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My stomach twists into a tight, painful ball at the thought, and my hand curls into a fist. Marcus doesn’t miss the movement.
His gaze cuts to me, worry and suspicion in his eyes. “What? What else did she say?”
I lick my lips. I shouldn’t even go down this road, but that doesn’t stop my mouth from opening and words from falling out. “How is Victoria that much different than me? She saved your life too. Aren’t you grateful for that?”
Marcus slams on the brakes so hard that my entire body jerks forward. He throws an arm out, catching me at the same moment the seatbelt tightens across my chest. The tires screech as he pulls sharply to the side of the road, then he cuts the engine. We’re several blocks away from Victoria’s house, but nowhere near Theo’s yet.
I glance over at him, and when my gaze meets his, my breath catches.
There’s something almost wild in his eyes, something violent and unrestrained. He unclips his seatbelt and leans over, palming the back of my neck and pulling me toward him until we’re nearly nose-to-nose.
“You think I’m gonna fall in love with Victoria.”
It’s not a question. It’s like he reached inside my brain and plucked the words out of the darkest corner there.
I shrug, my lungs still struggling to draw in air under the crushing force of Marcus’s presence. “You stalked me for two and a half years because I saved your life. You were obsessed with me for no other reason than that. And now Victoria’s done the same thing.”
“Wrong.” His fingers dig into my neck, and I can feel his hand trembling a little, vibrating from whatever emotions roil inside him. “You are nothing like Victoria. And I will never, ever want her.” He leans closer, resting his forehead against mine as his mesmerizing eyes overtake my vision. “She used my life as a bargaining chip. She blackmailed me. You stepped in front of three bullets for a stranger, a man you didn’t even know. You risked your life for me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to understand.”
“Understand what?” I breathe.
“How you’re so fucking good.” He slides his hand through my hair, reaching up with his other to grasp my head between them.
I huff a little laugh, shaking my head as much as his grip allows. I’ve stopped trying to convince myself that I ended up in front of those bullets that night by accident, that some part of me didn’t know exactly what I was doing. But no matter what Marcus says, that doesn’t make me a saint. It doesn’t make me an angel.
“I’m not good,” I say.
“Yes, you are.” His voice is hard, almost angry, as if he can’t believe I don’t see what he sees. “You’re perfect, Ayla. Perfect for me.”
Pulling me closer, he crushes his lips against mine, kissing me hard enough to bruise both of our lips.
It reminds me of the first time he kissed me, and the barely restrained violence in his touch that day. As if he wanted me so badly that nothing was ever good enough, our bodies never close enough.
The deep craving inside of me flares to life, ignited by his touch, and our tongues tangle as we kiss wildly. When we finally break apart, Marcus doesn’t release his grip on my head, and I get the feeling he never wants to let go. That part of him resents every minute he has to spend outside the little bubble that exists between us in moments like these.
I never understood all-consuming love before—the kinds of stories where people would rather die than lose each other. The kinds where they burn the whole world down with their love.
But I think I do now.
“Angel,” Marcus rasps, his fingers sliding through my messy dark hair. “I followed you since that night, even though I knew I fucking shouldn’t, because I had to know what was inside you. I had to know what made you do that, what made you do… anything. What made you tick. And everything I learned? Every little piece of you I discovered? Instead of satisfying me, it just made me want more. I still want more. I want every fucking piece of you that you’ll give me, and I don’t care if it makes me selfish. I’m never giving them back.”
“I don’t want them back.” I reach up to cup his face with my hand, tracing the chiseled lines of his cheekbone and jaw. “They’re yours. I’m yours.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, and the tension drains from his grip. He kisses me again, this one soft and deep and lingering. When he draws back, he lets out a breath. “Don’t ever think you’re like her,” he murmurs. “You’re better than her. You’re better than me and Ry and Theo. You’re better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I think he’s underestimating himself and his friends and overestimating me, but I don’t really care. Not when he’s looking at me the way he is right now.
“I want to help you find your brother,” he says suddenly.
My eyebrows shoot up, and I draw back a little in surprise. “What?”
“I said I’d help you before all this shit went down.” He releases his grip on my head, trailing his fingers through my hair before winding a lock around his knuckle. “I still want to do that. I hate that I haven’t been able to already.”
“Marcus, it doesn’t matter right now.” I shake my head, my brows furrowing. “We need to figure out how to keep you guys from getting killed in this game—find a way for you to end it and win. Then we can talk about finding my brother.”
He presses his lips together stubbornly. “I can do both. If something happens to me again, I’m not leaving you with an unfulfilled promise. With empty words.”
“I don’t need—”
