Wait For You - 'Look After You' Sequel - A Michael Jackson Fanfiction

Chapter 15

I folded my arms. "You planning to say why, or do I just play along like everyone else does with you?"

"Get in the car."

"Michael—"

"Now."

That one word. Sharp. Final.

The sound of it did something to me...not fear, not submission, just that pull.

The one that said fighting him would waste more time than it would win.

I stared at him another second, then opened the passenger door. The rain pattered harder as I slid in, shutting it behind me.

He started the car without looking at me. The interior smelled like him, the same scent I'd spent years trying to forget.

We drove in silence for a while. The streetlights passed like slow flashes of gold across his face. His grip on the wheel was steady, precise, unshakable.

Finally, I said, "You gonna tell me what this is?"

"You're coming to my hotel."

I turned toward him, my tone flat. "I have a house."

"You're not staying there tonight."

"Why?"

His jaw flexed once. "Because there were eyes on it."

I stared at him. "What?"

He nodded once, gaze fixed on the road. "Two cars. Parked opposite ends of the street. They're watching."

"You're sure?"

"Sure enough to be sitting outside your club waiting to see if you'd make it home."

The words hit harder than I wanted them to.
I masked it with a steady breath. "So what, this is you playing savior again?"

"This is me keeping you alive," he said coldly.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Even the rain seemed to hush for it.

He didn't look at me again until we pulled into the hotel garage. Concrete walls. Dim lights. Everything smelled like fuel and steel.

He parked. Turned off the engine. Sat back.

I didn't move.

He glanced over, the faintest trace of impatience tightening his expression. "Out."

"I'm not getting out until you tell me what this really is."

He exhaled, a sound more like a warning than a sigh. "Suit yourself."

"Meaning?"

He looked at me fully then, those dark eyes that could strip the truth out of anyone. "You can sit in the car and wait for whoever's been watching you. Or you can come upstairs and keep breathing. Your choice."

He said it so evenly, so detached, it didn't sound like a threat.
It sounded like a fact.

I swallowed the pulse rising in my throat and unbuckled my seatbelt. "Fine."

When I stepped out, he was already around the car, closing his door with that measured control that made everything feel rehearsed.

Inside the hotel, the marble floors echoed under our steps. People turned to look. They always did when Michael entered a room, something about him made the air tilt.

He led the way to the elevator. Silent and unreadable.

When the doors closed, the sound of rain vanished, and all that was left was the hum of tension between us.

"Eyes on my house," I said finally. "You planning to tell me who they belong to?"

"Not yet."

"Meaning you don't know."

"Meaning it doesn't matter right now."

"You don't get to decide what matters to me."

His gaze flicked to me, cold and certain. "I just did."

The elevator doors opened.

He walked ahead, down the hall, to a room that smelled faintly of smoke and cologne.
He unlocked the door, stepped aside, and nodded for me to enter first.

I hesitated, eyes scanning the room beyond him. It was clean, quiet, masculine.

"I'm surprised you don't have a girl in here waiting on you," I said, my tone sharp but casual, meant to sting.

For the first time all night, something that almost resembled a smirk pulled at his mouth. He didn't answer immediately.

His gaze drifted down, tracing me from head to toe with that same disarming precision he used to aim a gun.

Then, low and almost amused, he said, "Funny you think I'd have anyone else after losing you."

I didn't reply. I couldn't.

I just stepped past him, pretending my pulse wasn't shaking my ribs apart.

He shut the door behind us, the sound echoing like a lock clicking into place.

"Michael," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Why are you really doing this?"

He took off his coat, hung it on the chair, and turned to face me. "Because Dom Castelli doesn't miss twice."

The room fell silent.

I felt the words before I processed them. "So it's his people watching me."

Michael nodded once. "And he's watching closer than you think."

Michael crossed the room, his movements precise, deliberate, like he already had the next five steps mapped out.

He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body.

"You're safe here," he said.
But his voice wasn't reassuring. It was a warning.

"Safe with you?" I asked.

His eyes lifted, meeting mine. That look that always got me. It was steady and unflinching, the same one that used to undo me.

"Always with me."