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71
MARIUS
Idrive in silence. I could ask what the hell the diner scene was about, but I feel like both Markus and Dez are having far too much time keeping the plan to themselves.
I don’t care so long as there’s a plan. Murder is their purview. So long as I’m the one actually firing the bullet, I don’t care to discuss the ins and outs.
Markus told me to drive to the motel, so I get us there. I pay for one room as instructed, while Dez sucks his face some more. Then, with a giggle, she wraps her arms around my back and press a kiss to my neck.
Yeah, I really don’t like that.
I make my face relax into a smile. “Let me pay the lady,” I admonish her when she brings her mouth to my ear.
She pouts. “Fine. But you’d better make it up to me with that lovely tongue of yours.”
Gross. Massively gross.
It’s weird, come to think of it. I’ve fucked Riley a couple of times. She’s definitely a good lay, and I love teasing those piercings of hers. But the very thought of going there with Dez makes me grimace. It’s like fucking my sister or something.
I do my best not to look as repulsed as I feel, repressing a shiver, and finish booking our one room.
When we’re finally alone behind doors, I snap, “Okay, what the fuckinghellwas that?”
Dez laughs, hopping on the bed.
“Mostly Daisy getting some payback.” Markus sighs deeply. “But also, buying you two hours.”
I frown. “What?”
“You’ve always been a little slow.” My brother tosses his jacket to the floor, then starts working on his belt. “Weare going to fuck the hell out of naughty little Daisy for the next two hours. Loudly. And there is no way we could possibly be committing a crime at the same time, is there?”
My jaw falls. He’s right, I am slow. I should have seen this coming, connecting the dots. But my brain stopped working the moment Dez’s foot got close to my dick.
“There’s no camera at the back,” Markus says, tossing a pair of gloves and a piece of paper at me. “You can walk into town. It takes twenty-five minutes from the hotel to the Clarks’. You only have an hour. Then you need to come back in here, and be right here tomorrow morning. Understood?”
I unfold the paper, finding two maps. The first is a simple town map marking the way from the motel to the Clarks. The others is a house floorplan, marking the security cameras—two: one on the main door, the second around the garage. It also highlights the best way to enter the house, through the back, onto the tiny deck. No camera there.
I wonder when Markus collected that intel. Probably the day after he found out about Brandon. He knew I’d eventually need it.
“Don’t use GPS,” my brother reminds me.
The map suddenly makes more sense. He wants to avoid digital evidence.
“You also need to come on the bed before we leave,” Dez tells me.
“Always so thorough,” he praises her.
Thorough apparently is his kink, judging by the bulge in the pants he peels off.
And I’m out of there.
* * *
I don’t walk much; I get plenty of cardio in the swimming team, and in other ways. But if getting to and back from the Clarks’ takes fifty minutes, the two-hour window my brother gave me doesn’t give me much time, so I make myself jog half of the way.
I don’t need to check the house number once I reach their street; the Mustang is easy enough to spot in the sea of cheap, used cars.
It’s close to midnight again and the lights in the street are off. This time, there’s no bat in my hand, but my gun weighs heavy in its concealed holster at my back.
