To bury the body. To cover up my murder.
James sliced a storm-inspired glance up to me.
“You’re not coming.”
“Why?”
His jaw clenched and unclenched, and I was reminded in that display of the rumbling hurricane inside of him. Angry. Untamed. Ruinous.
“You’re not coming, Scarlett.”
The waves of his hurricane stretched high, fanning out like a hand readying to smack me down if I dared to question him again. I didn’t, and the bubbling blood beneath my skin simmered as he calmed.
“I don’t have special locks, and I don’t have a fucking guard to watch you while I’m gone so just…” His masculine chest held wide as the words he searched for filled it. “Be here when I get back.”
Authority sharpened his gaze. “Say you’ll be here.”
“I’ll be here,” I whispered.
I said the words he wanted me to say, but neither of us were convinced. James left me alone with a pleading last look to keep me company.
He closed the door, keycard and a change of clothes in hand, and a wrapped, dead body waiting for him in his car.
And I was…
Alone.