Page 81 of Craving

Confusion flitted over his face. He clutched his phone in his hand, watching Camilla. The man with the bat glanced between Frankie, Marlon, and Camilla like he had no idea what was going on.

“You’re a little bitch,” Frankie said, lips curling in a snarl.

Marlon bristled. “What did you call her?”

Smith narrowed his eyes. “I can ruin you, boy.”

Marlon heard himself laugh, an ugly sound. “I think you’ll find it’s the other way around,” he said darkly. “Did you forget the six months of complimentary coverage we offer to all new clients at Elite Security? I wonder what we’d find on our tapes if we went back and reviewed them. Would we find you guilty of false imprisonment? Extortion? What else would we discover, Frankie?”

Smith's eyes flared. “I’m going to kill you.”

Marlon wondered if he was signing his own death warrant—or Camilla’s. But he stood tall and shrugged. If Camilla could face this guy, so could he. This is what he did. He protected the people he cared about. Cherished them. Made sure they were okay.

He only had one card to play: “Maybe. But killing me won’t erase any recordings from our systems, and my team knows where I am right now. They know who you are. They have the recordings.”

Smith's whole face went red. He ground his teeth, huffing like a bull about to charge.

“You don’t ever come near me or mine again,” Marlon said levelly, “including Camilla. And no one ever sees anything my company recorded on your premises.”

“Erase the files.”

“No can do.” Marlon smiled through the blood on his face. His arm still held Camilla back, and he drew strength from the warmth of her body pressed against his. This was where he was meant to be. He couldn’t believe he’d almost thrown it away.

Frankie stared at him for a long moment, then let out a scoff. “Whatever. Why would I want a fucking bakery anyway? Get out of my sight. Both of you.”

Camilla hurried to the driver’s side as Marlon shielded her, then he circled back around to the passenger seat. Three sets of eyes watched them, menacing, until Camilla pulled away from the strip mall and drove around to the exit. It wasn’t until she had turned onto the freeway that she let out a long breath.

“Start talking, sweetheart,” Marlon grated. “From the beginning.”

She threw him a glance, then returned her gaze to the road. Snow blew across the dark asphalt in white gusts, swirling like tiny, formless tornadoes. “We’re going to the hospital, Marlon. You should see your face.”

“I don’t care about my face,” he grated. “I want to know why I found you stuck in a window trying to escape that asshole’s office building.”

“I’ll tell you,” she replied primly, “once a doctor takes a look at your nose.”

Marlon was about to object, but he caught the edge of worry in her gaze. He noticed the trembling in her muscles and the way she clenched the steering wheel like she was afraid to let go. Her neck was stark, her shoulders tense. There was blood all over her shirt, and he wasn’t sure whose it was. He suspected it was his own.

He reached over and put a hand on her thigh and felt it soften under his touch. She was safe, at least. She was beside him.

Sighing, he leaned back in the seat and let her drive them both to the hospital.

TWENTY-FIVE

The hospital hummed with that odd energy somewhere between sleepiness and urgency. There had been a car accident outside of Stirling and a drunken brawl at one of the bars in town. Camilla and Marlon had to wait for a long time to be seen. Camilla let herself lean her head on his shoulder, enjoying the weight of his arm against her back.

Her mind was blissfully empty. She wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

By the time Marlon’s nose was set and Camilla’s scrapes were checked over, they were both exhausted. Camilla drove back home, and they both shuffled to her bedroom and stripped to their underwear. There was no question of sleeping apart. Camilla knew that Marlon wouldn’t let her out of his sight, and she didn’t want to be any more than an arm’s length away from him anyway.

Camilla woke before Marlon. He slept deeply beside her, snoring loudly with a splint over his face. One hand was on his stomach while the other was thrown across the bed toward her. She slipped out from under his hold and crept downstairs.

The house was silent and cold. She set the coffee machine gurgling and nudged the thermostat a little bit higher, sitting at the kitchen table in the silent stillness.

She didn’t have the energy to bake. She barely had the energy to move. By the time her breakfast was eaten and the coffee carafe was drained, Marlon still hadn’t stirred. She looked in on the master bedroom and considered snuggling under the covers with him, but her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Last night, when they’d pulled into the hospital parking lot, Marlon had held it out for her and growled at her to bring her phone next time she got kidnapped. She’d just pursed her lips and plucked it from his grasp.

It buzzed again. And again.

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