The word echoed through the freezing, smoke-choked air of the pine forest like a physical blow, sharper than the crackle of the burning mansion behind them.
*Aisha’s primary asset.*
Vivian sat frozen in the damp moss, the heavy, bleeding frame of Dominic Vance pinning her plus-size curves to the earth. His large, blunt fingers were still locked around her wrist with an unyielding, death-like grip even in his deep unconsciousness. Her heart hammered a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs as she stared through the dense upstate fog toward the blinding headlights of the silver sedan.
She knew that name. *Aisha.* It wasn't the name of a corporate shell company in Delaware, nor a high-ranking coordinator within the upper echelons of The Consortium. It was a phantom moniker—a ghost signat
