“I'm going anywhere with you,” she spat, stepping back. She had nowhere to go but up against the fire exit, and she jolted as she hit it, her eyes falling closed.
“I'm not your enemy here, Freya,” he said. “You tell me where you want to, and I'll take you there, no questions asked, okay? And then I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want. But I'm guessing you don't want to stick around here.”
She opened her eyes, giving him a narrow, suspicious look. “You're not one of Sammy's, are you? Swear to me.”
“I don't know any Sammy.”
There was a burst of noise behind the fire door, two men yelling. Freya leapt away from it as if scalded, and her expression suddenly turned desperate and pleading. Slater held his hand out to her, a surge of possessive satisfaction filling him when she took it.
Half-dragging her along, he ran from the alley to where his bike was parked out the front of the club. On the door, Glass gave him a quizzical look.
“Something came up,” Slater said, grabbing his helmet and shoving it unceremoniously on Freya's head. “You don't know anything, right?”
He didn't hear Glass's reply over the roar of his engine, but that didn't matter. Glass was solid, and all that mattered to Slater right now was getting Freya away from whatever was scaring her so badly.