His velvet obsession
Behind him, three other men stood in the shadows of the alleyway, their weapons drawn.
"Let me go," I hissed, struggling against his grip. "He doesn't own me!"
"No," a voice rasped from the darkness behind Carl.
Xavier stepped into the light of the streetlamp. He wasn't wearing his suit. He was in a black shirt, his eyes as cold as a winter grave. He didn't look angry. He looked... disappointed. And that was far worse.
"He doesn't own you, Astrid," Xavier said, walking toward me with a slow, terrifying grace. "But the people waiting at the end of this alley do. Did you think I was joking about the Scorpions?"