CHAPTER 5 MARSH TIGHTENS THE NOOSE #3
Marsh didn't turn. "You've got access to her charts, her room, her meds. Use it." He pushed off the counter, straightening his jacket. "And Nina? If you breathe a word of this to anyone—including your brother—that debt of yours won't be the only problem you're dealing with."
She nodded, quick and jerky, shoving the paper into her scrubs like it burned.
Marsh walked away without another word, leaving her standing there, compromised and cornered.
Dario didn't so much as glance in her direction as he passed, but the weight of his attention lingered like a blade at her throat.
The rules were simple: play along, or pay the price.
And Nina had just become a very useful pawn.
Nina waited until both men had disappeared around the corner before exhaling, her shoulders slumping under the weight of what she'd just agreed to.
The folded paper in her pocket might as well have been a live wire.
She reached for the nearest clipboard, gripping it hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
Routine. She just had to focus on routine.
A monitor alarm blared down the hall, snapping her into motion.
She hurried toward the sound, but her steps faltered as she passed Evelyn Crane's room.
The door was ajar, the dim glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows.
Inside, Evelyn sat propped against the pillows, her fingers tracing the edge of a newspaper clipping with unsettling precision.
Nina hesitated, then knocked lightly. "Need anything before I check your vitals?"
Evelyn didn't look up. "No." The word was clipped, but her fingers stilled on the paper.
Nina stepped inside anyway, the protocol of her job providing flimsy cover. "Just a quick check." She reached for the blood pressure cuff, pulse jumping when Evelyn's gaze finally lifted to hers. The woman's eyes were sharp, calculating—nothing like the hollow stare of the other long-term patients.
"You're new to this floor," Evelyn said.
"Temporary reassignment." The lie came too easily. The cuff hissed as it tightened.
Evelyn watched the numbers on the monitor, then Nina's face. "Funny. You don't seem like the type who enjoys overtime."
Nina's mouth went dry. The machine beeped, displaying a reading that was—predictably—elevated. She peeled the cuff away, fumbling for the thermometer. "Everyone needs the hours."
Evelyn smiled, slow and knowing. "Or the money."
A chill prickled down Nina's spine. She busied herself with the chart, scribbling nonsense to avoid meeting Evelyn's eyes. "I'll let you rest."
As she turned to leave, Evelyn's voice followed her, quiet but deliberate. "Be careful who you trust, nurse. This place has a way of turning helpers into hazards."
The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the warning in the room like a curse.
Evelyn pressed her back against the alley wall, the brick rough through her thin jacket.
The streetlamp flickered overhead, casting erratic shadows that made Marsh’s approach seem disjointed—one moment ten feet away, the next five.
His smile never wavered, the kind of grin that suggested he’d already won.
"Evening, Ms. Crane." His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, if not for the way it slithered between the syllables of her name. "You’ve been avoiding me."
She didn’t bother denying it. "You’re not the kind of man people seek out twice."
Marsh chuckled, stepping closer. The air around him carried the faint metallic tang of ozone, a telltale sign of his presence that hadn’t been there before. New detail—he was drawing power, gearing up. "And yet, here we are."
Dario’s warning echoed in her skull. Marsh doesn’t chase. He selects. She hadn’t understood what that meant until now.
"You’ve become quite the distraction," Marsh continued, tilting his head as if studying a specimen. "First Vitale, then that unfortunate business at the docks. And now…" He spread his hands. "Primary focus."
Evelyn’s pulse kicked. Primary target. She’d been marked.
A garbage can lid clattered somewhere down the alley, and Marsh didn’t even glance toward the sound. His attention was absolute, predatory. "Tell me, Evelyn, do you know why I prefer working with women?"
She didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken threat.
"Less mess," he murmured. "Men fight. Women understand."
The streetlamp buzzed, the bulb flaring bright before shattering in a shower of glass. Darkness swallowed the alley, but she didn’t need light to feel Marsh’s intent.
The scrape of his shoe against pavement was her only warning. She lunged left just as his hand closed where her throat had been.
"Good reflexes," he mused. "But reflexes won’t save you."
Evelyn’s breath came sharp and fast. She wasn’t armed. Wasn’t prepared.
And Marsh?
Marsh was just getting started.
Evelyn’s heel caught on uneven pavement as she dodged again, the stumble sending a jolt through her ankle.
Marsh’s fingers grazed her sleeve, the fabric ripping with a sound like dry leaves.
She twisted away, but he pivoted effortlessly, cutting off her path to the street.
His movements were too precise, too practiced—this wasn’t a chase. It was a demonstration.
"You’re wasting energy," he said, voice low. "I’d rather you save it for the conversation."
She feinted right, then ducked under his outstretched arm, rolling behind a stack of pallets. The wood groaned under her weight, threatening to topple. Marsh didn’t follow. He waited, letting her scramble for distance.
A mistake.
The moment she straightened, the pallets erupted outward, splinters flying like shrapnel. Evelyn raised her arms too late—a jagged piece sliced across her cheek. Warmth trickled down her jaw. Marsh hadn’t moved. His power hummed in the air, thick enough to taste.
"See?" He flicked a splinter from his coat sleeve. "No fight. Just inevitability."
Evelyn wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand. "You talk too much for a man who thinks he’s won."
Marsh’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m not here to win. I’m here to collect."
The alley walls seemed to narrow, the shadows clotting like oil. Evelyn’s options evaporated with every breath. No weapons. No backup. Just the creeping certainty that Marsh wasn’t just after her—he was reshaping the game.
A distant siren wailed, the sound warped by the maze of streets. Marsh glanced toward it, just a fraction of a second, but Evelyn seized it. She grabbed a broken bottle from the ground and hurled it at his face.
He batted it aside, glass shattering against brick. When he turned back, she was gone—not toward the street, but deeper into the alley’s throat.
Marsh sighed. "Running only makes it worse."
His footsteps followed, unhurried. He knew the labyrinth better than she did.
Evelyn’s lungs burned as she rounded a corner—and skidded to a halt. Dead end. A rusted fire escape loomed overhead, too high to reach. The siren faded, swallowed by the city’s pulse.
Behind her, Marsh’s shadow stretched long and lean across the cracked concrete.
"Now," he said, stepping into the dim light, "let’s discuss what you owe me."