23. Marcie
CHAPTER 23
MARCIE
DAY 4 NIGHT – MORNING – BEARING OUR SOULS
T he smell of eggs hit me before I was fully awake. For a moment, I thought I was home, waking to the familiar sounds of Claire clattering around in my kitchen, making breakfast as she often did after a night out. Her omelettes were the best. My heart gave a strange little jolt—warmth, comfort, safety.
Then the scratch of the rough blanket against my bare legs and the faint scent of damp hay brought reality crashing back. I wasn’t home. I was hiding. In stables.
But Anton was here. That last thought made me smile.
Sitting up slowly, I stretched, groaning at the ache in my muscles—remnants from last night. Not that I was complaining. Definitely not. In fact, I would be happy to wake up with such an ache every morning. I grinned, looking for the source of my current discomfort. The space around me was empty, the faint sizzle of something cooking drawing my attention to the workshop in the far corner of the stables.
“Anton?”
At the sound of his name, my Mr Sexy soldier strode toward me, a plate in each hand and a lopsided smile on his face.
“Good morning, my lovely,” he said softly, closing the distance between us.
I blinked at the unexpected endearment, my chest tightening despite myself. My voice was rough from sleep, and I cleared my throat. “Morning. You cook? And where did you get eggs?” I asked, eyeing the scrambled eggs piled high on the plates.
“I’ve been out raiding, and yes, I do cook,” he replied, his grin widening as he handed me a plate and fork. “I ran to the nearest farm just before dawn. The chickens were very cooperative.”
“You stole eggs?” I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at his smug expression.
“Desperate times. And lucky for us, there’s a small stove in the workshop,” he said, crouching to sit beside me.
Lifting the plate closer to my nose, I took a tentative sniff. “They smell good, but are you sure they’re safe? I didn’t take you for a cook,” I said, my tone sceptical even as I licked my lips. Food poisoning from eggs once was enough to scar me for life.
He arched a brow, clearly unimpressed by my doubt. “You wound me, Marcie. I’ll have you know my cooking is worthy of a Michelin Star any day. Try them,” he said, feigning indignation.
I chuckled. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The growl of my stomach made the decision for me. Taking a cautious bite, I chewed slowly. Not bad. A little bland, maybe, but under the circumstances, I wasn’t about to complain.
“Not quite Michelin Star, but with a little salt and pepper, they’d be excellent,” I teased, humming in appreciation as I wolfed the rest down.
Anton chuckled, finishing his own plate even faster. I stared in awe.
“And you’re a magician as well? Now you see them, now you don’t!” I laughed, gesturing at his empty plate.
Anton’s laughter rumbled low, his shoulders shaking slightly as he leaned back. There was something disarmingly casual about the moment—no arrogance, no pretence, just him. It caught me off guard, leaving a faint, unspoken ache in its wake. I wanted things to always be that way between us.
The warmth of the food and his easy presence made it almost possible to forget how precarious our situation was. Almost. The threat of discovery hung in the air, faint but inescapable. We’d likely have to run again soon. But for now, though, I felt relaxed, if only for a moment.
“How long do you think it’ll take Marko to find us?” I asked, setting the plate aside once I’d had my fill.
Anton leaned back, resting against the wooden wall behind him. “Honey, I’m not sure. Marko’s the best. He’ll find us. Then the Rominovs will come out in force. They might even be heading this way now.”
I nodded, though the uncertainty gnawed at me. “And in the meantime?”
“We wait. Stay out of sight.” His gaze softened as he looked at me, pulling me close. “And talk, maybe. There’s something I need to tell you.”
My stomach flipped at his tone—low, steady, serious. “This sounds ominous.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t try to soften the edges of what he clearly needed to say. “It’s about before. About why I pushed you away.”
I froze, my hands instinctively curling into the blanket. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Anton. People talk. I’ve heard bits and pieces about your family… and Louisa.”
His jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of pain crossing his expression. “Louisa was my twin. My little sister. I was older by five minutes,” he said quietly. “She was bright, stubborn, too clever for her own good. She… she died when we were eighteen. I should have protected her, but I didn’t.”
I reached for him, my fingers brushing his arm. “Anton, you can’t?—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, his voice firm but not unkind. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve lived with that guilt for a long time. It doesn’t just go away. It lingers, festering until…”
I stayed quiet, letting him find the words he needed to say.
“After Louisa… I couldn’t stay at home. Everything reminded me of her. So, I joined the army. Thought maybe I could leave the memories behind, but they followed me. It did get better, though. The guilt faded, and finally, I reached a point where I could think about her, remember her growing up without that gnawing pain of failure clouding the memory. That’s when I met Elaine.”
I’d heard the name before, but hearing it now, in his voice, sent a strange pang through my chest. “Your fiancée?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Elaine was… volatile. Fierce. She reminded me of Louisa in a lot of ways. We served together, and eventually, we got engaged. We were going to get married after we left the forces.”
He paused, his gaze distant and his throat working as he swallowed hard.
“But?” I prompted gently.
“One night, we had a stupid argument. It wasn’t even important, but it got under her skin. She stormed off. The following morning, she must’ve still been pissed about it because she disobeyed a direct order and walked right into an ambush.” His voice dropped, each word heavy with old pain. “She got herself killed. And two of my men.”
“Oh, Anton…”
“I was in command, Marcie.” He finally looked at me, his dark eyes filled with a rawness that stole my breath. “It was my responsibility to keep them safe. I failed. Again.”
I shook my head, my heart aching for him. “No. That’s not fair. You can’t carry that alone. She made a choice.”
“One she might not have made if we hadn’t argued,” he said, his tone quiet but firm.
I shook my head again, more vehemently this time. Anton was carrying all this guilt, and none of it truly belonged to him. His sister had overdosed, I knew that much. An addict who made a fatal mistake. No matter what Anton believed, that wasn’t on him.
If I was being brutally honest, I’d lay more of the blame at the Rominovs’ door—after all, they used to be one of the biggest suppliers of cocaine in London. When I’d first started planning events for the Rominov family, I hadn’t known about their Bratva link, but since my friends became involved with Bratva men, I’d learned a lot more.
But even then, no one forced Louisa to take the drugs. Supply didn’t exist without demand. People made their own choices. Usually, anyway.
Not that I was heartless—I did have some sympathy for Louisa’s story. What happened to her was horrific, and addiction was never simple. But the hard truth was, she made bad choices, and those choices were hers to own. Not Anton’s.
And then there was Elaine. She chose to disobey a direct order—an order that had been meant to keep her safe. Was she angry at Anton for their argument? Maybe. Maybe not. If she was as volatile as Anton said, she might have acted out simply because she disagreed with him. Either way, it was her decision. Her actions led to her death. And not just hers—two of her colleagues had paid the price, too.
Anton’s guilt made sense; he’d been their commanding officer. Of course, he felt responsible. But that didn’t make it his fault. None of it was his fault. Yet, for all these years, he’d carried it, letting it drag him down, punishing himself for things he couldn’t have changed.
And now? Now it was my job to help him see the truth.
He deserved that much from me.
“After that,” he continued, his voice pulling me back into the moment, “I threw myself into my career. Joined the SAS. I needed the structure, the discipline, another chance to forget.”
My eyes widened. “You were in the SAS?”
I couldn’t help but stare, my mind racing. The SAS wasn’t just any unit—it was elite. World-renowned. The men and women who wore that badge were the best of the best. I knew Anton was capable, disciplined, and impossibly strong, but the thought of him operating at that level left me in awe.
He gave a small, humourless smile at my reaction. “It wasn’t as glamorous as you’re imagining, but it kept me focused,” he said. “It gave me the distraction I needed to stop thinking about everything I’d lost.”
His gaze grew distant, his shoulders tightening as his voice dropped lower. “But then Ash called. Told me about his sister, Krissa, and what was happening back home.”
My stomach twisted at the mention of Krissa. I knew the story well—the brutal murder that had devastated the Rominovs. She’d been so young, her death a tragedy that still haunted them. I couldn’t even imagine the pain they’d felt, or how it had shaped Anton, especially knowing how much the Rominovs meant to him.
Anton’s breathing grew shallow, his eyes far away. I reached up, rubbing his chest gently, hoping the simple touch might ease whatever burden he was carrying. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at me. It was like he was somewhere else entirely.
“I ended my contract as soon as I could,” he said, his voice steady, though there was something raw beneath the surface. “The Rominovs were always there for me and Louisa. They’re family. I couldn’t stay away. Not when my family needed me.”
“And that’s when you started DuPont Security?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded, his gaze steady on me. “It gave me a way to protect them. A way to do something useful for the people I care about, without getting pulled directly into their world. That’s something they never wanted for me.” His eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And not long after that, you walked into my life.”
My breath caught at the sudden intensity in his gaze. There it was again—that unspoken pull between us, impossible to ignore.
“And you pushed me away,” I whispered, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth.
“Because I was terrified, Marcie,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Terrified of loving you, of losing you. Of failing you the way I failed Louisa and Elaine.”
The vulnerability in his words hit me like a blow, opening something inside I hadn’t even known was there. I reached for him, cupping his face in my hands, my thumb brushing his jaw. “You didn’t fail them, Anton. And you won’t fail me.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch, as if he wanted to believe me but couldn’t quite. “I’m done running from us, Marcie,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Good,” I replied softly, my heart swelling with certainty. “Because I’m not letting you go this time.”
For a long moment, we stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the outside world forgotten. The only sound was our calm, steady breathing, a temporary refuge from everything else.
I shifted slightly, feeling the solid presence of Anton beside me, then slowly lifted my gaze to meet his. His eyes softened as he studied me, a look of longing mixed with something deeper, something unspoken.
His hand moved to my back, his fingers tracing the line of my spine before resting at my waist. The touch sent a shiver of anticipation through me.
“Marcie…” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
The way he said my name made something tighten inside me, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I kissed him, slow at first, letting the moment linger until the kiss deepened, and his lips grew more insistent. His hands slipped beneath my shirt, brushing against my skin in a slow, deliberate touch that made me shiver.
Slowly, he tugged it over my head. Bending his head, he latched on to one of my nipples and gave it a lick before moving over the other and doing the same. I leaned into him, my fingers lacing into his short hair, pulling him closer, loving the sensations his mouth caused.
Pulling himself up, he slowly opened his jeans. I slid my hand inside and took his thick cock in my hand. Giving it a slight squeeze, I rubbed my palm up and down it. He hissed in pleasure, his head lolling back and eyes fluttering closed. God, the man was so gorgeous.
His chest heaved with each breath, muscles tightening and relaxing as my hand worked him. I let my fingers linger for a moment longer before pulling away, catching the quiet protest in his eyes. With a teasing smirk, I tugged at the buttons of his shirt. “This has to go,” I murmured, slowly unbuttoning it and slipping it off his shoulders.
I took my time, running my hands over the planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle taut under my touch. My fingers trailed lower, brushing the waistband of his jeans. He watched me, his gaze heavy, as I hooked my thumbs under the denim and slid it past his hips, kneeling briefly to push them further down his legs.
Anton stepped out of his jeans and boots, the corner of his mouth twitching as I stayed crouched before him, letting my hands trail up the length of his thighs. The intimacy of the moment sent a shiver through me.
The quiet, wet sounds of my mouth on him filled the room, mingling with his low, guttural groans. His hand tangled in my hair was firm but not forceful, a grounding touch that sent a heady rush through me.
I moved deliberately, my lips and tongue exploring every inch of him, and each breathless hiss, every muffled curse spurred me on. His hips flexed, a barely controlled response that made me tighten my grip on his thighs, holding him steady.
“Marcie,” he rasped, his voice rough and unsteady, like he was barely holding on. His chest heaved, and I could feel the coiled tension in his body, each subtle shiver and quiver of his muscles betraying his struggle for restraint.
When I shifted, taking him deeper, his head tipped back, a strangled groan breaking from his lips. His fingers tightened in my hair, guiding my movements with a mix of control and desperation. “You’re going to ruin me,” my sexy soldier murmured, his tone raw and uneven.
The taste of him was intoxicating, the salty heat lingering on my tongue as I worked him with purpose. Each groan, each low, shuddering exhale shot straight to my core, a heady combination of power and submission that left me aching with need.
I used one hand to pump the base of his length, matching the rhythm of my mouth, my other hand braced against his thigh for balance. Anton’s body tensed, every muscle coiled with restraint. He rocked into my mouth, a low moan slipping from his throat, the sound sending a thrill coursing through me.
But just as his hips began to jerk, a sign he was losing control, his hand stilled my movements. “Honey,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion and barely checked desire. “Stop.” He gently eased me back, his breaths ragged.
Slowly, he reached for my hand, drawing me to my feet, his gaze locking with mine, the intensity in his eyes holding me captive.
“Not like this. Not yet,” he growled, his voice rough, each word laced with raw need. “I’ll fuck that pretty mouth of yours, Marcie. But right now… I need to bury myself inside you, properly.”
His lips crashed onto mine, claiming me in a kiss so deep, so consuming, it stole the very air from my lungs. Lowering me onto the floor, he loomed over me, his lips brushing against mine again, teasing, lingering just enough to leave me wanting more.
Anton’s lips trailed over my skin, deliberate and slow, as he kissed the curve of my neck. “You’re fucking beautiful, honey. I love how you feel under me,” he whispered against my ear, his voice rougher now, like he could barely hold himself back. A string of endearments followed, muttered low and nearly inaudible, as his lips continued their path down my throat.
I wanted to speak, to respond, but all I could do was feel—the way our bodies fit together, the heat of his skin against mine, the soft friction of his hard muscles moving over me. My fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him even closer. He was so sexy and I couldn’t get enough of him.
“Anton…” I breathed, my voice thick with need, desperate for him.
The sexy soldier murmured my name like a promise, a vow, his voice low and full of raw intent. His mouth moved down, kissing, licking, and nibbling his way to my collarbone, while his hands traced the soft curve of my waist, taking his time, savouring every inch of me.
My core clenched, a rush of need flooding me as I squirmed beneath him, desperate for more. I could feel the passion building between us, the pressure mounting as he continued his slow exploration, driving me wild with anticipation.
More desperate now, I pressed up against him, feeling the hard length of his body against mine. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me, stirring something primal inside me. “Tell me you want me, Marcie,” he demanded, his voice thick with desire, his eyes darkening with hunger.
“Yes, sir… I want you, Anton,” I gasped, barely able to breathe as his fingers found my clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.
He let out a guttural growl at my words, his lips crashing back onto mine in a kiss that was deep, hungry, and possessive. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, feeling the hard ridge of his cock against my thigh, pulsing and desperate. Reaching down, I wrapped my hand around his length, smirking as it jerked in my grip, leaking pre cum over my fingers.
“Marcie, I won’t last if you keep touching me like that,” Anton groaned, his hand slipping between my legs to cup my pussy. “You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, his fingers sliding lower. Each movement of his touch was deliberate, slow, and teasing, making me ache for more.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. His thumb circled over my clit, the sensation enough to make me writhe beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing through me.
“Please,” I begged, my back arching as I ground against his fingers, desperate for more, my body craving him fully.
He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his gaze dark with raw desire. “Are you sure you’re ready for me?” His voice was low, rough, with a slight hint of amusement, as if testing my limits.
I nodded urgently, my hands reaching for him, needing him closer. “I’m ready, Anton. Please.”
A groan slipped from his lips as he positioned himself at my entrance, his body pressing into mine. Slowly, agonisingly slow, he slid inside, inch by inch, giving me time to feel every part of him, every sensation as he stretched me. My breath caught, the fullness of him almost overwhelming.
Mr Sexy Soldier’s eyes locked with mine, his pace slow and controlled, savouring each movement. The outside world ceased to exist. It was just him, just us, as he moved against me, filling me completely with each deep, measured thrust.
His lips found my neck, pressing soft, urgent kisses against my skin, and I tilted my head back, surrendering to him. His mouth sent shivers through me, while my hands continued their path over him, evoking a raw response that filled me with joy. I loved that I could make him tremble like that. Knowing what I did to him made me feel powerful, in control in a way I’d never known before.
“Oh, god,” I gasped, pulling him closer, bringing his lips to mine in a kiss that was both urgent and tender. Our bodies found their rhythm—slow at first, but quickly picking up pace, building a steady flow that was both sensual and frustrating at the same time.
“More, Anton. I need more,” I cried.
Anton grunted, his grip tightening as he gave me what I needed—more of him, more of everything. He thrust harder, faster, every stroke sending shockwaves through me. The pressure between my legs intensified, and with each deep, powerful thrust, I was drawn closer to the edge, an aching need building to an unbearable climax.
And then it hit. A violent, explosive release that shook me to the core, my body spasming around him, pulling him deeper as I cried out. Anton followed soon after, his breath ragged, his hips stuttering against mine as his own climax ripped through him.
We stayed tangled together for a long time, our bodies pressed close, the world outside completely forgotten. The hazy bliss of our shared moment lulled us both into a false sense of peace.
Then, the distant rumble of engines shattered the stillness. The sound of approaching vehicles grew louder, breaking the fragile intimacy we’d built. Anton’s body stiffened beneath my hands, his muscles going taut. His gaze darted to the door, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a sharp, calculating focus.
In an instant, Mr Sexy Soldier was all business. He sprang to his feet, the abrupt shift leaving me blinking as I tried to process the change. Without hesitation, he reached for his clothes, his movements quick and precise.
In an instant, Mr Sexy Soldier was all business. He sprang to his feet, the abrupt shift leaving me blinking as my mind struggled to process the approaching danger through the lingering haze of contentment. Without hesitation, he reached for his clothes, his movements quick and precise.
“We need to move,” he said, his voice low and urgent. His movements were swift, precise—an automatic response to danger. I scrambled to follow his lead, my fingers fumbling as I tried to pull myself together, but every instinct screamed that we were running out of time. The sound of the engines was now unmistakably close, each roar tightening the knot in my stomach.
“Get into the loft and hide,” Anton commanded, his tone now sharp, devoid of tenderness.
Nodding quickly, my pulse hammering in my ears, I rushed to the ladder. Anton was already heading for the door, ducking behind a stack of hay bales, blending into the shadows.
I barely made it halfway up before his voice called out, low but urgent. “Stay up there and keep quiet, Marcie. No matter what. Let me deal with this.”
Fear coiled tight in my chest as I scrambled into the loft, my hands trembling. I pressed my back against the cool, rough wood of the walls, trying to calm my erratic breathing. The quiet around me was unnerving, amplifying every sharp breath I took. I strained to listen for any sign of what was happening outside, but all I could hear was my breathing and the rumble of engines. Then, a pause—a tense moment—before the heavy thud of boots echoed against the dirt and gravel outside the stable doors. Anton’s words echoed in my mind: Let me deal with this . I knew he was more than capable, but the thought of leaving him to face our enemies alone made my stomach churn. It didn’t help that I hadn’t recovered my knife after the driver had discarded it during the attack yesterday.
My gaze landed on the rusty pitchfork propped against the wall. Without hesitation, I grabbed it, pulling it close to my side. My fingers curled around the handle like a lifeline, the cold metal grounding me.
Weapon in hand, I held my breath, and waited for what was coming next.