Page 197 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“But I won’t force you to stay with me,” he adds. “Go back to our room. I’ll take one of the guest rooms.”

I stare at him, disbelief crashing over everything else.

“I’m a prisoner.”

He sinks into the chair. The fight’s gone out of him. I don’t wait. I walk out. I don’t look back or stop. I make it to the bedroom, shut the door, and the second it clicks—I collapse. The sobs tear out of me, like I’m mourning something that’s still standing on the other side of the wall.

I don’t know how long I stay on the floor, but eventually the sobs ease enough that I can breathe again, and I force myself up. My legs feel unsteady as I make it to the bathroom, gripping the counter as I turn on the sink. I splash cold water over my face again and again until my skin burns, and my breathing evens out just enough to think.

When I walk back into the bedroom, I realize. My phone isn’t here. It’s in Michael’s office. I dropped it when I tried to run and then Adam grabbed. The image sits in my mind—Michael, the gun, the way he held it to Sal’s head, the anger on his face.

Stop, Katie. Stop.

I go back to the door and open it slowly. I ease it open just enough to slip through without making noise. It doesn’t matter. The second I look up, I see him. Marco is sitting in a chair directly across from my room.

“Miss Katie,” he says respectfully, exactly the way he always has.

“I guess you’re my guard dog now.”

He presses his lips together, but he doesn’t correct me. “You should get some rest, Miss Katie.”

“Where’s Michael?”

“He’s not here right now.”

Of course he isn’t. He’s still out there finishing whatever I walked in on.

My stomach twists. “Is he going to kill Sal?”

Marco’s face changes for a split second before smoothing back out. “That’s not something I can discuss.”

Right.

“I’m thirsty,” I say, already stepping forward. “I’m going to the kitchen.”

I barely make it a step before he’s on his feet. “I can get it for you.”

I stop and turn back to him. “I can’t even get a drink in my own house?”

His head tilts slightly, and there’s something there that almost looks like sympathy. “I’ll walk with you.”

It’s not a question or suggestion.

I let out a breath through my nose, shaking my head. “Whatever.”

He walks a few feet behind me as we go down the stairs, close enough that I can hear every step he takes, but far enough that he doesn’t touch me. The house is quiet, and the only sound is the two of us moving through it.

In the kitchen, I take a glass from the cabinet, fill it with ice and water, watching it settle before I carry it to the table and sit down. My hands stay wrapped around it, but I don’t take a sip. I just sit there, staring, trying to catch up to everything that’s happened.

I was just here, in this same kitchen, at this same table, a few hours ago completely unaware of the shit-fest I was about to walk straight into. My grip tightens on the glass. Everything felt normal, and now none of it does.

“Miss Katie,” Marco says after a second, his voice careful. “I know he lied to you. I know what he does—what we do—isn’t exactly honorable, but don’t ever question whether he loves you.”

I swallow, my throat tight. “You have to say that. He’s your boss.”

“Actually,” he says, and there’s something firmer in his tone now, “I shouldn’t be saying it at all. If he knew I was having this conversation with you, it wouldn’t go well for me.”

That makes me look at him.