CHAPTER 4 - Trapped Between Worlds

"Room service. I have towels for you, miss."

My heart hammered against my ribs. The hotel room suddenly felt like a cage. I grabbed my dress from the floor, pulling it on with shaking hands.

"I did not order anything."

"Complimentary, miss. Hotel policy."

Lies. Everything about that smooth, practiced voice screamed lies.

I backed toward the bathroom, my phone clutched in my hand. Should I call Damien? The police? My mother?

The lock clicked.

They had a key.

The door swung open, and a man in an expensive suit stepped inside. Not hotel staff. His cold eyes swept the disheveled room, landing on me with predatory satisfaction.

"Miss Winters. Your fiancé has been very worried about you."

"Get out or I will scream."

"Please do not make this difficult." He closed the door behind him. "Mr. Ashford simply wants to talk. He sent me to bring you home safely."

"Richard sent you?" My voice pitched higher. "He does not know people like you."

"His father does." The man's smile never reached his eyes. "Marcus Ashford has considerable resources. When his son's bride disappears hours before their engagement party, he takes it personally."

"I am not Richard's bride. We are not married."

"A technicality that will be corrected once you return." He took a step closer. "Now, you can come willingly, or I can make a phone call that will ruin the man you spent tonight with. Damien Cross. Enforcer for the Iron Wolves MC. Currently wanted for questioning in three unsolved cases. It would be unfortunate if the police received an anonymous tip about his location."

Ice flooded my veins. "You have been following me."

"Since you left the café. Mr. Ashford wanted to know who was influencing his future daughter-in-law." His gaze dropped to the rumpled bed. "I must say, your taste in rebellion is predictably cliché. A dangerous biker? How original."

Rage replaced fear. "You do not know anything about him."

"I know enough. I know the Iron Wolves are at war with the Savage Kings. I know Damien Cross has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. And I know that if you do not come with me right now, I will ensure he pays for kidnapping and corrupting a vulnerable young woman."

"He did not kidnap me. This was my choice."

"Was it?" The man pulled out his phone, showing me a photo. Damien's bloodied fists from the bar fight. "Or did he manipulate a confused girl running from her responsibilities?"

"Stop twisting everything."

"I am simply presenting facts. Now get your things. We leave in two minutes."

My mind raced. If I went with him, I would be trapped forever in Richard's suffocating world. But if I refused, this man would destroy Damien. After everything tonight—the violence, the enemies already hunting him—I would be adding fuel to a fire that could consume him.

"I need to use the bathroom first."

He checked his watch. "One minute."

I grabbed my purse and locked myself in the tiny bathroom. My hands shook as I pulled up Damien's number—the one he had entered into my phone earlier without me noticing.

The text I sent was simple: "They found me. Richard's people. I'm sorry."

I hit send and flushed the toilet for cover.

When I emerged, the man was waiting by the door. "Smart girl. Let us go."

The hotel hallway stretched empty and sterile. He gripped my elbow, guiding me toward the elevator with practiced ease. Anyone watching would think he was a concerned friend helping a tipsy woman home.

"My car is downstairs. You will sit quietly. You will not make a scene. You will thank Mr. Ashford for his mercy in handling this discreetly."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then your biker becomes tomorrow's headline. 'Motorcycle gang member assaults innocent woman.' I have witnesses prepared to testify. Security footage that can be edited. Money buys many things, Miss Winters. Even truth."

The elevator doors opened.

Richard stood inside.

"Flora." His voice cracked with false emotion. "Thank God. I was so worried."

He looked exactly as I remembered—perfectly styled hair, designer clothes, the practiced expression of concern he had mastered for his father's business meetings. Nothing real. Nothing authentic.

"Richard, I—"

"Shh. It is okay. You were confused. Overwhelmed. I understand." He reached for me, and I flinched. Hurt flashed across his face, quickly masked. "We will get you help. Therapy. Whatever you need. My father knows an excellent psychiatrist."

"I do not need a psychiatrist. I need you to listen—"

"I am listening. You are not thinking clearly. Running off with some criminal? That is not you, Flora. That is not the woman I love."

The elevator descended. Each floor felt like a countdown to my imprisonment.

"The woman you love?" Bitterness sharpened my words. "You do not even know me, Richard. You know the version of me your parents approved of."

"That is the stress talking." His hand closed around mine, tight enough to hurt. "Once we get you home, rest, you will see things differently."

The lobby approached. Through the elevator's glass walls, I saw a black sedan waiting outside. Escape routes disappeared with each passing second.

Then the elevator jerked to a stop between floors.

The lights flickered.

Richard's associate swore, jabbing the buttons. "What the hell?"

The emergency phone crackled to life.

"Sorry for the inconvenience." The voice was familiar, rough, dangerous. "But I need to borrow something that belongs to me."

Damien.

The elevator doors pried open manually, revealing the maintenance shaft. And standing there, backlit by emergency lighting like an avenging angel, was the man I had given myself to hours ago.

His eyes found mine. "Time to choose, Flora. Them or me. Right now."