Marco
MARCO
I turned the corner, the dim light casting shadows along the walls of the secluded hallway. There was Rosalind , her back against the cool plaster, her eyes wide and searching. They found mine, held tight in a gaze that sizzled with something dangerous, something hungry.
Hunter's absence was a godsend, the prick off playing judge, jury, and executioner with some rat who had news about the Black Hands . Drawing some boundaries or something. Good for him. I had my own lines to redraw now, here with her.
She was a goddamn vision—black curls tumbling over her shoulders, those dark eyes that could cut through a man's self-confidence. She was everything Hunter didn't deserve, and here she stood a little fly. Waiting to see what I would do.
I stepped into her space, close enough to catch the light floral scent coming off of her. Every damn instinct screamed at me to claim her, to erase every touch Hunter had branded on her skin. But fuck, she wasn't just some territory to mark. I couldn't just piss on her and make her mine. She was fire and fight wrapped in silk. She deserved a choice in all this. She deserved to know that I was throwing my hat in the ring.
" Come with me." It wasn't a question, but it wasn't a command either—it was an invitation, one laced with the promise of what I could give her, what we could take from this fucked-up life together.
Her breath came out shaky, chest heaving as she stared at me. Sizing me up. She took a step, her hand brushing against mine, electricity shooting up my arm. I swallowed down the roar of victory that threatened to tear from my throat. This wasn't about winning. It was about her, about snatching moments of peace in a war that never ended.
I watched her, a fuckin' tempest in her eyes. She stood there like she was on the edge of a cliff, deciding whether to jump or to turn back to safety—a safety that was just an illusion.
" ... "
Her voice was a whisper, but it hit me hard, straight in the gut. It was the sound of chains breaking, of a caged bird thinkin' about the sky. I practically see the wheels turning in her mind.
" Fuck ," I breathed out, feeling that pull, that fuckin' gravity that always drew me to her.
" Alright ," she murmured, finally giving in to the pull, to me. Her fingers slid into mine. A fragile honesty formed with that touch—one that spoke of secrets and the kind of trust that could get us both killed.
My heart jackhammered like it wanted to break free, but I kept my face stone. Couldn't let her see the chaos she stirred up inside me. We moved through the empty house towards the front door.
The night was cool, air lifting her hair wildly as we exited the house. My bike waited, all sexy lines and raw power—a beast that roared beneath me, a beast I tamed. I glanced at her and saw the flicker of curiosity in those dark eyes.
" Ever been on one?" I asked.
She shook her head, eyes wide, lips parted. Fear and excitement danced across her face, a combination that made my blood heat.
" Today's your lucky day then, sunshine."
I helped her onto the back of the bike, my hands lingering on her waist just a second too long. Her skin was warm, soft, making my cock hard. She gasped a quiet little sound that filled the silence between us.
" Wrap your arms around me," I instructed, the words more growl than speech.
She did as told, her arms sliding around my torso, her body pressin' close to mine. Felt like a fucking bolt of lightning struck me, her touch seared through leather and denim. For a moment, I wondered what those little hands would look like around my dick.
" Ready ?" I didn't wait for her answer. There was no goin' back now.
I kicked the bike to life, the engine's roar drowning out the screamin' of my thoughts. Everything else faded away—it was just the road, the bike, and the woman clinging to me like she belonged there.
The world blurred past a streak of shadows and streetlights. I gunned the throttle, Rosalind's grip on me tightening with every turn we took. The wind clawed at her curls, flinging 'em like dark whips in the night air. A strand landed in my mouth, and I suppressed a grin as I spat it out. Her body melded to mine, every curve and angle locking into place against my back. She was a natural.
No talking, no fucking up the moment with words—just two bodies rushing through the night, chasing something that felt like freedom but smelled like trouble.
The lights of my mama's neighborhood flickered into view, signaling our arrival. I eased off the throttle, letting the beast beneath us quiet down to a purring idle as we coasted to the curb.
" Home sweet home," I muttered under my breath, killing the engine.
Her hands lingered on me for a heartbeat longer before slipping away, leaving me feeling empty. I helped her off, watching as she righted herself, her legs unsteady from the ride or the adrenaline—it didn't matter which.
The modest house stood silent, an island of calm in the chaos of my life. A soft glow spilled from the windows, the scent of something homemade drifting out to wrap around us like an invitation. It was a tradition. Every Thursday , mama made my favorite, and we ate. I figured Rosie could use something to show her we aren't all the boogeymen.
" Smells good, huh?" I said though it was more for myself.
She nodded, eyes wide, taking in the small abode, no doubt pondering why I brought her here. I watched her, saw the wariness and wonder battling behind those eyes.
" Come on," I grunted, leading her up the path .
I stepped inside; the warmth hit me immediately. The aroma hit harder here, rich and savory, a promise of normalcy. Mama hadn't heard us enter. She was a bit hard of hearing, but I'd have to ride her ass again to either get a dog or lock the damn door. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that she was here... if someone wanted revenge on me...
" Didn't figure you for a foodie," she murmured.
I grunted, shuffling my feet, uncomfortable with the domesticity of it all. " Ain't about the food. It's about... somethin' else."
" Something like what?" she asked, her tone soft as the breeze that carried it.
" Quiet ," I said simply. " Peace ."
Her eyes lingered on mine, searching for the truth in the rough edges of my soul. She found whatever she was lookin' for 'cause her lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, brightening the room more than any damn light could. Damn , I made her smile.
" Let's see if it tastes as good as it smells," I said, steering her toward the kitchen, where the real test waited.
But at that moment, watching her step into my childhood, the tension in my chest loosened just a fraction, and I thought maybe, just maybe, she'd choose me. Maybe .
Pushed open the kitchen door, the hinges creaking like an old man's bones. Ma stood there, all smiles and warm eyes, a damn welcoming beacon in this shithole world. She caught sight of Rosalind , and her arms were open before I could spit out an introduction. I may or may not have told Ma a bit about her.
" Rosalind , meet Ma ," I said, my voice rough as gravel.
Ma pulled her into a hug, enveloping her in a puff of flour and spices. " Welcome , dear," she said, her grip strong yet gentle, the kind that didn't let go easy. Rosie shot a look at me, quizzical, wondering what the hell I was pulling.
We shuffled to the table, the wood groaning under the weight of dishes piled high with food that'd make a king weep. Sat down, the chair protesting under my bulk. Watched Rosalind take her seat, her hands fluttering against the fabric of her dress. Fucking cute, if you ask me.
" Looks damn good, Mama ." To which she grunted in response. Ma wasn't one for much talking. She used food as her language. How do you think I got to be almost 270 pounds?
We dug in, forks scraping against plates. I glanced at Rosalind and saw her try a mouthful, her eyes lighting up before they squeezed shut, her lips upturned.
" Delicious ," she murmured, almost to herself, a smile tugging at her lips .
I watched her eat, something churning deep in my gut that wasn't hunger. She was sunshine, yeah, but here in Ma's kitchen, she looked like she belonged. A family portrait. Natural .
" Your mother's amazing," Rosalind said, her voice low enough that only I caught it amid the clatter.
" Ma's the best." A boulder lodged in my throat.
There was comfort here in the steam rising from the plates, the soft clink of glasses, and Ma's humming, a tune from a time long gone. Felt a hell-uv-a lot like home.
Rosalind caught me staring, and her dark eyes flickered with somethin' fierce, like she knew the war raging on inside me. I knew that I was more than just a meathead; maybe I wanted more than what the Cinder Crew had in store for me.
" Thank you," she said, simple words heavy with meaning.
" Anytime ," I replied, the truth of it sitting heavy on my tongue. Truth was... I didn't know if this would ever happen again. If Hunter caught wind... this would be the last meal we ever shared together. The last meal we ate. Period .
We finished the meal in silence, each bite a reminder of the divide between the life I led and the one glimpsed in Ma's tender gaze—a chasm spanned by a single fragile bridge named Rosalind Thorn .
" Thanks , Ma . Do you want me to help clean up?"
She smiled and winked, " You go on 'head, boy, go show that girl the garden. She's got a tender heart, that one. Best make sure you don't break it."
I swear that's the longest sentence she's said to me in years.
The clatter of dishes faded, Ma’s humming a distant echo as I ushered Rosalind through the backdoor. It was dark, but the moon gave us some light. The garden was Mama's sanctuary, scents of lavender and jasmine heavy in the air.
" Rosalind ," I started breath hitching as her name rolled off my tongue, " Hunter's killing you. I'm not blind to it." I paused, watching the shadows dance across her face. " I'm not him. Could give you somethin' different. Somethin ' better."
Her breath caught, her chest rising and falling like the tide I knew she loved to watch. Eyes wide, glinting with that same fierce spirit that drew me in so long ago.
" ," she breathed, the sound sendin' shivers down my spine, " I ... I don't know what to say. I ... can't say I don't feel this. Whatever this is. But ... it's Hunter . I can't just be with you. I ... need time. "
" Take it," I grunted, jaw clenched tight as the truth of what she said sunk its claws in deep. " I'm not going anywhere, Rosalind Thorn ."
She was still contemplating what I said, lingering a heartbeat too long before vanishing back into the house. I stood there as I watched her silhouette disappear into the mansion. Fuck , this was a mess—one I'd helped create.
I followed her back inside, where she was helping Mama put the dishes away. Clearing my throat, they both looked at me expectantly. Bending to kiss Mama , I looked at Rosie and said, " We should go. Before we're missed."
" Right ." She seemed off. Different . " Thank you so much for this lovely meal. It really was delicious."
Mama regarded her carefully. " Listen , girl, my son can sometimes be a bit thick if you follow. I see the way you look at him. Whatever is going on... what you have is as real as any. Decide what you're going to do about it." She turned to me and grabbed my arms, half shaking me before wrapping me in a hug. " You silly, silly little boy. Don't let her get away this time."
I was flabbergasted. This was definitely the most she'd spoken to me. I tried to respond, but she shook her head. " Go now. Make good decisions, my son."
Rosie smiled and hugged my mama, thanking her again before heading out the door. Gritting my teeth, I followed after her, the crunch of gravel under my boots. My hand reached out, brushing against hers. She flinched just a bit but didn't pull away. The ride was quick. Felt much quicker than on the way here, and soon enough, I cut the engine and parked my two-wheeled beast, helping her off the bike.
We moved silent as the dead through Hunter’s kingdom. In his absence, the tension hung thick, suffocating—the fucking break before the hurricane she’d stir up with whatever choice she made.
Finally , at the door to her chamber, she paused, her back a rigid line against the darkness swallowing the hall. Didn't look back. Didn't need to. I fought the urge to reach for her, to drag her away from all this shit—to a place where we could just exist.
She slipped inside without a word, the click of the lock a sharp crack in the night's stillness. Fucking hell.
Retreating to my own quarters felt like marching off to war. Every muscle screamed, tension coiled tight as barbed wire. Stripped off the jacket that carried the scent of gunpowder and flowers and tossed it aside.
My room was a cell—four walls, a window, and bare minimum furnishing. No place for a woman like Rosalind . She belonged with sunlight kissing her skin, not with me, some fucking sinner trying to be a saint. But fuck if I didn't want her there, tangled in my sheets, her dark curls spread across my pillow. It pissed me off that Hunter had seen her like that and abused that gift.
The bed creaked beneath my weight as I fell onto it, the springs groaning their protest. Restless , I turned onto my back, arms folded behind my head—every inch of me strung tight. I closed my eyes but couldn't shut out the image of her—of Rosalind caught between what she knew and what she craved. She wanted me. I know she did. Right ?
I lay there, alone, knowing dawn would bring no answers, only more questions—the kind with costs paid in blood and tears. And I wondered if Rosalind Thorn , with her sunlit smile and heart fierce enough to set the world on its axis, could ever truly be mine.
My thoughts were a chaotic storm, relentless and savage—could I be the bastard to pull her out of the abyss with me? Each breath was a battle, fighting the urge to go to her, to claim what my soul howled for.
My fists clenched the sheets as I wrestled with the beast inside, the one that wanted to mark her, to own her in ways Hunter never could. Fuck . I wanted to be different than him. Better than him. I was a second from ripping through her door and giving her all of me. But I held back and stayed rooted to the bed. Because Rosalind Thorn wasn't a prize to be won, she was a force to be reckoned with. And I’d be damned if I didn’t respect her enough to give her the space to make her own choice. She needed to choose me. Or I'd never know if she truly wanted me. She hated this life, but at the very least, she wouldn't hate me. Despise the sight of me. Cringe when she heard my voice.
In the end, it was her call. Would she choose the devil she knew? Or would she dance with death and choose me in spite of it all?
As sleep finally dragged me under, I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what, our paths were tied together—a collision course set in motion, and the fallout would be fucking catastrophic.