Raven was much more elated than she ought to have been. The adrenaline overpowered any care for her own well-being—or Valeria's. She always responded this way after doing something irresponsible. But before she could indulge in it for too much longer, a stinging pain erupted at the nape of her neck.
Dazed, she hardly had time to take in what was occurring before she was slammed against a wooden door. Dante's hold was like a vice, his face inches from hers, eyes black with anger.
"Which asylum did you escape from?" he snarled, his voice low and serrated with irritation.
Raven didn't quite absorb his words, but the manner in which he treated her sent a spurt of fury coursing through her blood. Without warning, she struck her knee into his ribs.
Dante released a harsh wheeze, bending over a bit, taken aback by the raw temerity of her assault.
"Who the hell are you, and how dare you put your hands on me, you bastard?" she growled.
The instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew what she had done. Too loud.
Dante's face hardened, and before she could move, he slapped a hand over her mouth and yanked her down behind a crate.
Footsteps reverberated in the warehouse.
"Search everything," a masked man grumbled. "I swear I heard something."
Rolling his eyes, Dante let out a quiet breath, already planning their next step. He thanked whatever gods would listen that he had put his bike away outside before entering. But this girl—whoever she was—how in the world had she gotten here? If she had parked anywhere close, the men would have spotted her car and been on high alert from the beginning.
He looked down and caught her glaring. When he cocked a brow in questioning, she indicated toward his hand still pressed firmly across her mouth.
Dante blew out a frustrated breath and released her. Stooping closer, he whispered, "How did you get here?"
A mischievous grin crept onto Raven's face.
"Came on my scooter," she whispered. "Need a ride?"
For a moment, she almost laughed—just imagining this giant, six-foot-something thug wedged on the back of her bright pink scooter was sufficient to make her dizzy.
Dante's deadpan gaze informed her he did not appreciate the humor.
She indicated the door with her eyes, inviting him to exit. But as soon as she did, the reality of their predicament struck her.
The warehouse was infested with men. There was no obvious way out.
Her smile dissipated.
Yeah. They were screwed