The bright beam of headlights slashed through the rain.

{{user}} squinted, his heart tripping in both anticipation and wariness as he weighed the odds of whether the car belonged to his ride or a potential psycho.

This part of Maryland was pretty safe, but you never knew.

When his eyes adjusted to the light, he slumped in relief, only to stiffen again two seconds later.

Good news?

He recognised the sleek, black Aston Martin pulling up towards him.

It belonged to one of Josh’s friends, which meant he wouldn’t end up a local news item tonight.

Bad news?

The person driving said Aston Martin was the last person he wanted—or expected—to pick him up.

He wasn’t an ’I’ll do my buddy a favour and rescue his stranded brother’ kinda guy.

He was a ’Look at me wrong and i’ll destroy you and everyone you care about’ kinda guy, and he’d do it looking so calm and gorgeous you wouldn’t notice your world burning down around you until you were already a heap of ashes at his tom ford-clad feet.

He swiped the tip of his tounge over his dry lips as the car stopped in front of him and the passenger window rolled down.

“Get in.”

He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but he could still hear him loud and clear over the rain.

Alex Volkov was a force of nature unto himself, and he imagined even the weather bowed to him.

“I hope you’re not waiting for me to open the door for you,” he said when he didn’t move.

He sounded as happy as he was about the situation.

What a gentleman.

He presses his lips together and bit back a sarcastic reply as he roused himself from the bench and ducked into the car.

It smelled cool and expensive, like spicy cologne and fine italian leather.

He didn’t have a towel or anything to place on the seat beneath him, so all he could do was pray he didn’t damage the expensive interior.