. Pressed against the car.

I opened my mouth to protest, but his piercing stare killed the words before they were born.

His hands slid slowly over my arms until they reached my fingers. He laced them with his. Hard.

His heated breath brushed my face, burning.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip and leaned closer.

“Do not roll your eyes at me. Get in.”

I glared at him and tried to push him away.

He did not move.

Not even a little.

Helplessness washed over me. I dropped my hands to my sides in defeat as my heart slammed against my ribs.

“Let me go. I want to leave alone.”

He stepped closer. His solid chest pressed into me.

I held my breath. A soft gasp escaped me.

His warm breath fanned my face. Every inch closer burned.

I closed my eyes in fear when our noses almost touched.

I could feel his lips hovering near my skin.

His scent hit me hard. Cigarettes mixed with sharp male cologne.

It slid into my lungs. My pores.

My limbs went numb.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to escape, when a mechanical sound clicked beside me.

I opened one eye carefully.

He had opened the car door. His arm rested on it, relaxed. Deliberate.

Then, without warning, he buried his face into my loose hair and slowly dragged his nose down until it reached my ear.

His whisper was low. Playful. Dangerous.

“I have no problem staying like this for hours. But I doubt you feel the same.”

I nodded fast, heat flooding my cheeks.

“You are right. You convinced me.”

I slipped under his arm and opened the car door quickly. I slammed it shut and stared at nothing, stunned.

What the hell did he just do?

He buried his face in my hair.

I swear I felt his lips brush my earlobe.