“If you don’t work for him, and you’re not going to make me go back, what does it matter?”
They share a look.
“What don’t I know?” I ask them. “Oh God, is my dad dead?”
I blink at the thought.
“Why don’t you look upset by that idea?” Rome asks me.
“I’m only upset that I didn’t get to watch,” I mutter and look down at my hands. “I hope it was painful. The bastard sold me.”
I shake my head. Out of all of the horrible, painful things he’s done to me through the years, that’s the one thing that I can’t reconcile. Hesoldme.
“He didn’t send you here?” Julian asks me.
I shake my head but then feel dizzy. “No. And you didn’t answer me. Is he dead or not?”
“As far as we know,” Mateo says, “he’s alive.”
“Shit.” Tears fill my eyes. “I have to go. It’s not safe for me here.”
I go to stand, but Rome urges me back on the couch and turns to the others.
“Give us some time,” he says.
“She needs to answer—” Carson begins, but Rome shakes his head.
“She’ll answer, but she’s sick, thanks to Mateo. Give us some time.”
The three of them don’t look happy about it, but they do file out of the—apartment? I still don’t know where I am.
“I don’t want you to be in danger,” I whisper.
“I’m not,” he says, lifting me off the couch, blanket and all.
I’m not a petite girl. The fact that he can just carry me around is … alarming.
And a reminder of just how strong he is.
He stops in the kitchen and pours me some water, and as I sit on the counter, I drink some of it, watching him over the rim.
“How’s your stomach? Do you want some food?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Definitely not.”
“Holdon to your water.”
I do as I’m told, and he lifts me again, this time carrying me up the stairs and back into the bedroom where I woke up.
“Is this your bedroom?” I ask him.
“Yes.” He sets the glass on the bedside table, pulls the blankets on the bed back, and gestures for me to climb inside. “Lie down, firefly.”
“Why do you call me that?”
I don’t fight him. I scoot over in the bed and turn on my side so I can watch him. Rome unbuttons his shirt, removes it, and tosses it aside, and my eyes are plastered to his naked torso.
Holy fucking Jesus in a rowboat.
