14: Where is your lion now?

Marek dragged me out of the room and into the empty corridor. His grip was a shackle, unyielding. My pulse thundered as he led me farther away, not a soul in sight to save me.

His stride was unhurried, casual - like he belonged here, like I was simply his date he was escorting out.

But his hand on my arm was iron, fingers biting through the thin fabric of my uniform.

“Walk,” he murmured, low and deadly, his voice meant for me alone. “Or I’ll make it look less polite.”

My throat tightened. My legs obeyed, carrying me forward though I trembled with every step.

“Good girl,” he chuckled.

As we moved down the corridor, every step echoed in my ears. My mind was racing. Maybe I could scream – maybe someone would hear? But all the rooms were empty, the drunk man fled, Victoria was on the floor above us, there was no one –

“Valerie?” A voice I hated almost as much as Marek’s.

Marek turned, pulling me with him. Derek stood behind us, clipboard in hand, mouth twisted in his usual sour line, though now his brows lifted in confusion. His eyes darted from my face to Marek’s scarred one, then down to Marek’s broad hand gripping my arm.

“What the hell is going on here?” Derek’s voice was sharp, accusing.

Hope sparked for a split second. I opened my mouth -

But before I could call for help, Marek moved. He yanked me flush against him, his arm wrapping around my waist, pinning me in place. His lips crashed onto mine before I could gasp, before I could say anything.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a brand. His lips crushing mine, iron and smoke. And danger. I froze, shock pinning me harder than his grip. My protest died against him, muffled, smothered.

From the corner of my eye I saw Derek stiffen, his face twisting with fury and disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he spat, disgust dripping from his tone. “In uniform? On my clock?”

Marek ignored him, tangling a hand in my hair, still locking me in his iron grip.

My eyes were on Derek, wide and screaming for help. But Derek was too furious to notice, his eyes burning holes in our embracing bodies.

“You’re fired, Valerie – get out!” His words low but finale, shattering the last fragile straw I clung to.

Marek finally broke the kiss, slowly, deliberately, his mouth curving against mine as he pulled away, letting me gasp for air, too flustered to respond.

“With pleasure,” Marek’s smirk was slow and dangerous. His eyes glittered – hungry, triumphant – holding my gaze a second longer before tugging me with him toward the elevator.

I cast one last desperate glance over my shoulder, my last hope dying with Derek throwing both his hands in the air, shouting, “And don’t bother coming back!” before turning and storming off.

F*cking Derek!

Inside the elevator tension stretched between us, the space suddenly feeling smaller than usual, his presence filling every square. Marek’s hand was still clutching my arm, my lips still burning from the ferocious kiss. I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He was smirking, amused.

“Don’t try calling for help again, little lamb,” his voice was cheerful, threaded with unmistakable threat. “Unless you want another kiss from the big bad wolf.”

The big bad wolf. My stomach dropped.

“W-what do you want with me?” I breathed, my mouth feeling dry.

He turned, looking at me, tilting his head slightly, sharpening his gaze. “I haven’t decided yet.”

His gaze swept over me slowly, hungry, greedy, like he was memorizing every curve, every detail.

“The plan was to hand you over to Wiktor,” he admitted, followed by a predatory smile. Then he licked his coarse lips, slowly. “But maybe I want a taste myself first.” The knot in my chest tightened. I tried to shrink away, pulling further away from him, but Marek pressed forward. He pushed me against the wall, his broad, muscular body pinning me in place, immovable.

Uselessly, I tried shoving him away. He caught my chin between his thumb and finger, forcing my face up. Refusing to look at him, I clamped my eyes shut.

A hot breath brushing my cheek, his grin vibrated against my skin. My heart thundered.

“Where is your lion now, little lamb?” his voice low, drawling, every word a taunt, making my blood freeze. And regretting ever leaving the Morales estate.

The elevator chimed cheerful, announcing its arrival at the lobby.

Marek grinned, pulled away slowly, tugged once on his leather jacket, before seizing my arm again.

As the elevator doors slid open, he leaned in, his breath scorching against my ear.

“Don’t try anything stupid, or the situation turns ugly, and people get hurt.”

Outside the elevator an elderly couple, all dressed up, was waiting. When they saw Marek, they looked startled, and the old lady gasped, shrinking back against her husband’s arm. Marek seemed amused by their reaction. He puckered his lips mockingly, blowing her a kiss, before pulling me close, arm shackling my waist. The old lady recoiled, covering her mouth with a gloved hand, hiding her shocked reaction.

“Don’t mind us,” Marek’s voice sounded playful, thick with Polish accent. “This maid just needs to be disciplined – nothing a good old spanking can’t fix.” I froze, breath catching. My wide eyes shot to his face, horrified. He winked at the old man, who pulled his wife protectively behind him. Marek grinned wider, dragging me past them toward the back exit, which led out to a dark alley, perfectly sheltered from prying eyes.

The cool air of the late afternoon slapped me as the door shut behind us. Marek drew a long breath, exhaling loud and satisfied. He caught me staring, eyes wide.

“Relax, little lamb,” he chuckled. “I was kidding.” Then his eyes darkened, and his smile faded.

“Unless you decide to misbehave.” I couldn’t breathe. My heart stuttered. Marek laughed roughly, dragging me further into the shadows.

He pulled me in the opposite direction of the hotel entrance, to the street behind it. A car waited at the curb, its engine purring like a predator ready to strike. Not the sleek black SUVs Morales favored, polished like obsidian and secretively with tinted windows. No, Marek’s was different – defiant. A steel-grey old Mercedes restored but scarred, paint dulled at the edges, chrome flashing under the weak sun. Its growl was deeper, angrier – the kind of car that belonged on dirty back roads rather than polished boulevards. A car that didn’t care about blending in but dared you to look.

Behind the wheel sat a young man – maybe barely twenty. Dark-blond hair like Marek, but leaner, his face more boyish, unscarred. A silver cross dangled from the mirror, swinging lazily with the car’s vibration. His eyes were the same ice blue as Marek’s, though his carried something softer beneath the ice.

Marek opened the rear door, his scar twisting into a grin as he gestured inside.

“Private quarters, little lamb,” he said softly, mockery curling every word. “Where no lions can interrupt me.”