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“Why?”
“Because I know it’s important to you.”
I clear my throat against the lump that tries to rise up, forcing down the swell of emotions at the honest simplicity in his words. “Yeah. It is. But it’s just a dream. A fantasy.”
He presses a button on the dash, and the music grows a little quieter, allowing us to talk more easily. “No. I don’t think it is. That picture you have is real. Tangible. The boy in it is real. And if he exists, then that means somewhere, somehow, there’s a trail that leads to him.”
Hope.
How can a man who’s so full of secrets and violence also be so fucking full of hope?
I let out a breath, picking at the fake fingernails of the prosthetic silicone hand that rests on my lap. “I really want you to be right. But I can’t find the trail.”
“What have you done?”
There’s no judgement in his voice, no hint that he doesn’t think I’ve done enough. Just thoughtful curiosity.
My brows draw together, and I shift in my seat, turning to face him a little more fully. The last time I saw Marcus was in this very car, almost a week ago. That time, he sat stiff and rigid in the driver’s seat, his jaw set as intense emotions I couldn’t quite decipher poured out of him. Now, he looks utterly relaxed, and there’s something about the way he’s speaking to me that feels different than any interaction we’ve ever had before.
It’s like he’s seeing me as a whole person—a real person. Not just as some object or abstract idea he’s coveted for so long.
“Um, I’ve done a lot. Well, everything I can think of.”
I quickly go through each of the efforts I’ve made to track down my brother, all the way up to the shitty private detective, although I leave out the bit about the hand up my skirt.
Marcus nods along as he listens, his gaze on the road but his focus on me. When I finish, he hums softly in his throat. “Yeah. I admit it’s not a lot to go on. Right now you’re pulling at nothing. But all you need is one good thread to pull on. That’ll get you started. It’ll lead to another, and another, and another.” He glances sideways, catching my gaze. “Maybe I can help.”
My heart stutters in my chest, and my head jerks back slightly in surprise. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that at all.
I should probably say no. Over and over, as he and his friends have worked their way into my life, I’ve warned myself against giving them any more parts of me. Against handing over the few pieces they don’t already have.
But if he could help… if he could truly help…
I don’t know what else Marcus has going on in his life, what other connections and resources he might have. But I know he has money. And I know money is sometimes all that’s needed to open doors that otherwise stay barred shut.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I murmur.
It’s not quite a yes and it’s not quite a no. It’s leaving the possibility open, which I already know from experience is a dangerous proposition with this man. But I can’t help it.
We drive down the narrow, trash-littered streets of my neighborhood, and I find my gaze inexorably drawn to the man beside me. Marcus’s features are just as striking in profile as they are from the front, with his chiseled jawline, straight no
se, and full lips. The bruise on his face from his fight with Greg is almost gone, no more than a small pink mark beneath his cheekbone now.
A few pieces of brown hair fall over his forehead, and I have the strangest impulse to reach up and run my fingers through them, to push them back from his face and delve my hand into the thick, rich strands.
I dig my fingers into my own thigh instead, gripping tightly and trying to ground myself as I wrench my gaze away from his face. I wasn’t being subtle as I stared at him. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever am.
As if he can feel the loss of my gaze—as if he misses it—Marcus shifts his head to glance at me. “I never knew you had a brother.”
“Well, I barely do.” I laugh softly, then hesitate. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t know though, honestly. I mean, you’ve been watching me for so long, I would’ve expected you to know everything about me by now.”
The car rolls to a smooth stop as he parks in front of my apartment. When Marcus turns to face me, I can’t look away. Nothing else seems to exist outside of this car. Outside of the space between us.
“I know a lot.” He speaks simply, making no effort to deny the length and breadth of his stalking. “But I still don’t know what I want to most.”
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“You.” He reaches across the center console and pushes a lock of dark hair out of my face, his fingertips brushing my temple. “What’s in your head. What’s in your heart.”
