It was the impact that it had on me, jolting me like a dangerous electric current with a yellow triangular warning sign next to it. The wave of sickeningly strong emotion that ran through me when the words exited his lips is what bothers me.
The way that I feel.
The way that I wanted to scream at him that I was falling in love with him, but couldn’t.
It shook me to the core.
Carter isn’t aware of it, but my brain is filled with much more than my previously obsessive mantra that we have to kill Bheka. There’s so much crammed inside that it feels like my skull might split open from the pressure, anxious thoughts of what life would be like if I fully gave into my attraction to Carter blossoming out like dandelions after the springtime rain.
Arranged marriage, my ass. This has become something entirely different.
“Pass me the red maker,” Carter says from the small desk provided in our hotel room.
This room isn’t as nice as the last one, but we’re safer here because our foot soldiers have arrived to keep a lookout in case the police figure out where we are again.
I’m sprawled out on the couch with a belly full of fried street food, regretting the second helping I went for. I was just so hungry, but now my blood has thickened into syrup, and my eyelids are half-closed. I regret eating so much.
I lift my heavy hand from the couch, feeling along the smooth wooden coffee table beside it for the packet of markers that Carter tore open and spilled across it when we came back from the mall. He bought a map there too, which he’s scribbling all over now, planning our next moves.
I toss the marker at him, the end of it hitting his temple and breaking him out of his concentrated state.
“What the hell?” he says, turning his head toward me.
“Sorry,” I mutter lazily.
“Honey, this isn’t even red,” Carter says, his voice tinged with annoyance.
I sigh. “Can’t you just get it yourself?”
Carter scoffs, but he stands up from his chair when he realizes that I’m not going to run around grabbing stuff for him right after finishing an enormous and rather unhealthy meal. Unlike him, I can’t handle that much food without needing a recovery period. Honestly, I don’t know how he manages to be so full of energy after eating the same thing as me.
“You can sleep,” he says with a smile as he stands over me, a red marker now clutched in his large hand.
“I probably will,” I reply, closing my eyes.
“Good. You’ll be safer here anyway.”
My eyes fly open. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” I say, louder than I intended to as Carter walks back toward the table.
“If you’re too tired to go, I’ll leave you here with Henry. It’s fine,” Carter says with a shrug.
“No way,” I say, lifting my head up and glaring at him. “I’m coming with you.”
“Probably not,” he replies.
“Excuse me?” I ask, mustering up enough strength to get up from the couch.
Carter doesn’t respond. Instead, he circles something on the map with his red marker.
“Hey, I’m talking you,” I say, charging up to him with my hands on my hips.
“Relax, Honey. Make yourself some coffee if you really want to come,” he mutters, rubbing his chin and remaining focused on the map.
“Damn right I will,” I reply, scanning the room for the coffee maker.
“Make me a cup, while you’re at it,” Carter says, waving his hand through the air like he’s summoning a spirit to do his bidding.
“I’m not your servant,” I snap, turning to the coffee machine on the desk.
“You’re whatever I say you are,” he grumbles.
“I’m your wife,” I remind him.
He springs up from his seat, fists clenched, and color rising to his face. “And as my wife, you’re going to listen to me, you’re going to obey me, and you’re going to serve me.”
I laugh, but I feel a shimmer of nervousness pass through my body. He’s a lot angrier about my coffee denial than I thought he would be. What gives?
“Make me a cup of coffee,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Say please,” I tease.
My lighthearted attempt to inject humor into our conversation fails as Carter refuses to play along. He’s angry about something. I just don’t know what that something is, but it’s bad enough for him to let out his rage at me.
“I swear to fucking god, Honey, I’m through with your games,” he growls, coming at me with brutal intent. I’ve never seen him like this, but I squeak in distress as he stomps his way across the room, looking like he wants to rip my head off my shoulders.
“Sorry, sorry,” I stutter, but the damage has been done.
Carter grabs me by the shoulder and uses his other hand to shove the coffee pot out of my hands. It falls to the floor, breaking into vicious shards on the thin navy carpet. A piece of me breaks with it, and I feel myself starting to grow sick to my stomach at the sudden aggressiveness that Carter is displaying. Up until this point, he’s been practically a saint, especially for such a powerful mafia boss. His calmness was comforting, so seeing him like this is the polar opposite.
“Get in the bathroom,” Carter growls, pulling me toward the door.
“Why?” I ask as I’m dragged along, as though it had any effect on his power over me.
“Stop fucking asking questions,” he yells, pushing me toward the door and opening it.
“What are you going to do to me?” I beg to know, a demented part of me excited that he might bend me over the toilet and fuck the living daylights out of me.
“Shut up,” he snaps, shoving me into the cold darkness of the bathroom and slamming the door.
I tumble forward, catching myself on the wet sink. I can’t
