The leather interior of the car smelled of expensive cedarwood, expensive cologne, and a suffocating, clinical cleanliness that felt entirely at odds with the chaos Elena had just escaped. Outside, the world was a blur of gray and black, the rain hammering against the reinforced glass like a thousand desperate fingers trying to claw their way inside.
Inside, there was only the hum of a twelve-cylinder engine and the terrifying, magnetic presence of the man sitting next to her.
Matthew Carranza did not look at her. He kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his silhouette sharp against the dashboard’s faint blue glow. He was a man chiseled from stone—strong jaw, dark hair slicked back with rain from when he had briefly stepped out earlier, and eyes that held the cold, calculating weight of an empire.
He picked up a sleek, black satellite phone. He didn’t dial; he merely pressed a single speed-dial button.
“Marcus,” Matthew said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a terrifying resonance that made the air in the vehicle feel heavy. “The intersection of Route 9 and Blackwood Lane. There is a woman standing in the road. Patricia Salgado. She has a leather belt in her hand. Neutralize her presence. If she contacts the police, remind her of the outstanding audit on her logistics firm. If she contacts Becerra, tell him he has exactly twenty-four hours to liquidate his assets before I liquidate him.”
Elena’s breath hitched. She pulled her knees tighter against her chest, her bare feet digging into the pristine leather. He knows them. The realization hit her like a physical blow. She hadn’t just escaped into a random stranger’s car; she had thrown herself into the orbit of someone who spoke of her tormentors as if they were nothing more than minor inconveniences to be swept away.
Matthew ended the call with a flick of his thumb and finally turned his head. His dark eyes raked over her, assessing the damage. He took in the damp, ruined fabric of her cheap dress, the mud caking her shins, and finally, the dark, blooming violet bruise on her cheekbone.
A dangerous flicker of something passed through his eyes—not pity, but a cold, ancient anger.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Elena,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Elena Vargas.”
“Elena,” he repeated, testing the weight of her name on his tongue. “You are Arthur Vargas’s daughter.”
It wasn’t a question. Elena shivered, nodding slowly. Her father had died two years ago, leaving his small shipping company completely in the hands of his second wife, Patricia. Since then, Elena had been downgraded from a daughter to a prisoner, a bargaining chip to be traded to the highest bidder to satisfy Patricia’s skyrocketing gambling debts. Tonight, that bidder had been Oscar Becerra, a notorious, bloated billionaire with a reputation for breaking young women.
“I didn’t want to,” Elena choked out, the tears finally breaking through the numbness, hot and stinging against her bruised skin. “She locked me in the room. She said if I didn’t… if I didn’t make him happy, she would sell my father’s old house. She hit me. I ran. I just ran.”
Matthew watched her cry. He didn’t offer a tissue. He didn’t offer comfort. But he did something else. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy wool blanket, and threw it into her lap.
“Dry yourself,” he said coldly. “We have a long drive, and I do not tolerate blood or tears ruining my upholstery.”
Despite the harshness of his words, the blanket was warm. Elena wrapped it around her trembling shoulders, burying her face in the wool. She felt the car accelerate, smooth and fast, eating up the miles as Seattle faded into a distant, glowing mist behind them.
The Devil’s Sanctuary
Two hours later, the car passed through a massive iron gate that opened automatically, winding up a private cliffside road surrounded by towering pine trees. At the summit stood a monolith of modern architecture—a sprawling estate of glass, steel, and dark stone overlooking the churning, black waters of Puget Sound.
The car stopped under a covered portico. The driver, a tall, silent man in a dark suit, immediately opened Matthew’s door with an umbrella. Matthew stepped out, not waiting for Elena.
