Say the Word(94)

Labyrinth


What was Labyrinth? My mind spun with possibilities.

A restaurant? A club? A business?

Before I could delve further into speculation, I felt it — that slow awareness that overtakes your system when you sense that someone is watching you. The tingling instant of time in which all the fine, feathery hairs on the back of your neck rise because you know, with instinctual perception, that you have ceased to be the hunter and are, instead, the hunted.

The hand clamped down over my mouth before I could take a single step away from the window, or even turn to face my attacker. My phone and binoculars clattered to the floor, and I began to struggle — my hands came up to tear at the fingers blocking my airway, my torso thrashed violently, my feet fought for purchase against the dust-coated wooden floor.

None of it mattered. As soon as his mouth brushed my ear and his whisper registered in my mind, the struggle was over.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice hushed. “There are two men in the alley directly below us. If you scream, they’ll hear you.”

All the fight left my body and I hung limp in his arms, relief coursing through my bloodstream and chasing the terror from my system. Though the relief was short-lived — anger took its place in matter of heartbeats.

“I’m going to take my hand away now,” he added. “You good?”

I nodded and his hand slipped away from my face. Whirling around on the balls of my feet, I planted my hands on my hips and glared at him.

“You followed me!” The outraged whisper flew from my mouth with enough heat to sear the flesh from his bones.

Bash nodded. His face was set in stone and there was no humor in his eyes — they were flat as two greenish ponds on a windless day.

“What the hell, Bash?” I glared at him.

Without saying a word, he bent over and grabbed my phone and binoculars from the ground by my feet.

“What are you— Hey!” I yelped as his free hand shot out and grabbed hold of my arm just above the elbow with a fair amount of pressure. His vice grip didn’t loosen as he began to stride across the room toward the stairs.

“I’m not finished here!” I struggled against him, but made no progress. “Bash, let me go! This is crazy!”

He stilled so abruptly, I had no time to slow my forward momentum and crashed face first into the broad planes of his back. I winced and rubbed my forehead with my free hand. Turning his head slightly over his shoulder, so his face was visible in profile, Bash’s icy words were enough to stop my protests.

“Those men in the alley? They’re armed. So you can either walk out the back entrance with me, or I’ll carry you out. Your choice. But either way, we’re leaving. Now.”

It took me about two seconds to evaluate my options and realize that he wasn’t kidding around. Admitting defeat, I nodded to signal my cooperation and allowed him to pull me to the stairwell.

Sebastian walked quickly, leading us down to the exit and out onto the pier in less than a minute. Before I knew it, we’d left the row of warehouses behind and were back on the streets of Red Hook, heading for a small alleyway around the corner where a parked black Land Rover sat waiting. He yanked open the passenger door, shoved me inside, rounded the hood, and settled into the driver’s seat in a series of aggressive movements that betrayed just how angry he was.

“I don’t know why you’re mad,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive maneuver.

Sebastian turned over the ignition and pulled out of the alley with such speed my body pressed back against the cushioned seat and my stomach turned over.

“So dramatic,” I muttered under my breath.

He didn’t bother to acknowledge that I’d spoken, but his fists clenched tighter around the steering wheel as we sped along Brooklyn’s waterfront toward the bridge. Realizing he likely wasn’t going to speak to me until we reached our destination — wherever that might be — I sighed and flipped on the stereo system. Strains of familiar classical music filled the car and I immediately regretted my decision.

Vitali. Of course.

My hands itched to turn it off, but that seemed a far too obvious show of discomfort. I tried to appear unaffected as the violins crescendoed, though the desire to fidget in my seat was nearly irrepressible. Sensing my distress or perhaps feeling some of his own, Sebastian reached forward and flipped off the music, sending us back into a weighty silence. I turned my eyes out the window and allowed my attention to drift for a while. My thoughts were so wrapped up in the brewery and whatever “Labyrinth” might be, I didn’t notice that we weren’t heading for my apartment in Midtown until we’d slowed to a crawl on the streets of SoHo. Several blocks from Simon’s loft — and several hundred thousand price-points higher, in terms of real estate value — the converted brick factories here were upscale lofts, complete with climate controlled underground parking and security systems.

Sebastian pushed a button on a sleek box affixed to his windshield, and we pulled into a gated, ground level garage. The gate lowered behind us and he nodded to a security guard as we rolled past the enclosed glass office.

“Where are we?” I asked nervously, seeking unnecessary confirmation.

Tight-lipped, Bash pulled into a parking spot and shifted the car into park.

“Can you please just take me home?” The hopeful naivety in my tone bordered on desperation.