6 APARTMENT?

 

“We can’t go there.”

He drives, ignoring me.

“We can’t,” I repeat, desperate.

He doesn’t respond. Just fling away my hand, and head toward the exit.

 

No watch. No way to signal Marcus. No way to warn him Carlos is about to walk into evidence of my obsession, my hunt for revenge.

My heart lodges in my throat.

Live to kill Carlos.

But right now, I’m not sure I’ll survive the next hour.

 

Less than two minutes and we arrive at what he calls “my apartment.”

He simply drove us behind his building -a route I’ve never been able to track because I always lose him at some point during my surveillance.

I follow him out. Standing outside this so called apartment, with a garden situated at the corner, his penthouse looms just across a stretch of manicured trees and rooftops. Close enough to watch. Close enough to control.

He’s putting me in a cage and calling it a job.

 

“How is this my apartment?” I question, my voice gaining weight, but like earlier, he ignores me and heads inside.

The building is compact but luxurious. A mini-duplex with clean lines and a pool that overlooks the city: Contained and controlled, like everything else in Carlos’s world.

 

I scan for cameras while he’s not looking. Three visible: one by the entrance, one covering the living area, one aimed at the pool. Standard security. Another reason this PA job is a hard no.

 

“The intercom by the gate connects directly to my building.” He runs his fingers along the marble countertop then bring out a cigarette.

“When I call, you answer.”

He’s nuts.

“If I was meant to be a slave, I’d have been born in the 1600s.”

He doesn’t acknowledge my insult, just continues.

 

“New clothes will be delivered in.... ” he glances at his Hublot watch

“.. fifteen minutes. Select what you want and return the rest.”

“Can I say no?”

But he’s already moving deeper into the apartment, inspecting every corner.

 

Currently, I’m drowning in his shirt and his very big Jean because

"There'll be bloodshed if anyone sees what my shirt look like on you"

 

I had demanded my own clothes back, his stupid response was- “dry cleaning”.

With the kind of finality that welcomes no argument.

My fingers find the third camera in my pocket. Still there. I need to plant it somewhere, definitely not here.

Maybe the VIP club or his warehouse.

 

“I can’t be a personal assistant.” I lament to his back as he examines the security panel by the door..

“You need someone submissive.”

He opens cabinets, checks the refrigerator that’s already been stocked.

 

“That’s not me. But I can cook, supervise, any w…”

He turns so suddenly I don’t have time to balance myself before his hands close around my waist, lifting me onto the kitchen island in one fluid motion.

The marble is cold against my thighs, but his hands burn through the fabric.

 

I’m tall, but perched here with him standing between my legs, he towers over me and my stomach lurches.

 

Not from the height but from the proximity.

My mother’s throat. My father’s chest. My brother’s...

“What’s in your apartment that made you almost kill us getting away from it?”

His voice cuts through the spiral. I force myself to breathe: In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Marcus’s Words: Stay present.

 

“My husband.”

The lie comes out steadier than I feel. His eyebrows draw together, his cigarette stick hang in the air and red flickers in his dark eyes.

“Husband?” He repeats it with a deep tone and furrowed brows.

 

“He doesn’t like other men around me. If he sees you…” I let the sentence trail off, watching his eyes narrow.

Carlos steps closer. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his chest. His hands are still on my waist, thumbs pressed against my ribs.

𝘗𝘶𝘚𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘛 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘓𝘦. 𝘋𝘰 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

 

But all I can think about is Vaughn. My first love. The boy who taught me what it meant to want someone, to trust someone. The man who still knows exactly how to make me feel safe even though we’re not together anymore.

Carlos’s touch feels nothing like Vaughn’s.

 

Vaughn’s hands were always gentle, even when we trained together. Even when we fought side by side. But this monster caging me with his body, his hands feel like a threat wrapped in heat. Dilemma

"If he sees me?" He repeats and I blink, focusing on my lie

“If he sees you, it won’t end well.”

 

His already dark eyes deepen as he glares, making his face a mask of something raging.

He lets go of me, but I can see his neck veins protruding as he walks over to the mini-bar in the living room.

He doesn’t find what he wants, he slams his fist on the table,making me jump.

 

"One fucking month!" He hiss out.

I try climbing down but stop when I see him stride towards me. Three seconds.

 

That’s all the warning I get before he’s in front of me again, cigarette smoke curling between us like a threat as his hand wraps around my throat.

Firm enough to hold me in place, not enough to cut off air.

“Is that why you have a Colt Mustang strapped around your knee?”

His voice lays something heavy on my throat.

“Tha…lia.” My name drags out like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff

 

“It’s for self-protection.”

I gaze away from him, but his grip turns me back to face him.

Empty silence heightens the awareness of us together.

His eyes search me: from my eyes to my lips, then down my seated body before hovering on my lips again.

He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again, puffing his cigarette before letting go of my throat.

 

That went well.

My feet hit the floor and I walk past him, feeling his gaze glued to my back like a physical touch.

The silence stretches as I walk: thick, electric.

Four steps to fresh air, I hear the soft squish of his cigarette being stubbed out.

Did he not buy it?

I hear his footsteps. Fast and Deliberate. I quicken my pace but get stopped as my head snaps back. Pain shoots across my scalp as he fists my hair and yanks my head flush against his shoulder.