"No, Mrs. Fuentes."

I narrow my eyes at the man in front of me, Grayson, my bodyguard turned jailor. He's blocking the door I'm trying to exit through. "Why?" I demand, hands on hips, trying to bury my annoyance. I knew leaving the apartment wasn't going to fly, but I'm over being cooped up. "Am I a prisoner?"

He clears his throat and shifts, looking distinctly uncomfortable, which is a funny look on a guy his size and scariness. He actually reaches for his gun and ...