The heavy door of the Maybach shut with a thud that sounded like a prison bolt sliding into place. Outside, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi were still pulsing against the tinted windows, but inside, the world was reduced to the scent of leather, Silas’s expensive bourbon, and the suffocating tension between them.

Silas reached forward and tapped the intercom. "Drive, Marcus. Long way around."