Page 113 of Possession

But not to me.

What he does next sends a shiver down my back and puts me on edge. He positions himself between me and the door. His stance is wide and looks like he’s prepared for the worst.

“Boz, what’s going on?” I demand.

He shakes his head and his stare is heavy, lasered in only on me. His next words sound more like a warning than a wish. “I told you not to call me that.”

I cross my arms and take a step back. For the first time, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake trusting the man I was forced to marry. “What’s happening?”

His jaw tenses, and his words are forced. “We’re not here on business. We’re here because there’s an emergency.”

“I’m not an idiot. You gave me approximately three minutes to pack for a trip across the country. I assumed we’re here for you to manage some type of crisis. I want to know what it is. Ideserveto know what’s making you act this way.”

“I’m not here to manage anything. I’m here on a prayer that I’m not too late.”

My arms fall to my sides in frustration, and my voice rises. “How long are you going to speak in code before you tell me what’s going on?”

He drops his gaze to the floor in front of him for long, agonizing moments. I’m about to scream in frustration, but he looks up just in time. “The call I got this morning when we were in my office was from a friend … a co-worker.”

“Okay.” I shrug. “What did they want?”

His words feel crafted and chosen with precision. I don’t like any of it. “My co-worker … he’s more like a partner.”

I frown. Partner can have so many meanings. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve worked together since the beginning.”

“Just spit it out,” I bite. “The beginning of what?”

“The beginning of my career.” He hesitates. I’m about to say I’ve never heard anyone talk about their work in organized crime as a career, but I don’t get the chance because he rocks my world. “My career … with the government.”

My face falls, and a one-word question slips out on a breath. “What?”

He takes a step toward me.

I immediately take one back.

He puts a hand out low to stop me. “It’s okay. Let me explain.

“Explain?” I demand and take another step back. “Holy shit. What is there to explain?”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

My heart speeds, and my lungs fight for oxygen. “Wh-who are you?”

He shakes his head. “Baby, I need you to calm down.”

Fuck that. The last time someone told me to calm down, the Marino guards were at my family’s door, and I was sold to pay off a debt.

I lose it and scream, “Don’t tell me to calm down, dammit!”

He takes another step and this time doesn’t stop when I retreat. Each of his eat up two of mine, and I panic, before stumbling when I hit the corner of the bed. He grabs my arm to keep me upright, but at the same time, I’m twisted.

My back is plastered to his front.

My wrists are bound in one of his big hands.

And the other wraps itself around my neck and jaw.

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