His expression darkens. “Dec, Callahan’s right, leave them. Someone’s probably sold them, and they weren’t worth much.”
“How do you know?”
“Your brother told me. And my thinking is if this Mario disappeared along with the drugs, maybe he used the money he made on another deal to get out of town.” He shrugs, then looks at me. “He’s probably gone. Let it go.”
“Not helpful,” I say, aware of my internal clock ticking. I need to get back to Marlowe.
“It’s not meant to be, kid. It just is what it is. Cal’s right. Dirty, cheap drugs aren’t something a Murphy should be caught selling. Lowers the reputation.”
“I didn’t?—”
“I’m still digging into Heston,” Roark says, not letting me finish. “He’s everything you’ve heard. Adores the shitout of his ballerina daughter, though. I can see why.”
I scowl at him.
“Not my type, there, okay, Dec? I’m not a threat. Don’t get your dick in a twist.”
“I need to get back in there,” I mutter, but Roark puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Only if you want to go down for shooting a highly illegal rifle.” He takes a puff of his cigarette and breathes out a stream of smoke. “The weapon’ll be untraceable, nothing to lead you to the real culprit. You’ll want to talk to the shooter himself.”
I glare at my cousin because fuck his laid-back ways. “Which I could have, if you’d have let me catch him.”
“And draw attention to yourself, Dec?” He shakes his head and straightens up. “The source is better. I have the license plate number, so if he’s got anything to say and isn’t just some lowlife peon, I’ll let you know.”
I grit my teeth. “If you find him, let me know.”
“Deal.”
Marlowe’s silent when I get back, the bathroom door still shut. When I try the handle, it’s locked.
I left her longer than I meant to. She infects the air, makes it volatile, rich, something that sparks with excitement and awareness, even through the fear.
“Molly, it’s Dec?—”
The door opens, cutting me off. She flies at me. I grab her by the waist, the unstable element lit, setting off a chain reaction I can’t stop.
I guide her kicking, fighting body into the bathroom and hold her face forward at the mirror over the sink. Mine is dark with intent, hers is lit up with fire and hate, and the thing burning it all down to the ground?
Desire.
“You left me,” she spits.
I rub her clit against the edge of the sink, my hard-on pressing into her from behind, hand just on her pelvis so she’s got nowhere to go. Besides, I’ve got her too tight. She can’t escape.
And even if I released her, I don’t think she’d move.
“I did.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I can be,” I murmur, kissing her ear before moving to the back of her neck. And I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
The adrenaline pumps, and I know it’s got nothing to do with whoever took potshots at us. It’s everything to do with her.
I shift back and pull down the layers of clothes…her sweats, the leotard bottoms, her tights, and panties. I’m rewarded with the perfume of her arousal, a subtle musk that threads into the air around me.
“Wanna know what I wanted to do to you in that bathroom in the club years ago? More blowjobs,” she says.
