“I was checking the jean brand,” I lie. “Thought I might take her shopping to grab a few more pairs. She looks good, and I know you like that pair on her.”
Marcus beams. “See? This is why I keep you around. Now scram while I get my dick drained.”
He claps me on the back like we’re bros, and I leave before I do something I’ll regret.
Back in the elevator, my hands curl into fists. He’s getting worse. The way he talks to her, touches her… it’s escalating. I don’t know what flipped the switch, but it’s not going away. It’s only getting darker. And I don’t trust him. Not for a second.
By the time I reach the street, my decision is made. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, but now it’s more than just an idea, it’s a plan.
Aro needs a way out. She might not need it yet and she might not ever ask for it, but when she does? She’ll have one.
I run through my mental contact list weeding out the dirty ones, the cowards, the ones too noisy or weak. There’s only one name left standing. He’s reliable, discreet, dangerous in the right ways.
He’ll know what to do.
Outside the building, I press the call button.
He answers on the first ring.
Chapter 6
Axel
I linger outside Johnny’s building. Sorry,Jonathan’sbuilding. Apparently, he’s too good for his childhood nickname now. Pretentious prick.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to force a better attitude. Dealing with Johnny on a good day is draining. On a bad one? It’s hell. But I need to talk to him.
One last glance up at the glittering rows of glass windows, then, I square my shoulders and walk in.
The doorman greets me like he’s never seen me before. “Name and ID, please.”
I’ve been here a hundred times, but this guy still acts like I’m delivering pizzas instead of visiting my brother. My foot taps while he checks the log.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Harrington, here you are.”
“There I am!” I exclaim with fake cheer. “Just like every other damn time,” I mutter, quieter.
He hands back my ID with a barely concealed scowl and escorts me to the elevator, inserting a key before pressing the button labeledPH. Penthouse. Personally, I like to pretend it stands forPenis Head.
As the elevator climbs, I lean back against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. Johnny lives in the kind of penthouse that screams wealthy, dangerous, and vaguely illegal. I don’t know the exact details of what he does for money, but I know it involves killing people. We’ve argued about it plenty. These days,I just keep my mouth shut and pretend like the blood money doesn’t reek.
The elevator finally dings open, and there he is. Waiting. Arms crossed. Brow furrowed.
“What do you want, Axel?”
Classic, warm welcome.
I stroll in, hands in my pockets. “Great to see you too, brother. How’s the murder business? Treating you well?”
Johnny growls low in his throat.
“What. Do. You. Want?” he repeats, slow and clipped.
I ignore him.
“Love what you’ve done with the place. Are the drapes new? I could’ve sworn you had satin last time, but this silk is just—”
“Axel!” he barks.
