“We’re not armed.” I follow my mother’s eyes and realize Marco still has a gun in his hand. I also only have a shirt on. It goes to my knees, but there is nothing under it. I’m sure I look as though I just rolled out of bed after sex. Lovely.

“You’re in my fucking house.” Oh shit. My mother cuts him with glare that can slice through anyone. “Breathe, angel.” His hand flattens against my stomach, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I promise I’m far scarier than her when provoked, and I’m feeling real fucking provoked.”

“What’s happening?” I ask, trying to cut off whatever is going on. I don’t want my boyfriend and mother killing each other. If they weren't already.

“Collect your shit,” Marco says.

“What does that mean? What shit?” My mother nods, and the men with her go to grab the other men that are cuffed on the floor. One of them starts to groan, finally waking up. At least he’s not dead. My dad closes the door after they are taken out of the house. His brows are now furrowed together. They tend to do that when he’s in deep thought.

“I take it you think you can keep her,” my mother says, pissing me off because I know she’s talking about me. As if I’m a thing that could be kept. As though I have no say in the matter.

“She’s mine.” Marco almost sounds bored. Like he’s daring them to try to take me away from him because it’s not happening, and he’d easily swat them away like an annoying gnat. My mom almost smirks but manages to stop herself.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to find out what you were doing here,” she tosses back at me.

“I live here.”

“Glad we settled that, angel.” I fight a laugh. Marco slid right in there and latched on to that opportunity.

“I meant here as in Snow Hills.” I tilt my head back to stare up at him. “Marco?”

“They’re here because I have you. They thought they could take you from me.” His jaw ticks.

“She clearly doesn’t know who you are or what you’re capable of.” My father finally speaks. He looms a few feet behind my mom.

“I do.” Call me crazy, but I think I know Marco in ways no one else does.

“I don’t think you do,” Mom chimes in.

“The real question here is why you know who he is.” I raise an eyebrow in question. I don’t really give a shit what they or anyone thinks of Marco and the things he’s done. I know my Marco. The only reason I’d want to know more about his past would be to get to know him better. Not because it would change anything. I get it. He was in some deep Men in Black shit before he settled down here.

“I was alerted when the last check in on you was done that you hadn’t been back to your apartment. When you were located and we realized where and who you were with, I sent someone to get a closer look.”