"You Jamie?" he questioned.
His voice was rough and heavy. I'd seen his picture before today. In it, he was clean-shaven—the Southern type of handsome. He had that looks-like-he-smiles-at-church-picnics-but-breaks-kneecaps-after-dark type of vibe. He had looked massive in the photo, but the man standing in front of me now wasn't that guy.
He looked like pure hell. There were heavy, dark circles under his eyes and a week's worth of ragged beard on his jaw. His clothes hung loosely, like he'd lost weight he didn't have to spare. Grief had eaten him alive.
"Yes, I’m Jamie," I answered, my voice softening just a fraction. "You found her?"
His jaw tightened, a lethal spark igniting in his eyes. "We found her."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry don't bring her back."
"No," I agreed flatly. "It doesn't."
Marcus studied me for a long moment, his men shifting behind him like wolves in the shadows. I could feel him trying to read me—trying to figure out if I was bait or an ally, a snake or a savior.
As his gaze raked over me, I braced myself for the usual reaction. I was wearing tight clothes, and men like him usually let their eyes linger a second too long on my chest or my hips. But Marcus didn't. He looked me straight in the eye, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't see a shred of lust in a man's gaze. Instead, there was a heavy, quiet respect in his expression. He was looking at a fellow soldier, not a piece of meat.
"Why?" he asked, his southern drawl dragging over the word. "Why help me?"
"It’s not because I’m altruistic," I said honestly. "Rage wants me dead right now. Our enemy is the same woman. I need you to kill her so she stops trying to kill me."
He stared at me with a look that clearly readthis bitch is audacious, but the respect in his eyes didn't fade.
"Where is she?" Marcus asked.
"She's coming. I invited her."
His eyebrows shot up. "You invited the woman who tried to kill you to a meeting?"
"I invited the woman who tried to kill me to a trap." I nodded toward the back of the building. "There's an office through that door. You wait in there with your men, and leave a few of them hidden outside. When Rage gets here, you know what to do."
He stared at me for another beat, absorbing the layout. Then he turned to his crew, pointing at about six or seven of them. "Follow her directions."
He jerked his head toward the back office and walked away, his men falling into line behind him. At the door, he paused, his massive frame framing the exit.
"Jamie."
"Yeah?"
"If this is a setup—"
I raised my hands, cutting him off before he could voice the threat. “I know.”
Chapter Thirty — Jamie
I exhaled a ragged breath the moment Marcus was out of sight. That had gone better than I expected.
One down. Two to go.
I checked my watch, my pulse hammering a steady rhythm against my skin. Draeon was supposed to be here five minutes ago.
Exactly five minutes after that, the heavy entry doors groaned.
My brother came into view, and an unexpected wave of emotion hit me square in the chest. He looked more like our momma than I did, completely missing my daddy’s rich onyx skin. He was older now. He had the same cold eyes and the same easy smile that never quite reached his face. He was wearing a gray designer sweater, jeans that probably cost as much as rent in a luxury complex, and a stack of expensive rings glittering on his fingers.
To my absolute surprise, his face actually softened the second his eyes landed on me. We had never been close; he was older, and growing up, he had never really paid me any mind.
