Page 20 of Fool's Gold

Olivia and Bennett Stone were full of life and much more comfortable with the overly bright lights and probing fingers of Hollywood than I’ll ever be. Nepotism works for some people. For me? I wanna hide.

I wanna make sense of their deaths and what it means and how it’s tied in with Marcus.

It all circles back to him.

Once affectionately called an uncle and, now I know, the reason my parents died in that plane crash. He’s been a fixture in my life for too many years to count, and apparently, through it all, he’d had these ties. These absolutely terrible, ridiculous ties to an underground that most of Los Angeles knows nothing about.

The door to the room slams open the second the beep sounds from the keycard sliding into the lock. I blink wide eyes at a harried Marcus, who barely spares me a glance before grabbing my bag.

“Come on.” He holds out a hand, baring his teeth at me when I don’t move fast enough. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What do you mean?” I clench the script against my chest. “You said we were safe.” He said I had time to get myself together.

He shakes his head, and a stray lock of black hair falls over his rutted forehead. “I’ll explain everything in the car. Now hurry your ass up. We’re checking out.”

I don’t want to go with him. Not when he looks so out of control. His hair is mussed, the dark strands standing at attention, and his eyes overly wide and round. His chest heaves with every breath, and his palms are clammy when I finally slap mine against him.

He grabs hold of me hard enough to bruise and pulls me through the door with both our shit over his shoulder. Rather than explain the attitude in desperate need of adjustment, he pulls me underneath his arm and growls at the cleaning woman who passes by pushing a full cart ahead of her.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Marcus hisses out a warning to be quiet.

I catch a glance at our reflection in the elevator’s spotless metal wall, and we both look unhinged. My hair is thrown up in a messy bun on top of my head, and my normal tan is nowhere to be seen. This time of year, I should be out on the beaches living my life, not holed up in a hotel room scared to read.

I’m pale, a little wan, and those are…dark circles under my eyes.

Fuck.

I lose my breath when Marcus throws me from the elevator into the lobby, keeping a step in front of me. And true to his word, he doesn’t say anything until he’s dragging the seat belt across my chest. It clicks home, and he guns the engine, peeling away from the curb and startling the valet.

“You have some serious issues,” I yell above the blast of the AC and the radio.

He presses the button to silence the radio, but the cold air is still pulsing out through the vents, cooling the interior to normal human temperatures, and goose bumps rise on my forearms.

“There’s no fucking sense in staying in a safe space that isn’t safe anymore,” he says, lifting his voice to be heard. “Our time is up, anyway.”

“What happened to change things?” My breath catches. “And what do you mean, our time is up?”

The entire point of leaving my parents’ bungalow was to keep a low profile and figure out our next move.

“I mean that I went to my office today and arrived to a reminder of our new position. Our leash doesn’t extend far, Em.”

The sound of my nickname on his lips is a shock to my system. Especially when he’s pointedly not looking at me.

He screeches to a stop at a red light, and his jaw clenches.

“Then I caught sight of a new acquaintance in the hallways, someone who works for Stanic. Don’t worry,” Marcus rushes to say. His hard gaze is trained on the line of traffic in front of us, and he slams his foot down on the gas when the light turns green. “We’re going to my place.”

I jump. “Your place? Why?”

The one place I want to avoid is his apartment, where every detail, down to the carpets, is going to remind me of him. Too much Marcus when I’m already overwhelmed by his presence.

“At least I have security at my place that I can control. I know the exits, and there are strategies in place,” he bites out. “Trust me. We’re going to be fine.”

Shit, who is he? Really? Strategies in place?

It sounds like some cheesy line from an action flick, except this is my life.

---