4. Marcus
FOUR
MARCUS
“Name?” The bouncer barely glances up from his tablet.
“Ruins.”
His eyes snap to my face. “Mr. Ruins.” Recognition flickers as he takes me in. “Welcome to The Summit. Mr. Mitchell is waiting for you in the VIP lounge.”
I grunt in acknowledgment and shoulder past him down the hallway.
It’s opening night at The Summit, and the energy crackles through the air like static electricity. I make my way down the hallway, the thrum of bass growing louder with each step. As I round the corner, the full spectacle hits me.
The ground floor is a sea of designer suits and glittering cocktail dresses. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished surfaces, turning everything golden. Wait staff weave through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes balanced precariously on their fingertips.
I feel like a bull in a goddamn china shop.
Reign was right. I should’ve worn something other than my usual flannel and work boots. But it’s too late now.
My eyes scan the room, taking in the excess. A massive bar dominates one wall, shelves stocked with top-shelf liquor that probably costs more than my truck. Across the room, a DJ booth pulses with light in time to the music.
I push through the throng, muttering half-hearted apologies as I bump elbows and jostle drinks. The VIP lounge beckons from the far corner, a velvet rope and stern-faced security guard marking its entrance.
Finally breaking free of the crowd, I nod to the guard. He unhooks the rope without a word.
The vibe shifts as soon as I step inside. The music fades to a dull thrum, conversations dropping to murmurs. Plush leather couches and low tables replace the dancefloor’s frenetic energy. The lighting is softer here, amber-hued and intimate.
I spot Reign in the corner, looking like he stepped out of a Bond film in his perfectly tailored tux. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth as he takes in my attire.
“Glad to see you dressed for the occasion,” he quips as I approach.
I settle into the seat beside him. “You know me. Always ready for a black-tie affair.”
“And here I thought I’d finally get to see you in a suit.”
I ignore his comment, scanning the room instead.
The VIP lounge is a who’s who of Cooper Heights society. Old money mingles with tech millionaires, all of them sipping overpriced cocktails and pretending they’re not sizing each other up.
“How’s security looking?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Reign leans in, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert.
“So far, so good. We’ve got eyes on every entrance and exit. The staff’s been thoroughly vetted. And I’ve got a team monitoring the security feeds in real-time.”
I nod, impressed despite myself. Reign’s always been thorough, but he’s outdone himself tonight.
“Enzo here?”
Reign’s lips quirk in a humorless smile. “Holding court in the corner, as usual.”
I follow his gaze to a secluded alcove.
Sure enough, there’s Enzo Castellano, the unofficial king of Cooper Heights’ underworld. He’s surrounded by a mix of beautiful women and men who look like they could double as bouncers. Enzo himself is all quiet power in an impeccably tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back.
As I watch, he leans in to whisper something to one of his companions. The man nods sharply and slips away, disappearing into the crowd.
“What’s your read on him tonight?” I ask Reign, not taking my eyes off Enzo.
Reign shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “He’s playing nice for now. But you know Enzo. He’s always got an angle.”
I grunt in agreement. That’s what worries me. In a room full of power players, Enzo Castellano might just be the most dangerous of them all.
As if sensing my thoughts, Enzo looks up and meets my gaze across the room. He raises his glass in a mock toast, a half-smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. My jaw clenches involuntarily.
“Ignore him,” Reign murmurs, leaning in close. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
I grunt, tearing my eyes away from Enzo’s smug face. “Easier said than done.”
Reign claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour. Show you where you’ll be posted tonight.”
I nod, grateful for the distraction. As we stand, I catch Enzo watching us out of the corner of my eye. The weight of his gaze follows us as we weave through the crowd.
Reign leads me through a labyrinth of hallways, pointing out emergency exits and potential choke points. I file away the information, my tactical mind already mapping out scenarios.
“And here we are,” Reign announces, stopping in front of an unmarked door. He swipes a keycard and ushers me inside.
The security room is a stark contrast to the opulence of the club. Banks of monitors line the walls, each displaying a different area of The Summit. A team of security personnel man the stations, their eyes glued to the screens.
“Impressive,” I admit, taking it all in.
Reign grins, pride evident in his voice. “State of the art. We can see every inch of this place.”
I scan the monitors, noting the placement of cameras and guards. It’s a solid setup, but I can’t help looking for weak points. Old habits die hard.
“So, this is where you’re stashing me for the night?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Keeping the riff-raff out of sight?”
Reign chuckles, shaking his head. “You said it, not me. But I figured you’d be more comfortable here than schmoozing with Cooper Heights’ finest.”
I snort. He’s not wrong. “Thanks,” I mutter, meaning it.
“Don’t mention it,” Reign replies, his tone light but his eyes serious. “I need someone I trust watching my back tonight.”
I nod, understanding the weight of his words. In our line of work, trust is everything. And there’s no one I trust more than Reign.
Reign nods to one of his men in the corner, a silent command passing between them. The guy slips out, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Reign settles into the chair next to me, his eyes scanning the wall of monitors.
“You look like hell,” he says without looking at me.
I don’t bother to deny it. Truth is, I feel like hell too. I barely slept last night, tossing and turning in sheets that felt too hot, too confining. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Lainey.
Lainey, with her soft curves and sweet smile. Lainey, laughing at something I said in that damn diner. Lainey, her eyes dark with want as she looked up at me.
I spent half the night hard as steel, jerking myself raw to fantasies of her. The other half I spent hating myself for it. She’s Axel’s ex, for Christ’s sake. My son’s ex. Off-limits in every way that matters.
But my body doesn’t seem to care about limits or loyalty. It just wants her, with a hunger that scares me.
“You gonna tell me what’s eating you?” Reign asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I shake my head, not ready to voice the storm of guilt and desire raging inside me.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
Reign eyes me skeptically but doesn’t push.
That’s one of the things I appreciate about him - he knows when to let sleeping dogs lie. He’s also got a way of reading people that borders on supernatural. He can spot a liar at fifty paces, sniff out a double-cross before it happens. It’s saved our asses more times than I can count.
“Looks like our boy is on the move.” Reign’s voice snaps me back to the present.
I snap to attention, eyes scanning the wall of monitors. Sure enough, there’s Enzo, slipping down a back hallway. He’s alone - no sign of his usual entourage.
“Where’s he headed?” I mutter, leaning forward.
Reign’s fingers fly over the keyboard, switching camera views. We follow Enzo’s progress through the labyrinth of corridors, watching as he glances over his shoulder every few steps.
“Looks like he’s meeting someone,” Reign says.
I nod, my eyes glued to the screen. Enzo rounds a corner, coming to a stop outside a nondescript door. He checks his watch, then looks up and down the hallway.
“Come on,” I growl under my breath. “Who are you waiting for?”
As if on cue, a figure appears at the other end of the hall. It’s a woman, her silhouette unmistakably feminine even in the grainy security footage.
“Can you get a better angle?” I ask Reign.
He grunts, adjusting the camera. The image sharpens, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
It’s Lainey.
She’s a vision in a tight black dress that hugs every curve. Her honey-blonde hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and even through the screen, I can see the sultry gleam in her eyes.
“Jesus,” I breathe, unable to tear my gaze away.
As I watch, transfixed, a man appears beside Lainey. My stomach drops like a stone. It’s Axel. My son. What the hell is he doing here?
Lainey’s hand trembles as she reaches into her clutch, pulling out a thick envelope. She hands it to Enzo, her eyes darting nervously between him and Axel. The three of them huddle close, their lips moving in rapid, urgent whispers. I strain forward, wishing I could hear what they’re saying.
Enzo takes the envelope, his fingers curling around it possessively. He nods once, sharply, then turns on his heel and strides away. The camera follows him as he melts back into the crowd, leaving Lainey and Axel alone in the hallway.
As soon as Enzo’s gone, Lainey’s shoulders slump. She looks small suddenly, fragile in a way that makes my chest ache. Axel reaches for her, his hand hovering over her arm, but she flinches away.
“What the fuck is going on?” I growl, my knuckles white as I grip the edge of the desk.
Reign doesn’t answer, his eyes glued to the screen. We watch as Axel tries again to comfort Lainey, but she pushes him away.
She takes a few steps down the hallway, then pauses in front of one of the private rooms. Her hand hovers over the doorknob for a moment before she twists it and slips inside.
Axel stands there for a beat, staring at the closed door. His shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Then he turns and stalks off toward the bar, disappearing into the crowd.
I lean forward, my eyes glued to the screen showing the private room Lainey entered. It’s dimly lit, all dark wood and plush leather. She sinks onto one of the leather couches, her body folding in on itself. For a second, she’s perfectly still.
Then the first tear falls, and something in me snaps.
I know it’s wrong. I know I should stay put, keep my distance. But seeing Lainey like this - so small, so vulnerable - it breaks something loose inside me.
My chair hits the floor as I stand.
“Marcus.” Reign’s hand lands on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.
All I can see is her crying alone in that room. All I can think about is getting to her.
I have no clue what I’m doing right now. I just know I can’t stand here and watch her cry. It’s crazy, reckless and every kind of stupid. But I don’t care.
Before I even realize what I’m doing I’m storming out of the security room and down the stairs while Reign calls after me. But I don’t stop. I can’t. Not when Lainey’s hurting.
I push through the crowds, shoving past people without a word until I get to where I know the private rooms are. I throw open the door to every single one until I get to the last room.
And there she is.
Lainey jumps off the couch at my entrance, spinning around with those big blue eyes wide and startled.
In three long strides, I’m across the room.
“Marcus?” Lainey backs up until she hits the wall, but there’s no fear in her eyes. Just heat and confusion and something that looks a lot like want. “What are you doing here?”
“What I should have done months ago.” My voice is unrecognizable. “Claiming what’s mine.”
Before she can respond, I crash my mouth down on hers.
The kiss is rough, possessive – everything I’ve been holding back. Everything I’ve denied myself. She makes a soft sound of surprise that turns into a moan as I sweep my tongue into her mouth.
The taste of her short-circuits my brain.
She’s sweet and pure and perfect. Her lips are soft, yielding under mine even as she kisses me back with an intensity that makes my blood burn. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I growl into her mouth.
My free hand slides into her hair, silky strands wrapping around my fingers as I angle her head to deepen the kiss. Her tongue meets mine tentatively at first, then with growing confidence that makes me want to devour her whole.
When I finally break away, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen from my kiss, her cheeks flushed pink. The sight sends something primitive racing through my blood.
I trail my finger along the thin strap on her shoulder. “My son buy you this dress?”
Lainey shivers but meets my eyes. “Yes.”
Something dark and savage tears through me.
I’ve never felt this kind of possessive rage before. Never wanted to mark someone as mine so badly it hurts. My hands fist in the silk of her dress, and I pause for just a moment. This isn’t me. I don’t lose control like this. But then she looks up at me through those lashes, lips still wet from my kiss, and I’m gone.
The sound of ripping fabric fills the room as I tear the dress right down the middle.
The silk parts easily under my hands, like it’s as eager as I am to stop pretending. I peel the ruined fabric away from her shoulders, letting it slither down her arms. Each inch of exposed skin makes my mouth water. When I get to her waist, I drop to my knees, dragging the dress down over her hips with a violence that surprises us both.
And then she’s standing there in nothing but a lacy black thong.
Her breasts are perfect – full and high, nipples hard from the air or arousal or both. Her waist curves in dramatically before flaring to hips that were made for my hands.
Long legs, smooth skin, that tiny black scrap of lace barely covering anything at all. My hands actually shake as I run them up her calves, over her knees, along those soft thighs. Every image I’ve ever fantasized about pales in comparison to the reality of her.
“These from him too?” I run a finger along the lace of her panties, feeling her whole body tremble.
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me, baby.”
“I’m not.” There’s a hint of defiance in her tone now, even as she blushes. “I bought them myself.”
“Good.” I shrug out of the thick flannel I’m wearing over my t-shirt and hand it her. The need to cover her, to replace every trace of Axel with myself, is overwhelming. “Put this on.”
Her hands shake slightly as she slides her arms into my shirt. The sight of her drowning in my clothes, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs, hits me like a physical blow. This is how she should look – marked by me, covered by me. My scent on her skin. My clothes on her body.
“What are you doing?” She asks as I bend down and throw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The movement makes my shirt ride up, giving me a view of her ass that nearly stops my heart.
“Taking you home with me.”