The RunAway Model

XXXIII. Confessions

He was smiling.

He was fucking smiling at her.

No guns. No knives. No signs whatsoever that he wanted to strangle her. His hands were deep inside his front pockets and he was fucking smiling at her.

Khaye opened her mouth but that was it. She couldn't bring herself to ask what he was doing here or how he sneaked inside her apartment.

He took one step forward, his smile turning into a frown of concern. "You look like you are...expecting something else, Khaye."

"I...I just..." She couldn't very well tell him that her brother warned her about him—to stay away from him. As far as he knew, she wanted to stay away. "Why are you here?" she asked instead.

The smile returned on his face as he slowly closed the distance between them. "I have news," he said, his voice low, nearly a whisper.

Khaye held her breath. The fear that he was here to hurt her was still there, but it was slowly being replaced by the urge to pull him against her so they could do anything other than talk.

Finally, after a few breathless seconds, Marco was standing very close before her that his breath was brushing against her face.

"They're closing the case, Khaye." She wished he would touch her. She wished that he would do more than just stare at her lips.

"They are?" She didn't know if she ought to be happy about it.

"It's not what we want, but we can't do anything about it."

She didn't answer. She didn't feel like she should.

"That means one thing for you though," he said, his face coming closer beside her head. His lips were almost brushing against her bonnet.

"What?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"You can go home," he uttered. She started to shake her head no but he cut whatever protest she had in mind by saying, "Petroff has gone AWOL."

"What?"

"Petroff. He's gone. He's just gone and—"

"That can mean anything, Marco. And what about Gian—"

"We haven't really had enough evidence that your brother is a bad guy," he said. "He hasn't been doing anything malicious since you went away."

That's because he told me to go away. But she didn't tell him that. "I don't think, Marco. I don't think I can go back."

"You can." His voice was intense beside her ear. His hands went to her waist, squeezing both sides to emphasize his point. "You can because I have a plan."

Khaye's breath caught as his hands found the hem of her sweater. His lips trailed to her cheek, lightly making contact.

"You go back and make it public. We'll contact every media out there. They'll make a sensation out of your story."

"But I don't want—"

"Let me finish," he ordered, bringing his lips against hers, his skin causing a tingling sensation throughout her body as he spoke. "You'll be a public figure. You'll be in demand. And you'll be safe."

"I don't—"

He stopped her words by roughly pushing her sweater higher, his hands hot against her skin. "Going public will give you the safety that you'll need, Khaye. If you as much as disappear for more than three days, Petroff or anyone who is after will have the same amount of attention. We'll make it sure that they will. And you know how much they will hate that."