Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

men outside to escort you in. What are you wearing?”
I glance down at the outfit I put together before heading out tonight. “Um… a white silk blouse
and a metallic pink skirt. What exactly is Purgatory?”
“A club,” he answers.
“And you have… men?”
The line falls quiet. For a moment, I wait, hoping he’ll speak again—and not even really sure
why I hope that. I guess I like talking to him, even if he is a mysterious stranger.
“We’ll get better acquainted once you’re in my territory, Miss Meadows. In the meantime, you
should probably text your friend to let her know you won’t be coming back inside. Don’t tell her
where you’re going.”
That’s a sketchy request, but it doesn’t feel like a request at all—it’s an order.
If Jackson ordered me around, I wouldn’t have liked it, wouldn’t have tolerated it for very long,
but recalling what this man said about not accepting answers he doesn’t like, I remind myself that
whoever he is, he’s used to getting his way.
I don’t know who he is, or what kind of trouble Jackson could be in that this man is involved
with, but it seems to me I have little to gain by arguing with him over this.
I can tell Charity where I’m going. It’s not like he would know I disobeyed him.
“How do I know I’ll be safe?”
“You don’t,” he answers simply.
I wait for him to assure me I will, but he doesn’t.
It feels discomfiting, but I’m not sure why. If he did mean me harm, it’s not like he would tell me.
It would have cost him nothing to reassure me, though, and he made the deliberate choice not to. That
says something about him—something I’m not sure I like.
Before I can decide whether or not to heed the warning in his words and his carefully chosen
silence, a sleek black limousine pulls up to the curb and diverts my attention.
I watch as the driver gets out and looks over at me. He’s not a slim older man with a mustache
and a cheap suit like I might imagine the driver of a car service to be. He’s younger and muscular,
clean shaven, and his head is shaved, too. “Hallie Meadows?”
A strong sense of foreboding washes over me at the sight of this driver who looks more like a
fighter, but I ignore it and nod.
He nods once, then walks around to open the back door. His gaze returns to me in a way that
makes me feel like it’s his job to keep an eye on me. Like if I ran right now, he would give chase.
He gestures for me to get inside.