“Ourhouse,” he corrected. “You should get used to us being together. What you not getting, Juicy? You’re Mrs. Marcus Stokes now. Or are you the type that wants her last name hyphenated?”
“Okay, Marcus,” I muttered flatly. This nigga was trying to be funny, and it was no use arguing he was off his fucking rocker.
I nursed several glasses of wine instead of eating—anything to drown out the sound of him droning on about bullshit. My untouched food was boxed and handed off to one of his security guards, who followed us like we were under Secret Service protection. By the time we headed back to the car. I was tipsy enough to need Marcus’s arm just to stay upright. Was this some sick joke? That I had to lean on the same man I was trying to get away from.
* * *
“Jasmine.”
I’d mostly sobered up by the time we got back to the penthouse and darted off to the room as soon as we got off the elevator. I needed to wash the whole night off me. I scrubbed my body raw, ignoring the ache in my neck. I threw on some pajamas, collapsed into bed, and stared at the chandelier overhead while the TV droned on softly in the background.
I didn’t bother sitting up to acknowledge Marcus’s presence.
“What?” I said, keeping my eyes locked overhead.
The mattress dipped as he sat at the edge of the bed. “What if I let you see your parents?” His voice had a coaxing sweetness to it, like he was offering me a gift instead of a leash.
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing them, but I refused to let it show. “Knowing your ass, it’s not that simple. What do you want?”
“Be my date to a charity gala in two days.”
That made me turn my head to look at him. “Parading me around in public like a trophy isn’t going to change the way I feel about you.”
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “This could be work if you stopped fighting me.”
“Mhm,” I hummed. He was about to give me one of his tired-ass speeches.
“I built this life for us,” he started.
I rolled my eyes.
“I didn't have the motion back then like I do now. You want a Birkin? I got you. A chartered flight to Bali? I can make it happen.”
I sat up, heat rising in my chest. “Is this what this is about? You trying to live out some weird fantasy you’ve been holding onto for a decade? We broke up because you were too busy chasing the bag, and I needed to go back to school. End of story.”
I dropped out of college at nineteen and had no real sense of direction. It wasn’t until I hit twenty-five that I finally got serious and decided to pursue nursing. Once I was in the thick of the program, I was drowning in classes and practicals, and Marcus was deep in the streets. What we had just fizzled out. There were no hard feelings—it was just the natural progression of things. A few months later, he got locked up.
“But now you don’t have to work,” he said.
I leaned back into the pillows. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
“Oh, so it’s cool for you to get wrapped up with the biggest drug dealers in Atlanta, but someone you grew up with is out of the question?”
I slammed my hand against the bed. “Stop bringing Cash into this!” My voice cracked with anger. “You actin’ like I got with him because he was a dealer. Newsflash—I had a roster full of niggas in Atlanta before I met him! It just—” I clapped my hands for emphasis, “—fucking happened. I even told him about you. Not by name, but he knew our history.”
I exhaled and sank back down, the fight draining out of me. “At this point, I’d be better off without either of you,” I muttered.
Marcus went quiet.
“If you want to see your parents, Amber will take you,” he said finally. “But no funny shit. Donny put a tracker on her car, and my people will follow you. If I even think your parents know what’s going on, I’ll hurt them.”
The way he said it so casually sent a chill down my spine.
He stood to leave. “I’d hate to do that to you,” he added softly.
CHAPTER26
NAIROBI CRAWFORD
