"The same foster system that could be turning a blind eye to trafficking children?" He raised an eyebrow, turning back to the stove to remove the French toast before it burned.
I closed my eyes briefly. I hadn't even admitted that to myself yet, even if deep down I knew he was right. "That's exactly why I need to go back," I insisted, my voice rising slightly. "If I disappear, who's going to protect them?"
Dion made a plate up in front of me—French toast dusted with powdered sugar, fresh berries on the side, bacon, and then to my astonishment he got a knife and fork and cut it all into bite-size pieces before pushing the plate toward me. Any other time, I would have been delighted by such a thoughtful breakfast, but now I just stared at it, my appetite vanishing.
"My team and I will protect those you think are at risk," he said firmly. "But we need information, Emily. Names, dates, patterns—everything you've discovered. We can't fight an enemy we can't identify."
"I can't just hand over confidential files," I protested. "There are laws, ethical considerations—"
"And there are vulnerable children being trafficked," he cut in, his voice hardening. "Which matters more?"
I flinched, stung by the implication that I didn't care enough. "That's not fair. I've been fighting this battle alone for months. I've risked everything—"
"And nearly got yourself killed in the process." Dion braced his hands on the counter, leaning toward me. "What good will you be to those kids if you're dead or disappeared?"
Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. "I'm going to work. Today."
His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "No, you're not."
“I’m not asking for your permission, Dion—I’m going to work today, whether you like it or not!” I crossed my arms defiantly.
"I said no," Dion repeated.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, jumping up and striding over planting my hands on the counter with an attitude that said I was in charge. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t do. You're not the boss of me!”
“Listen here, little miss stubborn,” Dion countered in a low growl, his eyes flashing with resolve. “I’m the guy who savedyour sorry behind from getting tossed in the back of a sedan last night—the guy who’s keeping you alive long enough to actually make a difference.”
I scoffed, arms folding tighter. “I didn’t ask for your damn help, and I wouldn't even have been there if I wasn't meeting you!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, and the hurt that flashed across his face made me pause for a moment. That hadn’t been fair.
Dion’s tone hardened as he stepped closer, the air thick with tension. “No, you didn’t ask. But you needed it. Just like those kids need you—alive and safe. And if you keep acting like a spoiled little brat, I might just have to spank that attitude right out of you.”
I gaped, stunned for too long a moment. "How dare you," I yelled. "You big bully."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Bully? I'm trying to keep you alive while you're determined to throw yourself back into danger. That's not bullying, sweetheart. That's called caring."
"I don't need your care!" I shouted, my voice rising with every word. "I've been taking care of myself my whole life. I don't need some... some controlling Marine with a god complex swooping in to save me!"
Except a little voice inside me was calling me a liar. Because that was exactly what I wanted.
Dion towered over me. "Is that what you think this is? Me being controlling?"
"What else would you call it?" I challenged him, tilting my chin up defiantly despite having to crane my neck to meet his gaze. "You're literally keeping me prisoner here!"
"Prisoner?" His voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "If I wanted to keep you prisoner, Emily, you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me. You'd be locked in a room with no way out. Is that what I've done?"
I faltered for a moment, thrown by his logic. "N-no, but—"
"No buts. I'm trying to protect you. There's a difference."
"I don't want your protection!" I stamped my foot in frustration, immediately regretting the childish gesture. "I want to do my job!"
"Your job won't matter if you're dead!" Dion roared, finally losing his composure. His hands shot out to grip the counter on either side of me, caging me in without actually touching me. "Do you understand that? These people tried to take you twice. Just because they didn't succeed the second time doesn't mean they've given up."
We stood there, breathing hard, faces inches apart. Everything fell silent except for our ragged breaths.
"I can't abandon those kids," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I promised I'd help them."
Something in Dion's expression softened. "And you will. But you need to be smart about it. Work with us, not against us."
