I should beg him not to tell anyone, but I can’t seem to make myself care. I don’t have the energy. Instead, I drag the back of my hand over my wet cheeks and shrug. “Okay.” This time, he lets me pass without stopping me, but then his hand shoots out, grabs my wrist, and spins me around. His eyes are dark and dangerous, smoldering like a sea-green sun. “If Angelo doesn’t come back, I expect another call.” My temples thump. What? How sick and twisted can this man be?
