“We take my personal car,” Lucian said, tossing me a pair of leather gloves. “Put those on. The docks are cold.”

I pulled the leather over my cold fingers, the material stiff and smelling of expensive oil.

We ran down the back stairs of the estate, our boots clicking against the concrete.

The garage was dark, smelling of gasoline and damp earth.

Lucian’s black sedan sat in the center of the bay, its headlights flashing once as he unlocked it with the remote.

There was no sign of Victor or any of the other guards.

“Get in the back with Bishop,” Lucian ordered as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

I scrambled into the leather backseat, and Bishop jumped in right after me, his heavy wet paws resting on my lap.

I buried my hands in his thick, coarse fur.

He let out a low, hot breath against my wrist, his weight comforting in the dark.

Lucian started the engine, and the car roared to life, the headlights cutting through the gloom of the garage.