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I put the cell back down and smile at the camera situated on the bar before I look back to Marcus.
“Do you think we can both fit up here?” He nods eagerly and gets up onto the table, his pants now gone and only his cock visible as he sits on his knees in front of my open legs.
I want to say this feels wrong, but sex with men I don’t like has become something I’m good at—definitely not something I enjoy.
Not like with him.
Fuck him. I flip him the finger aimed at the camera as Marcus moves. I push him back and sit on his lower legs, his cock between us. I lean down on it, giving it a little friction.
“Marcus, can you tell me something?” He nods, his eyes hooded, as he looks down his body at me. I reach between us and stroke his cock through the condom and smile at him. Pulling out my breast, I look up to the camera, and drop my head back. “Marcus, tell me something Lucas has kept from me that only you know.” I pump a little slower and look down at him as I grip my nipple, tweaking it.
It does nothing for me.
But for him, I feel his cock twitch in my hand.
He likes it.
“Marcus.” My hand pauses when he says nothing. He groans and shakes his head back and forth, like he doesn’t want to tell me. I go to move, but his hand shoots out and stops me.
“He sourced your brother. Tracked him down and gave him the job.”
What?
What?
I didn’t expect that.
I thought…
Hell, did I even ask how Brody got the job?
“Why?” Marcus looks down at his cock, so I touch it again and repeat, “Why?”
“Because of you.”
The doors fly open, and we both turn to find Lucas standing there, with a feral look plastered on his face.
Marcus moves lightning-fast, flinging me off of him. My head hits another table as I crash to the floor, the impact causing me to go dizzy for a second before I touch the back of my hair. I feel the slippery blood on my fingers and manage to look up to see that Lucas has Marcus on his knees.
“Mio per sempre.”
What does that even mean?
“Let me help you up, Chanel.” His hands grip my arm and he pulls me up roughly.
Fury—it’s written all over his face. His nostrils are flaring, and his eyes are protruding. Is there a word stronger than furious? Enraged. Raging. Wrathful.
Holy shit! Wrathful is probably right.
Marcus is practically sobbing on the floor.
“You have some nerve. I’ll give you that.” I pull my hand away from my head and there’s bright red blood on my fingers. The sticky substance is covering my skin, pooling on my fingertips. “Ouch,” I whimper on a moan.
Lucas’ eyes fall to my hand, then dart to Marcus. He walks over and kicks him down off his knees. “You thought you could touch what is mine?” he barks at him.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Oh, you fucking knew.”
Marcus shakes his head.
“Lucas…” I plead his name, but he doesn’t look up at me.
He’s too angry.
Too fixated on Marcus.
“I wonder, which part did you love the most? Looking at her pussy or her hand touching you?” he asks much too calmly. When his eyes glance at me, they tell a different story, though.
I manage to move forward and Lucas locks eyes with me.
“Did you enjoy it? Because from my angle it looked like you didn’t.”
I give him no response.
It’s better that way.
“I thought so. Seems only I know how to please you, and even now you’ve fucked that up.”
“I fucked up nothing. You did,” I bite back, my head now pounding. I start to think this may have been a bad idea, but I know better. This was what I wanted—to find out some truths and I did just that. “You sourced my brother?” I ask, and his head swings to Marcus.
“Your first mistake was opening the door to her. Your second…” he leans down, getting in Marcus’ face as he continues, “… was thinking you could touch her.” Then, without even a glimpse of hesitation, he puts a bullet straight into his brain. Blood splatters everywhere, hitting my bare legs, and a scream rips from deep inside me as Marcus drops to the floor, blood and brain matter pouring out of the wound.
What did he just do?
How could he do that?
My eyes want to stay glued to the sight in front of me, but I know better. Because if I look at it a second longer, I may just be sick.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Hands grab me from behind as I try to make it to the door, my lungs heaving for much-needed oxygen. His breath tickles my ear, and I try to move out of his grasp, but he keeps hold of me.
