6. Marcus
6
Marcus
The sudden announcement on my security system makes me fly up from the chair beside Dad’s bed. He’s still sleeping, undisturbed by the noise coming through the speakers overhead.
Someone just accessed my private garage. Besides Dad, there’s only a handful of people with the security code to my apartment. Noah and Gabriel usually don’t show up without calling me.
Which leaves Lauren.
Reaching for my phone as I make my way down to the garage, I check the footage, my mouth flying open with shock at the sight of Lauren’s dented car rolling to a stop behind my Range Rover. Another fender-bender . I shake my head as the elevator door slides open. At this rate, she’s going to need a chauffeur. Driving is not her forte—
Lauren collapses on the garage floor, bringing my thoughts to a crashing halt. I rush forward, skirting the open driver’s door and scooping her into my arms. She’s shaking like a leaf, her face wet from the tears running down her cheeks .
“What happened?” I ask urgently, immediately making my way to the elevator.
Lauren sobs, throwing her arms around my neck. “They almost got me, Marcus. They almost got me!”
“Who?” An instant spark of anger makes me stop abruptly. “Who the fuck did this to you?”
“I don’t know…” A heart-wrenching sob tears from her throat, and she drops her head on my shoulder.
She’s clearly not in the right state of mind to even talk right now, so I let her be. I tighten my grip, pressing her against my chest while thinking of a dozen ways to destroy whoever made her hysterical like this.
Getting back into the living room, I set her on the sectional couch, bundle her up with a throw, and hasten across the space into the kitchen. There’s only one thing that will calm her down. I pull a box of chamomile tea from the pantry then get the kettle on.
While I wait, leaning against the kitchen counter, my fingers tapping restlessly against the granite, I watch her. She sits with her knees pulled up, her chin resting on them. She still shaking, still hysterical. Knowing Lauren, I need to wait until she’s settled. Forcing her to talk will only make her freak out. Still, it’s hard to be patient when I’m itching to put someone’s lights out.
The kettle soon whistles, stealing my attention. I hurry to make the tea, knowing that the faster she drinks, the sooner she’ll calm down. She takes the cup with shaking hands, spilling some on the blanket. I take it back, placing the rim to her mouth myself.
Resistance flashes in her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. At least, not until the cup is half empty. She jerks her head back, muttering, “I can do it myself.”
“Your hands are still shaking,” I point out .
“It doesn’t matter.” She reaches for the cup, and I release it but keep a needle-eye focus on her movements. Another spill, and I’ll take it back.
Lauren empties the cup in several gulps then hands it to me. “I might’ve been crying like a baby, but I don’t want you to treat me like one.”
“I’m only trying to help. You know that,” I assure her.
She raises a slightly shaking hand to pat my cheek. “And I love you for it. Just take off the kid gloves. Please.”
“Consider it done.”
Her skeptical expression is easy to read. We’ve had this conversation one too many times. It’s not easy backing off. Her brother and I have been protecting her since she was a kid.
My gaze falls to where she’s fiddling with the ends of the blanket. Her chest rises and falls with unsteady beats. I reach over and take her hands. “Talk to me, Lauren. Who hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “No one.”
Relief and confusion battle for supremacy. I tilt her chin with my finger, forcing her to look at me. “Then what happened to your car?”
“I almost slammed into a tree, narrowly missed it, and hit a boulder.”
“Okay…” That doesn’t explain why she got so hysterical. Lauren has had several fender benders since she got her license. If anything, she’s quite the expert. “I don’t understand.”
Her teeth sinks into her lower lip, and a gentle sob leaves her mouth. “I saw someone get murdered, and I was trying to get away.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Tears pool in her eyes. “And I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”
Reaching over, I pull her into me. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. Can you tell me what happened?”
Lauren nods and eases away, and for the next ten minutes, I listen as she describes what should have been a simple drive to the lake that turned into a horror story. Worry teases my brain when she mentions them chasing her. Although her windows are tinted, which would make it hard for them to make out her face, her license plate would be a dead giveaway if the criminals knew exactly what to do. I’m sure every criminal knows how to track a license plate.
“Did they catch up to you at any point?” I anxiously ask when she pauses after mentioning the gunshots. Her hands are shaking again.
“No,” she finally whispers. “I didn’t slow down. It was hard reversing out of there, but I planted my foot on the gas and kept going. Those gunshots, though…” She pauses again, hugging herself and shaking her head like she’s trying to clear it. “Those bullets were faster than they were, Marcus. I could have died.”
“You didn’t.” Relief swirls inside me, and I wrap my arms around her again. If she reversed as quickly as she described, there’s a ninety-nine-percent chance they couldn’t read her plates.
Unless…
“What happened after you hit the pole?” I ask.
“I didn’t stop,” she mutters. “The bumper got torn, but I kept going.”
With a loud sigh of relief, I hug her tighter. “I’m proud of you for not giving up.” I don’t even want to entertain the thought of what would’ve happened otherwise. “You’re a trooper.”
“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” she replies, leaning into my embrace.
My thoughts race as I consider what to do. Most important: call her family. There’s still a one-percent chance she might not be in the clear, and they need to figure out how to handle this.
“You give the best hugs,” she mumbles.
The sudden creaking of a door above us makes me quickly ease her off me. “Be right back,” I tell her, then take the stairs two at a time .
Dad is almost at the end of the hallway when I meet him. I urgently point downstairs, mouthing, ‘Lauren is here’.
He nods with understanding then mouths back, ‘Water’.
I give him a thumbs-up then hurry down to the kitchen. Lauren’s eyes are on me the entire time while I grab two bottles of water from the fridge. “Want one?” I ask her.
She shakes her head.
Heading back upstairs, I find Dad lying propped up in bed, a curious look on his face as I hand him the first bottle. “What’s she doing here?”
“She had a fender-bender,” I explain simply.
“Ouch. That’s quite unfortunate.” He takes a sip from his bottle. “Gabriel not available?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but I’m closer anyway. The accident happened a few minutes from here.”
“Mhmm.”
“What?”
Dad shakes his head after a short pause. “Nothing. She needs to file a report within ten days, understood? She could face a hefty fine otherwise. Maybe even get imprisoned.”
My dad, ever the cop, although he’s been retired for five years. “Understood.”
His face arranges into a small frown. “Lauren can’t be coming over at random if you’re getting back with Harper. She won’t be comfortable with that arrangement. You know that.”
It has been seven hours after getting Dad’s shocking request, and I haven’t yet figured how to let him down gently, so I respond with a forced smile. “I’m going to check on Lauren,” I tell him. “Get some rest.”
Lauren is curled into a ball when I return to the living room, sniffling loudly. “Hey.” I drop to my knees in front of the couch and attempt to uncurl her, but she remains tightly curled. “I’ll protect you with my life. There’s no need to be scared.”
“I know.”
I gently stroke along her back, attempting to soothe her. Finally, she sniffles and uncurls, wiping her tear-streaked face. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She leans her head toward the staircase. “I’m sorry for disrupting your ménage a trois.”
I can’t reveal that it’s only my dad up there, not without Lauren wanting to greet him. One look at him would reveal what he’s trying to hide. I shrug. “I’ll live.”
Lauren suddenly shoots up from the couch, tossing the blanket aside. “Well, let me get out of your hair so you can handle your business.”
Clutching her arm, I yank her back down. “Right now, my business is you.” I point to my phone. “Call Gabriel.”
Lauren groans but grabs my cellphone from the center table. At my request, she puts the call on speaker. I want to chime in on the conversation too.
Gabriel picks up after the first ring, his greeting urgent. “Dude, can I call you back? I’m handling a crisis with the wedding planner.”
“It’s me,” Lauren says quickly.
A pause, then Gabriel asks, “What are you doing with Marcus’ phone?”
Lauren skirts his question and blurts, “I saw someone get murdered.”
Gabriel spits out a curse, then a female’s voice in the background interrupts. He comes back on after I hear Zyon offer to take over for him. “Where are you now?”
“At Marcus’,” Lauren replies.
“Hey, man,” I chime in.
“Hey, dude. How is she?” Gabriel asks.
I glance at Lauren softly shaking her head. “A little shaken up, but physically, she’s fine.”
“Lauren,” Gabriel addresses her, “tell me what happened.”
With her elbows on her knees, chin in her hand, she re-launches into an explanation. Gabriel stops her midway and instructs her to put their parents on the call, and together, they decide on a family meeting for tomorrow. I chip in with an offer to keep Lauren’s car in my garage for a while, just in case, and they all agree.
As Lauren moves to end the call, her father speaks up. “There’s no way you can go home tonight, Rosy Cheeks. I don’t care if they saw you or not. It’s not safe.”
“Fine. I’ll stay with Marcus,” Lauren suggests, looking at me as she goes on. “I won’t get in your way or anything.”
“No,” Gabriel speaks up. “I’ll come get you in about an hour.”
“I thought you had emergency wedding business,” Lauren points out.
“I said, I’m coming for you in an hour,” Gabriel replies, much firmer this time.
“Gabriel, there’s no need for you to do that. You’re busy, and I’m already somewhere safe. Marcus has plenty of rooms to accommodate me—”
“Stop arguing, Lauren. You heard your brother. Be ready when he gets there,” their dad Sam chips in, sounding just as firm as Gabriel.
Lauren’s forehead creases from a harsh frown. She opens her mouth, considers whatever she’s about to say, then concedes with a gentle huff. “Okay.”
After ending the call, she shoots up from the couch with a disgruntled, “I wish you would all stop treating me like a child. I have a right to decide what I want. I’m not a ten-year-old, for crying out loud!”
As she storms toward the powder room, I watch her go, the hem of her dress brushing her long legs, the fabric clinging to her curvy body. No, she’s definitely not ten years old. She’s not the little girl who used to follow me and Gabriel around, annoying the shit out of us. Lauren’s all grown up. A woman.
It’s scary as hell.
Not the growing up part, just the reality that one day, she won’t need me anymore.