Page 11 of Working for the Enemy

My heart clenches painfully in my chest. Marlowe is deathly pale, her eyes wide and completely hollow, staring blankly out into the empty gravel. She looks like a shell of herself.

"Marlowe," I say softly, gripping her shoulders. No response. “Look at me, angel,” I whisper. I slowly lift a hand toward her face, giving her plenty of time to pull away from me. When she doesn’t, I cradle her soft, round cheek, brushing my thumb across her skin. “Come back to me, Marlowe. You’re safe.”

She snaps out of it, blinking rapidly as she looks up at me. Her eyes are rimmed in red, but she refuses to let the tears fall. Marlowe is strong as hell, but she needs to know she can be vulnerable with me.

The sunshine, the jokes, the sharp sarcasm—it’s all completely gone. Defeated, she nods slowly. "I'll... I'll take you up on that offer. I'll stay with you."

Her voice is entirely hollow, devoid of life, and I fucking hate it. I want my feisty, sharp-tongued girl back.

Without another word, I wrap my arm securely around her waist and lead her out to my truck. I open the passenger door, and she climbs in silently. She doesn't question me. She doesn't fight me on where we're going. She says nothing at all, and I instantly miss her melodic voice, even though she mostly uses it to poke fun at me.

As I walk around to the driver's side, my heart sinks into a dark, heavy pit. Her total compliance just confirmed the worst.

She’s actively being hunted.

I slide into the driver's seat, start the engine, and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. It doesn't matter who is looking for her. I am never leaving her side until the threat is eliminated permanently.

7

MARLOWE

When I wake up, the first thing I notice isn't the light, or the sound, or even the scent. It's the absence of my backseat.

There isn’t a seatbelt digging into my hip. There are no steering wheel shadows patterned across my face. My neck isn't bent at a bone-snapping angle, and my knees aren't tucked up against my chin.

Instead, I’m swathed in crisp, ridiculously soft white sheets, sinking into a mattress so deep and plush it feels like sleeping on a cloud.

Panic hits me like a cold bucket of water thrown over my head. My heart starts hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against my ribs—thump-thump-thump—and my lungs lock up. I throw the covers back, tearing my eyes open as I scramble into a sitting position. Where am I? Who grabbed me? Is it them? Did they finally⁠—

My brain slowly catches up to my surroundings.

The room is huge, framed by thick wooden beams and spotless, pristine drywall. High ceilings, a polished hardwood floor, and a single cedar chest sitting at the foot of the bed. It smells entirely like fresh pine, clean laundry, and... him.

Kane.

I drop my head into my hands, letting out a ragged, shuddering breath as the adrenaline slowly drains out of my blood, leaving me hollow and aching. I’m in Kane’s guest bedroom. Up at his isolated cabin on the ridge.

My memories come rushing back in hot, chaotic waves, filling in the terrifying blanks of yesterday.

I remember the suffocating wave of a panic attack taking over my mind in the diner booth, the air completely vanishing from my lungs as my vision narrowed to black. I remember accepting his job offer as a desperate lifeline when I was at rock bottom, penniless, stranded, and running out of options. I remember the sheer absurd comfort of feeding the giant man hashbrowns right off my spoon just to shut up his incessant growling, jamming the food past his lips while he stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

And then... yesterday afternoon.

A shiver travels down my spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Beneath that terrifying, brooding, mountain-man exterior, beneath the lethal scowl that could freeze lava in its tracks, Kane unexpectedly gave me a safety net. He saw right through my bright smiles, my deflection, and my bubbly armor, though instead of taking advantage of my weakness, he offered me shelter.

And then he kissed me.

I touch my lower lip with trembling fingers. Just thinking about it sets my pulse off again, but this time it isn't from fear. It’s from the electric chemistry that snapped between us in his cramped office. Kane trapped me between his hard, sculpted chest and the solid desk, towering over me. His dark blue eyes burned with an intense, possessive heat that completely stripped away my defenses in that moment. He held me like I belonged to him. Like the entire world could burn to ashes around us and he would still be there, shielding me from danger.

I squeeze my eyes shut, absolutely terrified of that feeling. It won’t last. It never does. I've spent my whole life relying on myself, dodging blows, and running from debts I didn't owe. Trusting a man, especially a six-foot-four wall of muscle and military precision, is a dangerous game.

Keep your guard up, Marlowe, I remind myself, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. You're here to work, pay off your debts, and survive. Don't go getting lost in the big bad wolf's eyes.

I swing my legs over the bed and take a long, calming breath. Just then, my phone chimes, making me jump out of my skin. Grabbing the damn thing from the nightstand, I see Soraya’s name flash across the screen. I knew she wasn’t going to let me slink into the shadows.

“Hey!” I answer, trying to sound cheerful but not too loud.

“Girl! You can’t just hang up on me and not call or text all day. Please, please tell me you’re safe.” I briefly consider making a joke, but the exhaustion and anxiety in her voice tell me she’s been up most of the night worrying about me.