Page 21 of Fool's Gold

But, of course, even if I try to argue, there’s no way to change his mind. Marcus is iron, immovable and hard. Especially right now. His muscles are tense enough to shatter as he maneuvers away from the downtown hotel and toward his apartment.

We’ve been staying at my house since the funeral.

“What about my things? I’m going to need more than what I’ve got in the purse.”

“I’ll go by the house and pick up what you need.”

Yup, iron. He’s not backing down.

There’s no introduction to this new life, either. No grand tour of the apartment with modern furnishings and no soul. It’s like being thrown into the deep end of a pool when you don’t know how to swim.

“Stay here. I’ll be back in a few hours. I’ve got to get Parker’s paperwork.” It’s another barked order before Marcus bolts off. Back to work.

Back to…

Wherever he wants as long as I heel.

This place might as well be Fort Knox, and despite the attendant in the lobby and the other people in apartments below us, no one is coming to help me. No one who can erase the situation and how everything circles back to Marcus.

How can I be here, in his apartment, when this is all his fault?

I scream, lifting my face to the ceiling.

Having money makes you think you can do whatever you want. It’s a kind of power.

Except I’m helpless, and I’ve never been reminded of it more than now.

On my way from one cage to another, Marcus didn’t need to throw me over his shoulder this time. Only this cage is his to control and he’s the only one with a key. There’s no way for me to leave without him knowing.

I could call a driving service, pay for it with my credit card, but what then? He’ll only come find me and shove the script down my throat.

My chest tightens, everything curling in on itself, and I glance sharply at the windows to the patio. He’s got them locked tight, mechanical blinds ready to fall at the press of a button.

There’s no going out.

There’s no escape.

I swallow, my throat constricting, and search the room for something, anything, to make the emotions more bearable.

Breakfast at the hotel feels like another lifetime.

My gaze snags on the liquor cabinet. Instead of keeping the precious amber bottles under lock and key, Marcus has them displayed in a clear line where the glass might reflect the tones of the sun through the windows.

I’m in my prime party-girl era, and I’m not going out. I’m not doing anything. I’m not even sleeping around, no matter what the tabloids say.

What am I doing?

Panicking, I think to myself with my first shaky step.

I’m on the constant verge of a panic attack and doing nothing to help myself or my career.

Why can’t I make it all disappear?

The first sip of liquor burns like acid down my throat. Gross. I don’t know how anyone drinks this on the reg because it’s peaty and tastes like I’ve licked the bottom of a tire.

Every sip after the first one goes down smoother than the last, until the heat is a comfort rather than something scalding.

Soon enough, the thoughts start to go quiet. The inside of my head is silent and warm, those thoughts far away.

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