“Where do you think you’re going?” Bash throws his arm across my chest to stop me from turning left, toward my hotel. “To my hotel,” I state simply, confused by the sharpness of his tone. Shaking his head once, he scowls down at me. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” “What does that mean?” His hand slides down my arm until his fingers lace with mine, completely enveloping them. With a firm, threatening squeeze that nearly cuts off my blood supply, he says, “You’re coming with me.”
