Zoey P.O.vThe surgery is over; the bullets were successfully removed, and the doctors declared that he's stabilized. But would still be kept under close observation, which is good. I was with Marco throughout the operation. He was half conscious when I arrived, and he held onto my hand, not letting go even after he went unconscious. I didn't mind being in the emergency room with him where the surgery took place, even though the sight would cause me my meals for a week. I was, in fact, grateful that he still thought of me in his weak shape. Right now, they are preparing to transfer him to a room, that is when his grip on my palm loosened. I reluctantly let go and came out of the room. Marco's family were in the hallway waiting anxiously for good news. “How did it go? Is my son okay? Please tell me.” His mom was the first to come to me, throwing questions at me. His dad appeared behind her, running his large palm on her shoulder to calm her. “He's fine. The doctors said he's now s

Zoey p.o.v“Marco?” I breathe out, it all felt like the time is slowed down as I raced to him. I didn't about the people around, I hugged him to myself tightly while I sobbed. I cried because I was overjoyed, and I cried because he hugged me back as if he's life depended on it. I had clung unto Marco tightly, too tight for someone who's recovering from a bullet wound. I has been carried away by my emotions that I didn't realize I might be hurting him. I moved to pull back, but Marco's grip on me tightens. “Don't.” Marco's hoarse voice snapped. I have missed the sound of his voice, and my body reaction to his voice. The vibration and goosebumps it brings to me. “Don't leave, stay with me.” He added, drawing me closer. “Okay, I won't let go.” I whispered, my voice filled with sincerity, I relaxed against him, savoring the moment. To anyone listening to us, it might just be words of encouragement. But that was us expressing our emotions through words, and I promised to always stay

Zoey p.o.vWe've been on the road for a few minutes now, and I'm curious to know where exactly it is we are going to. “So, where are we going to exactly?” I broke the silence, as I adjusted slightly in Marco's arms to get a look at his face. His large arm was around my waist like a ring, trapping me. “A brothel.” He replied distinctively, his focus wasn't on me, it was on something else or better said someone else. A specific Angela. He was so tense, and restless. “Yes, I knew that.” I heard his buddy telling him that at the hospital. “like is it some kind of mafia slang or an actual brothel?”“A brothel as in a real brothel where prostitutes get paid to have sex with a client.” At his response, I fell silent for a while. “Oh! I didn't know you had one of those, strip club that I'm aware of but a brothel?” I was baffled, disappointed even. But who am I to tell him what to do. Before Marco could reply, the car rode to a stop in front of an old modern single - story building. Th

Marco p.o.vThe car ride back home was tensed, whenever I reaching for Zoey she flinched like I'm dangerous. Yes, I am a dangerous and vicious man to the world, I could kill without batting an eyelash. But I would die before a hair on her head gets hurt, I won't fucking harm her. In fact, I would destroy anything that poses like a threat to her. The second she came down from the car, she raced to the door to escape me. She has another think coming her way if she thinks she can escape me. “The hell is wrong with you.” I had her trapped between the door she just burst through and myself. “Let me go.” She demanded, but I'm having none of it. I'm fucking tired of the cat and mouse chase. “Let go of me.” Zoey hissed, irritated, I was getting pissed. We were fine before we went to the brothel, what made her this angry. “I won't fucking let go, not until you tell me who pissed you off.” I equally hissed. “You've been distance since we came back from the brothel, you even flinched when

Zoey p.o.v“Marco.” I called harshly, slamming the door after me. Marco wasn't fazed by my out burst or the deafening sound from the door. He took his sweet time giving me his front profile, and raised an eyebrow at me. Which pisses me. “What?” His voice was soft and tonic, but at the same time authoritative. I pursed my lips into a thin line, I wasn't all that angry anymore. I don't know how it happened, I just found myself less angry. Nonetheless, I still want to throw tantrums. “Why are they moving my stuff.” I asked, my voice was barely above a whisper. It wasn't as firm as I hoped for. His gaze lazily swept over my body, causing a familiar sensation to crawl over my skin. “Zoey.” He called daringly. His says something else while his lips say the opposite. “I asked them to, is there a problem?” He frowned. “Yes, there is.” I fired back. “Oh…. Really? Where is it.” He teased. “I didn't permit anyone to move my stuff.”“You don't have to, I did. You are my woman, and you