Briana's body went entirely limp, sliding down Clark's chest.
Clark's arm shot out instinctively, his large hand gripping her waist to keep her from hitting the wet asphalt. His jaw tightened as he felt the warm, wet smear of blood and rain transfer onto the expensive wool of his heavy trench coat.
Jairo, standing by the driver's side, took a step forward to take the girl off his boss's hands. But he stopped short.
Briana's fingers, slick with rain and blood, were tangled into the dark silk tie at Clark's chest. The knot had been pulled askew during her collision with him. Even in unconsciousness, her grip was locked tight, her knuckles white.
Clark looked down. The sudden, persistent pressure against his throat made him freeze.
He stared at her pale, rain-streaked face. In her semi-conscious state, Briana let out a soft, pained whimper. It was a specific, broken sound. A sound Imogen used to make when she had nightmares.
Clark's entire body went rigid. The muscles in his arms locked. His dark eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flash of absolute disbelief breaking through his icy exterior.
Without a word, he ripped off his heavy, blood-smeared trench coat and wrapped it tightly around her, completely shielding her from the rain and any prying eyes. Only then did he reach up and forcibly pry her stiff fingers from his tie, one by one. As the fabric came free, he saw the dark stain of her blood had seeped through the wool of his coat and bloomed against the chest of his bespoke suit jacket beneath.
Jairo watched in stunned silence but quickly pulled open the rear door. Clark ducked inside, pulling the unconscious girl onto the leather seat beside him.
The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the roar of the storm. The sudden blast of the car's heater made Briana's body violently shudder.
Her heavy eyelids fluttered open. The world was blurry, but it quickly focused on the sharp, unforgiving line of Clark's jaw. The tension in her muscles uncoiled slightly. She was safe. For now.
The heat in the cabin was stifling. Clark reached up and impatiently yanked his tie loose, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.
As the fabric parted, the sharp, masculine lines of his collarbone were exposed. The faint, rhythmic pulse at the base of his throat caught her attention. It was a hypnotic, steady beat of life in a night that had been filled with nothing but death.
Briana's pupils dilated so fast her eyes physically ached. Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest heaved. That pulse. That exact spot at the hollow of his throat. Something buried deep in her fractured memory surged up—a flash of sunlight through a bedroom window, her lips brushing that exact place on his skin in another life. Before she could stop herself, her bloody, trembling fingers reached out, inexplicably drawn to the radiating warmth of his skin, a desperate instinct to anchor herself to the most powerful presence in the room.
"Don't touch him," Jairo's voice barked from the driver's seat, sharp as a whip.
Briana flinched, snatching her hand back.
Clark's head snapped toward her. His eyes, previously clouded with a strange, unguarded vulnerability, were now pitch black and lethal. He had seen exactly where her fingers had been reaching—the place no one touched. The place he only ever allowed one woman to kiss.
No stranger would reach for that exact spot. No one.
His hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping around her jaw in a bruising grip.
Pain flared in her face, snapping her fully awake. She stared into his eyes, her stomach dropping into an endless void of ice.
"What is your name?" Clark demanded. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the small space.
Briana's brain fired on all cylinders. If he knew she was Imogen, he would know she was a freak. A ghost in a stranger's body.
She forced her eyes to well up with tears. She let her lower lip tremble. "Briana," she choked out, making her voice sound small and pathetic.
The name hung in the air.
The dangerous intensity in Clark's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a disgust so profound it made Briana's chest physically ache.
He released her jaw as if her skin burned him. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped her blood off his fingers.
"Drop her at the diner on the next block. Have a detail keep eyes on her," Clark ordered Jairo, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Panic seized Briana. She couldn't lose him. He was the most powerful man in the country. He was her only weapon against Kathleen.
She lunged forward, her bloody hands grabbing his sleeve. "Please! They'll kill me!"
Clark ripped his arm away. "Don't push your luck." The temperature in the car plummeted.
Briana instantly changed tactics. She shrank back, pulling her knees to her chest, curling into a tight, trembling ball against the leather door. She let out a soft, pathetic sob, playing the role of a broken, abused street rat to perfection.
It was a cheap act, but her eyes—wide, stubborn, and terrified—locked onto his. Clark looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw, visibly irritated by the strange pull he felt toward those eyes.
The Maybach glided to a stop at a desolate intersection in downtown LA. The locks clicked open. The freezing wind howled into the cabin.
Briana knew when to retreat. She swallowed her pride, whispered a trembling "Thank you," and dragged her throbbing ankle out of the car.
The heavy door slammed shut behind her.
The second the Maybach pulled away, the pathetic fear vanished from Briana's face. Her expression hardened into cold, calculating stone.
Inside the car, Clark stared at her shrinking figure in the rearview mirror. "Run a full background check on her," he ordered Jairo.
Briana stood under the dripping awning of a closed shop. The wind bit through her wet clothes. She needed a safe place to think.
She turned her head and saw the neon sign of a cheap, 24-hour diner glowing through the rain. She pushed through the greasy glass doors.
The cashier glared at her bloody, soaked appearance. Briana ignored him, limping straight to the darkest booth in the back corner, her mind already spinning a web.
