~ SASHA ~

The van was a marvel. Like something out of the bat cave. Behind her seat a platform was raised to the ceiling that she suspected was a bed. But that was where any kind of normal upgrades ended.

The outside of the windows had been sprayed with logos and signage, like it was a real maintenance vehicle. But that only stopped the interior from being visible to anyone looking in from the outside. And this interior needed to be hidden.

The entire opposite wall was little more than a bank of computer screens and technology, with a tablet slipped into a holder alongside headphones and several pieces of technology that she couldn't identify. There were small grips and hinges at various spots that told her this was more than just a vehicle wall. And at either end, secure lockers almost big enough for her to crawl into were welded in, with number pads to open.

What was inside those?

The floor was some kind of laminate, that reminded her of her kitchen, and a rolling desk chair was strapped to the back door

For the first time it was coming home to Sasha that Zev might not have left her just because he wanted to. That he might not have left to go live a normal life somewhere else.

That he might be dangerous—even to her.

"Zev—"

"Just stay quiet, Sash," he muttered. "If we can get out of here without them knowing, we'll be safer. Then I can talk. Keep your head down and pray." The van lurched forward and he cursed, but then continued at a sedate pace, though he was looking high and low through the parking garage as he drove.

She held her breath.

There were men chasing them—him? Her? Both of them? Men who, presumably, also had vans with computers and…

"What are you involved in, Zev?" she murmured under her breath. She didn't think he would have been able to hear her over the roar of the van. But his shoulders tensed.

"I will explain, I promise. Just be patient."

She stared at the back of his head. Patient? She'd waited five years! But she swallowed the protest back. If these men were as dangerous as he said, she didn't want to distract him.

They rolled through the garage and up the winding ramp to the street level where there was a line of two cars waiting to get through the barrier to the street.

She didn't speak and neither did Zev, though he scanned every inch of the parking garage—and checked her in the rearview mirror.

For a split-second their eyes locked again, and her breath whooshed out of her. There was pleading in his gaze. Pleading, and warning, and fear and… heat. The soft, warm heat she recognized, that he'd always had when he looked at her before.

That gaze hit her low in her belly, and made her heart race even faster. But he tore his eyes away and went back to scanning the dark garage around them. Then the car ahead of them went through the barrier arm and he pulled up to the little hut and rolled down his window, slinging his arm over the door casually and handing a ticket through it.

Sasha looked back. There was no one waiting behind them.

"Hey," a male voice said out of Sasha's sight.

Zev tipped his head. "Where's Patrick?" he said, friendly, unthreatening. "He sick? He seemed fine yesterday?"

"Nah, his wife's having a baby," the guy responded.

"Oh?" Then Sasha felt it, that strange tension, pressure in the air—power. Just like back at the apartment, something emanated off of Zev that made her squirm in her seat. He still had his arm over the open window of the van, but she saw the muscles at the back of his jaw twitch. "Patrick doesn't have a wife. He's gay."

There was a cold second where Sasha's heart leaped into her throat, then all hell broke loose.

He was so fast. So incredibly fast. And strong.

Impossibly strong.

Zev flowed through the window and half out of the van, a guttural snarl erupting from his throat. The guy shouted something and Zev's body jolted, then, impossibly, he was pulling back into the car, his shoulders barely straining as he dragged the top half of the guy with him, leaving the stranger's legs still in the kiosk, his body half-in and half-out of the van window, but pinned because the window was too small for him to do more than twist.

Fists flew, and the van shook. Sasha tried to leap out of her seat, but was held in by the seatbelt. She unclipped it and scrambled forward.

"Get back!" Zev snarled at her as he twisted the guy's neck up in his own shirt.

The strange noises were coming from the guy's throat and his face was beet-red, turning purple. He slammed fists into Zev, or tried to, but in the tight confines of the van, he couldn't wind up—and apparently, given the way his face was swelling and veins were beginning to stand proud on his forehead, he couldn't breathe either.

The man began to wriggle like a fish, reaching for Zev's neck, his fingers digging into Zev's windpipe until he was forced to let go of the shirt he was using to strangle the man with one hand, to grab and twist the guy's wrist.

Sasha heard a sickening snap.