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Marcus furrows his brows in a humored frown. “And your point is?”
I step toward him and put my hands on his chest, playing the art of seduction to the best of my ability. “If you really want to ruin him, you could start with his reputation.”
This has to work. I can’t screw this up. Everything is riding on me gaining Marcus’s trust. Liv Knight is fuck knows where, surrounded by filthy scumbags who could be doing fuck knows what to her. With any luck, Marcus will start thinking with his dick and be dumb enough to take me to her. I just need to grab my bag, and I’ll be fine. Jason and Bodie will be able to find me.
Marcus doesn’t flinch as I slide my palms around his shoulders, moving close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath. His eyes blaze into mine with a hint of distrust, the corners twitching a little like he’s considering something. Not that it takes more than a second for him to decide what he wants as he reaches down to squeeze my ass, the pressure of his fingers digging a little too tight for my liking. Marcus delves right in for the kill, crudely kissing my neck and groping my breasts beneath my hoodie. It crawls my skin to let him touch me like this, but the more he thinks he’ll get his dick wet, the less likely he’ll want to kill me. If I want Marcus to trust me, I’ll need to be smart.
I’m sorry, Jason. I’m doing this for you and your mom.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I utter before Marcus roughly kisses me, and I reciprocate.
Marcus swirls his tongue inside my mouth, hardly giving me a chance to breathe. He’s rough and driven by something more than lust – a cold vendetta against Jason that seems to be fueled by jealousy. I let him wriggle a hand down my sweatpants and cop a feel of my pussy; even parting my legs so he can drag his finger through my slit.
“Here’s fine,” Marcus replies, proving my assumption about him right. “We don’t have time for pillow talk. Turn around.”
I’m glad that I angled the camera away because things are about to get ugly. Marcus yanks down my sweats, then forces me flat against the table, stuffing a dish towel in my mouth. I hear a rustle of denim, then he spits, slathers his saliva around my pussy, then drives his cock inside me and starts thrusting. A moment of confusion crashes over me as he humps away, puffing and panting with exertion. I want to ask if it’s all the way in because it doesn’t feel like it is. But before I can fathom whether this is a joke, Marcus barks out a harsh cry and starts shuddering behind me. Should I fake moaning or claw at the tabletop? I’m just slumped here as wooden as the furniture not knowing what the fuck to think. A strangled yelp lets me know he’s finished, and I bite down on the dish towel to stop myself from laughing. If I didn’t feel it, does it count?
I spit out the towel. “Oh my god,” I rush my words to sound breathless. “That was amazing!” It’s not about what I say, it’s the way I say it. Jason knows me well enough to tell when I’m being sarcastic. Marcus doesn’t. He tucks away his flaccid junk and buttons his jeans like he’s God’s gift, thinking he just rocked my world and not just my kitchen table. I use the dish towel to clean myself, then pull up my sweatpants, hoping I did enough to convince him.
“I can’t wait to see the look on Havoc’s face when I parade you around town. It’ll ruin him.” Marcus rubs his hands together gleefully. “Dear old Dad will fucking hate it. He wants you dead, but fuck him. This is my time to shine.”
“Does this mean I can stay at your place?” I pretend to be so into Marcus I’m practically tripping over my tongue to kiss his ass. “If your dad wants me dead, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Makes sense to keep an eye on you,” he replies, glancing around the kitchen. “I need people to see us together if this is going to work.” Marcus jerks his head toward the door. “Get your things and let’s go.”
I grab my purse from the table, then grab a change of clothes, shoving everything into a backpack. This is it. I’m about to make another reckless move that could potentially get me killed, and it should scare me. Only it doesn’t. It thrills me. The danger, adrenaline rush, and the thought of jumping into the midst of all the action turns me on more than anything. I was made for this life. I just didn’t know it until I fell headfirst into a steaming pile of fuckery. Marcus beckons me to follow, then turns his back to walk through the hall. That’s when I grab the biggest carving knife from the rack, wrap it in the cum-stained dishtowel, and quickly shove it in my backpack. I raise my purse up to my face and wink at the camera, letting the Hawks know the plan is working.
ChapterThirteen
Marcus brings me to a crummy old farmhouse surrounded by woodland and is tucked away on the outskirts of town. My legs are shaking as I get off the back of his motorcycle. I do well to walk up the weathered wooden steps on trembling legs, ignoring the leering stares and heckling from the Jackals. There are empty beer bottles everywhere I look, crumpled cigarette packets, and discarded takeout containers. I thought the Hawks were messy, but these guys are pure slobs.
“Whatcha got there, boss?” Mr. Mohawk drawls in a lazy tone. “Is that the same chic from last night?”
“The very same,” Marcus confirms. “She’s Havoc’s ex old lady.”
Mr. Mohawk gawks at me, then his eyes widen with realization. “Oh, shit. I know where I’ve seen you before. You’re the chic from the bar. The one Havoc banged in the manager’s office.”
“We didn’t bang,” I’m quick to clarify. “He smacked me around for talking back to him.”
The Jackals chortle, mostly finding my outburst funny. They flick their attention between Marcus and me as if they are waiting for him to slap me for speaking out of turn.
“Women should be seen and not heard,” Marcus remarks, jabbing his finger at me. “Now, get in there and grab a broom. I want this shithole spick and span before the sun comes up, or the next fucking you get will be my fist up your ass.” He waits until I scurry past and then forcibly smacks my butt enough to make it sting.
Holding my purse strap tightly, I pretend to look around the rickety porch to give the Hawks a rough estimate of how many Jackals they’re dealing with. Marcus wastes no time in telling his goons all about us bumping uglies, embellishing the truth to make several seconds stretch to half an hour. While his buddies are patting his back for being such a wild stallion, I hurry inside to look for Liv. Even if I was gonna spend the night cleaning, it would take more than one night to get this place spotless. The very air I breathe is ninety-nine percent stale piss and cigarette smoke. I wouldn’t let my dog sleep in here if I owned one. Fuck knows how the Jackals can stand it. Maybe they’re nose blind.
Covering my airways with the neckline of my hoodie, I breathe my warm scent as I scour the house, kicking aside all the trash. There’s a ratty couch in the sitting room, a decent flatscreen TV in one corner, and a small veneer table with a stack of playing cards on it. I’m not sure if the previous owner nailed planks of wood to cover the windows or if the Jackals did it. I go upstairs, taking each pitted step one at a time, not knowing what I might find up there. It’s just as I thought; it’s dingy, but less cluttered than downstairs. I expect to find bare mattresses on the floor, not mismatched single beds. They all appear to sleep in one room with their dirty laundry piled high on the landing. I can see the bathroom through an open doorway, and next to it there’s a locked door with a key protruding from the lock.
An ear-splitting whistle makes me almost jump out of my skin. “Woman, where’d you go?” Marcus calls out from downstairs.
Retracting my hand from the key, I abandon the search temporarily and go back downstairs to see what he wants.
“I was just looking around,” I say, keeping a casual tone. “And for the record, my name is Keira.”
“I’m not interested in learning your name. I’m only keeping you around because you put out. There’s a roll of trash bags in the kitchen,” Marcus mentions, pointing the way. “Don’t fucking let me catch you going upstairs unsupervised.”
“Not even to use the bathroom?” I answer back, much to Marcus’s annoyance.
Marcus eyes me distrustfully. “Can’t have you snooping around places you’ve got no business to snoop or hopping from dick to dick. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep that pussy contained. If I want you to blow me, you’ll get on your knees and do it. If I tell you to drop your panties and bend the fuck over, you’ll fucking do it. Do you hear me?”
