Page 71 of Salvatore

“Are you in shock, troublemaker?” He stops a few inches behind me, his proximity making me breathe a little harder.

Still, I can’t move. Can’t speak.

He closes in at my back, a smirk in his voice as he says, “Tell me you’re happy to see me.”

I scoff. “Are you seriously fishing for praise right now?”

His hand finds my hip, his large palm weaving a heated trail around my waist. “Tell me,” he whispers near my ear.

I shudder. After weeks fearing the men who surround me, the one who broke into my room wearing a bandana has me melting against him in minutes. “I’ll concede your suicidal side is slightly endearing. But if my captors hear you, they’re not going to spend time stroking your ego before they fill you with bullets.”

“I won’t get caught.”

My limbs heat. All of me does. Obviously it’s a psychological savior worship snafu but God does it feel good. And his cologne—dear Lord— it smells like heaven against the undertones of my junkyard bedroom, the scent entirely edible.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“I’d already been searching when you called.”

“Why?”

“Olivia.”

My heart clenches. She didn’t give up on me.

“We weren’t clued in on where you were at that stage. Then Remy got creative with a set of pliers on one of the younger cartel recruits and found out you were still in Baltimore. Problem is, Gabriel has a lot of property in the city, most of it hidden in shell companies. Your comment about seeing Harbor Point narrowed things down.”

I fight to keep hold of the vanity and not lean into him.Drownin him. “How did you get into my room?”

“The balcony,” he states simply, as if we’re not roughly two hundred feet in the air.

“Excuse me?” I swing around to face him, our bodies inches apart in the semi-darkness. “Howcould you possibly get into my room from the balcony?”

“I jumped from next door.”

“Are you insane?” I whisper-shout, thankful for the loud music hiding my horror.

“It isn’t far.”

“We’re on the seventeenth floor, you fucking teapot.”

His breathy chuckle peppers my lips, making me achy. “I’ve missed your way with words.”

“Please tell me you don’t expect me to escape using the same method.”

“You’ll be fine.” He leans away and adds pressure to my back, attempting to lead me from the bathroom. “It’s literally a small jump. Not even a leap.”

“Salvatore, I’m serious.” I plant my feet and place a staying palm against his chest. “I’m not good with heights. I won’t be able to do it.”

“I’ll be right beside you.”

“I don’t care if the Avengers are out there with a truckload of Xanax and a safety net. Iwon’tbe able to parkour my way around a skyscraper. I won’t even be able to look over the ledge. I’m petrified of heights.” There’s a reason I’ve adhered toAlonso’s instruction not to step outside, and it’s not because I love the smell of rotting garbage. “When I was little my brother used to hold me over a second-story balcony by my ankles at my uncle’s property. I still have nightmares.”

“You’re telling me you’d rather stay here than face your fears?”

It’s not that I don’t want to face them—the problem is my body won’t let me. Vertigo. Anxiety. Psychosis. They will all tag team until I pass the fuck out. “I’m sure there’s another way to escape.”

“And if there isn’t?” He straightens, his hand falling to his side as if I’ve just destroyed his only option for retrieval.

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