“I really don’t care what you think,” I say, my voice flat, cold. “Just keep an eye on Mom, since Cody’s not very good at it.”
He’s looks one second away from throwing a punch, but he reins it in. “Yeah. I got it covered.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I storm out the front door.
Marlowe is already outside, leaning against the car, her back to me. Her hair moves with the wind, strands lifting, shifting, soft and wild and effortless.
My dick is hard again.
The realization burns through me, a reminder of everything I don’t want to think about. Of the way her body felt pressed against mine, and the fact that I was about one second away from having her on that kitchen counter. I shake it off. This isn’t about her. This is aboutgetting the money. This is about ending this shitty situation.
I step closer, my boots scraping against gravel, and Marlowe straightens, turning just enough to see me. Her gaze locks onto mine. I can’t wait until I never have to look at those goddamn blue eyes again. I unlock the car, my voice cold, clipped. “Get in.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t say anything at all. She just climbs inside, moving with an eerie calm that grates against the raw edge of my nerves.
I slide in behind the wheel and pull the door closed harder than I mean to. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, and I force myself to calm down. I turn the key, and the engine growls to life.
The leather seats are hot, sticky against my skin, and I crank the air conditioning. Marlowe stares out the window, her body angled away from me, her expression unreadable. She looks likeshe’d rather beanywhere else right now, and that should make this easier. It should make me feel nothing.
So why do I fucking feel everything?
I shift the car into drive, pulling out onto the empty road. My pulse thrums in my ears, and I steal another glance at her, at the way her fingers curl against her thigh. I want to break the silence between us, to cut through it with something sharp, something that will make her look at me. I want her to fight more, to scream at me, to show something other than this cold indifference.
Instead, I force my focus back on the road, swallowing everything that wants to claw its way out. This isn’t about her. There’s no me and her. This is about getting the money, getting out, and being done. Except the longer the silence stretches, the more I feel like I’m lying to myself.
“Vick said it was in Paradise Park. That’s North Vegas.” Her voice is quiet.
I grunt in reply. North Vegas. If the money is there, we’ll know soon enough. If it’s gone, if Vick played us, then this whole thing gets worse.
She shifts in her seat, pressing her fingers against the door like she wants to jump out. I press harder on the gas, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me from reaching for her.
The silence grows heavier, stretching between us with every mile. I can hear the way she exhales, slow and measured, the way her fingers tighten against the door handle like she’s holding something in.
I should be focused on the road, on the job, on what happens if we get there and the money isn’t where it’s supposed to be. But my mindwon’t stay there. It keeps circling back to the way her body felt against mine when we danced. To the way her breath hitched just before we almost kissed. To the way she looked at me like she actually felt something. Whatever she’s waking upin me, it needs to die fast. She makes me want things I’ve spent years killing off. That’s not attraction. That’s a liability.
Marlowe turns her head slightly, her gaze flicking toward me with red-ringed eyes.
No. I don’t want soft. I don’t want complicated. And I sure as hell don’t want her crawling into my head. I want no fucking part of it.
The sun beats down through the windshield, heating my arms despite the blasting air conditioning. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the tension out, but itwon’t go away.
She shifts in her seat again, this time turning toward me. “So where is she?” she asks.
I sigh, already exhausted. “What?”
She hesitates, just for a second. “Your wife. Is she…still in your life?”
I don’t lie. That would be childish. “No.” The word comes out clipped, final, but not enough to end this.
She waits, sitting straighter, expectingmore.
I want to shut this down. I should remind her that we aren’t doing this, that whatever thisthingbetween us is, it’s nothing. The words catch behind my teeth.
Her eyes are bloodshot, wet with tears—and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to say things I swore I’d keep buried.No, fuck her.
She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “Just tell me, Damian.”
“She died.” The two words just slip out.
