A block away, Knight’s unmarked van sat in the shadow of a defunct water tower. The side door slid open as I approached, revealing Cora’s pale face, Knight beside her with headphones around his neck. I climbed in, and Cora immediately threw herself against my chest, her arms wrapping around my waist.
“You heard?” I asked, holding her tightly against me.
She nodded against my chest. “Everything. God, Marcus, he was going to --”
“But he won’t,” I cut in gently, tilting her face up to mine.“It’s over, Cora. Reeves is done.”
“And Mercer?” I asked Knight as we pulled away from the curb. “You trust her?”
“Yep,” Knight said without hesitation. “She’s working with Lana Thompson, the lawyer who helps women at the shelter. I called her when we set up the meet with Reeves.”
“Well, you could have warned me, you motherfucker,” I grumbled.
“Now, what would have been the fun in that?”
I pressed my lips to Cora’s forehead, feeling her trembling subside. “Bit cool but the bike’s waitin’ if you want to ride with me.”
She grinned. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”
“Good. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cora
Three months later…
The stupid dress I wore felt like a straitjacket, clinging to my body in all the wrong places. I tugged at the neckline for the tenth time, willing the fabric to give me just a little more room to breathe. Beside me, Marcus shifted his broad shoulders inside a suit jacket that should have struggled to contain him but was perfectly tailored to his large frame. His jaw worked beneath his thick beard. We made quite the pair outsideJeff Ruby’s Steakhousein Nashville. The place was ridiculously expensive, but the food was phenomenal. I’d only eaten there once. The day my parents told me they were shipping me off to Europe for school. I hated the place on principle.
Six years since I’d spoken to them, six years of building a life they’d never understand, and now here I stood like a lamb dressed for slaughter. I had no idea how they’d found my phone number, but they’d called a couple days before to set up this meeting and had told me not to bring my new “friends.” They’d known all about Kiss of Death and voiced their disapproval aggressively. I hated exposing Marcus to what I knew would be very judgmental people, but he’d insisted on coming with me, not caring if my parents wanted him there or not. I couldn’t be mad at him for defying my parents’ wishes because I knew If I made it through this evening without throwing up, it would only be because Marcus grounded me with his presence and his touch when I needed it.
“You keep fidgeting with that dress, I’m gonna tear it off you right here,” Marcus muttered, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” I replied, trying to match his lightness, but my voice trembled. “I’d rather be anywhere but here right now.”
“Say the word, baby, and we’re outta here.”
The valet stand bustled with activity, sleek luxury cars pulling up one after another. A Ferrari. A Bentley. The kind of wealth that once surrounded me like air, so ubiquitous I hardly noticed it until I walked away. Now it felt suffocating and so alien I couldn’t imagine going back to that life.
Marcus turned to me, his large hands sliding around my waist and pulling me close. His touch steadied me even as anxiety twisted my stomach into painful knots. “We get back on my bike, go home, and I can lick every inch of your creamy skin until you beg me to fuck the shit outta you.” His whispered voice was sin in my ear. I wanted to take him up on that promise. God, how I wanted to. But the weight of unfinished business pressed down on me like a stone. I was also sure he wouldn’t let me ride without a helmet back home the way he had here to preserve my hair. I had it up in a high ponytail divided into three sections I’d curled so they lay in spirals down my neck and behind my shoulders. We’d gone slow enough the wind hadn’t been much of a factor and though the air was decidedly cool, we’d ridden slowly down the crowded streets. The brisk temperature had helped me focus on the meeting to come.
“I need to face them,” I whispered. “I don’t really know why, but I feel I need to do this.”
Since leaving London six years ago, I’d rebuilt myself piece by jagged piece. I’d slept on park benches and in shelters. I’d worked jobs that left my feet aching and my spirit crushed. I’d learned to survive on my own terms, not theirs. But somewhere deep inside, a part of me still cowered under my father’s disapproval and my mother’s cutting remarks. That part of me needed to die tonight.
“These people hurt you,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into that quiet register that made everyone else strain to hear him but somehow reached me with perfect clarity. “They’ll probably try to manipulate you.”
“Oh, I know they will,” I said softly. “It’s what they do.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped beneath his beard. His instinct to protect me, to shield me from pain, was written in every line of his body, in the way his gaze constantly scanned our surroundings.
“I don’t like this. They hurt you, and I’m not sure how I’ll react.”
“I know,” I said with a smile. Marcus was nothing if not protective. Just the other day Marcus had growled at the older gentleman who owned a coffee shop I frequented because he’d bought my coffee. Thankfully, the man, who had to be pushing ninety, had merely patted Rancor’s arm and told him to treat me right. Rancor had shaken his hand and promised to do just that. “But I’m not the same person who ran away from them. I’m stronger now.” I reached up, placed my palm against his bearded cheek. “Because of you. Because of what we’ve built together.”
The gold band and the single diamond solitaire on my finger caught the light from the restaurant’s entrance, a reminder of promises Marcus and I had exchanged just two weeks ago in a simple ceremony at the compound. The memory of that day flooded me with warmth, pushing back against the chill of apprehension.
“I just worry they’ll try to take you away from me,” Marcus admitted, his vulnerability striking in a man who showed it so rarely. “People like that, with money and connections, they think they own people like me.”
