NOW

Marcus

I lay her body down on the bed. She’s out of it—fuck, I’m ready to get out of it after the way I just fucked her in that car. She never ceases to amaze me; she’s so damned beautiful. The way she is when I’m inside her is fuckin’ sweet. The way she lost control with me . . . fuck. Katia Tandem is a sweet, sweet fuckin’ woman.

I roll her to her side and she doesn’t groan. Not even a little bit. Something strange flickers in my chest. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. I reach down and tap her cheeks. No movement. My heartbeat kicks up and I roll her to her back, pressing my hand to her mouth. Her breathing is shallow. Fuck. Has she had a reaction to the drugs?

“Katia?” I call, lifting her shoulders and shaking her slightly. “Wake up.”

Her head drops back and her mouth hangs open.

That feeling in my chest intensifies to the point where I can feel my own heart pounding in my head. I slap her cheeks again. Nothing. Zip. Fuck. I lift her into my arms and carry her into the bathroom. She doesn’t move in my embrace, and the feeling in my chest grows to the point where my breathing becomes ragged. What the fuck is happening here?

To her . . . and me?

“Katia, wake up.”

I drop to my knees and lay her on the floor, then I turn her to her side. She makes a strange sound deep in her throat, almost like gagging. I tilt her head back and open her mouth. She begins to gasp. Her skin is going a strange shade of blue. Fuck.

“Katia,” I call.

Her body jerks and she seems to be gasping for air? Is something stuck in her throat? Her skin is turning a deeper shade of blue and I don’t have time to process. Something is blocking her airway. I flip her to her stomach and hold her body against mine, hand around her chest. Then I put my fingers in her mouth and slide them into her throat. She gags, and gags, and gags. Then she is vomiting all over herself and the floor.

She heaves and heaves. Then she flops in my arms. My heart is pounding and my hands are shaking as I see the color slowly come back into her face. She groans softly, fingers raising up to clutch mine. “Marcus?” she calls.

“Here,” I rasp.

My head is spinning, my mind going far and beyond as I process what the fuck just happened.

It’s not that Katia choked on her own vomit, or food, or whatever the fuck was in her throat.

It’s not that she threw up all over herself, the floor, and me.

No.

It’s more.

It’s the fact that for the first time in my life, I felt fear for another human being.

Fear.

For her.

Fuck.

~*~*~*~

KATIA

My head pounds as I run my fingers through my hair in the shower that morning. God, I feel like death. I don’t remember a lot. I get right to the point where Marcus fucked me deep and good in the car—and boy, was that an erotic experience—and then everything after that is blank. I woke up alone in my bed, having no clue how I got there.

I’m also wearing Marcus’s shirt.

How did that shit happen?

I’ve washed my hair twice, because when I opened my eyes I swear I could smell vomit. I didn’t see any on me, or the floor, or my bed, so I must have been imagining it.

I finish up in the shower and get out, throwing on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank. Then I make my way, very slowly, out to the kitchen. Empty. Pursing my lips, I check the house.

No Marcus.

I walk into the office and stop at reception, where Judy is sitting, scowling at the computer.

“Hey Judy,” I say. God, is my voice that loud or is it just me?

“Hey Katia,” she mumbles.

“Where’s Marcus?”

She blinks up at me. She looks . . . confused?

“You don’t know?”

“Ah,” I say, my eyes darting around. “Know what?”

“He’s gone away for two days.”

Huh?

“Did he have a business meeting?”

She shrugs. “I think so. He said this morning he had to go urgently.”

My heart sinks. Why wouldn’t he leave a note? Or call? Last night . . . in the car . . . I thought something had changed. He was different with me. Something was there. Something I’ve not felt from him. I force a smile and thank Judy, then I rush outside, pulling out my phone.

I dial Marcus.

He doesn’t answer.

I text Marcus.

He doesn’t answer.

What the hell is going on?

~*~*~*~

MARCUS

Fuck.

I stare down at my phone, seeing her missed calls, seeing her messages.

I shove it into my jacket and take another shot of whiskey. My eyes skid around the bar I’m sitting in, and I’m glad I made the choice to get away for a few days. There are people surrounding me, couples, singles, the lot, but I don’t notice any of them. Not the women who approach me. Not the bar attendant who talks to me. None of it.

All I can think about is the feeling I have in my chest.

I don’t like it.

I fuckin’ hate it.

For a moment, just a moment, I let my guard down. I let myself open up and when I did, I felt fear. For her. For my wife. I felt a genuine fear something had happened to her. It’s not an emotion I’ve experienced in my life, and it’s nothing I want to experience again. I can’t let her in. This isn’t how it’s meant to go.

I’m an asshole.

She’s a contract.

When I get back from this break, I have no choice but to take it back to that.

I have to.