"Hey! You can't do that! That's a brand-new Mercedes!" Sterling shouted, thrashing as Dante and another man pinned his arms behind his back, easily stripping the jingling keys from his sweaty palm.
"It's not your car anymore, Arthur," Vincent said smoothly, turning back to me. He reached down, scooped me up into his arms with surprising gentleness, and settled me against his shoulder. My red hoodie snagged slightly on his lapel, but he didn't care. "In fact, nothing with your name on it is yours anymore by midnight."
Vincent walked past the paralyzed crowd of diners toward the exit, carrying me like I weighed nothing at all. Right before we reached the glass doors, he paused and looked back at Sterling, who was now kneeling on the broken glass.