Page 69 of Bitter Secrets

One of them had slipped up and called her by her first name. If she wasn’t having a heart attack, she would have teased them about it. She panted for breath, taking great gulps of air before a hand clamped on her nape and forced her head down.

“Call 999,” Mo barked.

She grabbed hold of his shirt and tugged as she took a shuddering breath before her airway opened enough for her to breathe.

“N-no.”

“We should have a doctor look her over,” Johan said.

Again, she shook her head and tried to speak, but her mouth was bone dry.

Mo released her nape and crouched beside her. “Tell me what you need.”

She clasped her hands between her thighs and tried to control the compulsion to rock back and forth. Therapists called it self-soothing. Dad called it weakness.

“Mrs. Roth?”

She cowered in the bottom of the boat in knee-deep water and willed it all to go away.

A firm grip on her knee forced her into the present.

Mo searched her eyes for less than five seconds before his gaze cut to Johan. “Call him.”

“No!”

Desperate to stop him, she reached for her guard and knocked a plate off the table. Only Mo’s quick reflexes stopped the plate from crashing to the floor.

“I…” She struggled to get her thoughts together when her body was being wracked by painful tremors. “Don’t.”

Her voice was husky with strain as she battled the tide. She thought being around others would stop her from having a breakdown, but she only managed to put if off for an hour and cause a scene in public.

Johan frowned at her, clearly unsure what to do, while Mo placed a glass of water in front of her.

“Drink.”

She obeyed, lifting the glass and spilling it a bit before he steadied it for her.

“Eat,” Mo clipped.

“I-I don’t think I can.”

Mo jerked his chin at Johan. “Make the call.”

She swore and reached for the sandwich. She bit into the bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, and guacamole. Johan retook his seat while Mo stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest as she struggled to eat. He didn’t take his seat until she took three bites.

When she tried to put her sandwich down, Mo clucked his tongue. She glared at him, but when he stuck his hand into his pocket, silently threatening to call Roth, she forced herself to eat.

They didn’t ask what that episode was about or what was going on with her. They didn’t have to. Her refusal to let them call her husband told them all they needed to know. Being Roth’s security for four years meant they knew him better than most. What secrets were they privy to? She had a feeling they knew what Roth was capable of and wouldn’t be surprised by anything she said. She was pathetically grateful they didn’t ask questions, but their intense scrutiny was getting on her nerves.

“Tell me something,” she said gruffly.

“What?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

“I have nine brothers,” Mo said.

She stopped, mid-chew. “What?”

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