Chapter 1 #2
And my Spanish’s weak. This way, I got. And something about finding him or was it her?
“This is what we’re going to do, Marlowe. The gun battle’s moved further west. The yard is big, but that means jack shit. They’ll be back.”
I don’t know why they’re here, but a million bucks worth of coke is going to be lost and it’s my fault. I screwed up the deal. And now I’m screwing up a second time.
Taking a sharp breath, I shut down the thought. I need to get this idiotic girl out of here. And I need to hide the bodies.
A dead cop will make me look like a snitch if I’m caught anywhere near him. A Murphy and a dead cop, here? It’s a declaration of war.
I release Marlowe, crawl out and look around. Maybe I can make—
She moves fast the moment she’s out from the belly of the truck but I haul her back before she can run.
Her hat’s gone and her blonde hair’s a beacon in the moonlight.
“Let go,” she hisses.
“Marlowe, if you run, you’ll die.”
Hate spits from her fiery green eyes as she glares up. “Sick bully.”
“Not by me. By whoever’s waiting. I’m going to get you out–”
“And then what?”
I pull her down further.
“I’ve got things to do. If you don’t behave, I’ll send you into the building—”
She frowns. “You don’t scare me. No one’s in there. It’s empty.”
I don’t ask how she knows that. We’re wasting time. And even if she’s lying, I can’t trust her or that gleam of rebellion in her fierce gaze. I look around.
A stray bullet slams into the truck.
The gunfire increases in intensity and it’s heading this way.
I don’t think. I grab Marlowe’s hand, her blonde hair flowing as I drag her, running, to the next pile of truck parts. I topple her to the ground and cover her as bullets fly overhead.
She smells like flowers…peonies and roses. I only know what they smell like because my sister-in-law owns a flower shop and I hang around often enough to be able to tell the difference.
Fuck. I want her mouth on my cock.
I really am fucking insane.
“We need to get out of here. My car’s a few streets down so stay low and run until I say stop, got it?”
I don’t give her a chance to respond. I just get up and drag her with me.
She’s small and fit enough to keep up with me as I zig and zag, stopping when I have to, gripping my gun, aware her gun’s tucked in the back waistband of my jeans.
Whatever battle’s waging out here has nothing to do with me.
Marlowe, on the other hand, might be a different story, which would explain the reason why she’s here and had a gun on her before I stole it.
We slow down and crouch down next to slats of an old wooden crate, the final cover before the few feet to the holde in the chain link fence I climbed through. It’s about ten feet away.
“Run and don’t look back,” I mutter.
Her mutinous expression’s at war with fear, but Marlowe Briggs, ballet star and girl most hated, just nods.
I grab her hand and start running. Marlowe trips but I don’t stop, hauling her to her feet up as bullets crack. I fling her through the fence and dive on top of her, rolling us on the ground.
A sharp voice pierces the night air. “You! Get back here!”
I force her up and push her forward, my body still shielding hers. My hand points behind me, firing off bullets as we run.
The streets are long, deserted, and way too industrial. I turn a corner and race up the next street.
There, in its nondescript glory, is the dark green car I boosted. I open the door, throw her into the passenger seat, slam the door shut, and race to the other side. I slat her a look as she reaches for the handle.
“I fucking wouldn’t.” And then I touch the wires hanging out of the steering column together, sparking the ignition. I throw the car in drive, stomp on the gas, and peel away from the curb.
Once I’m sure we’re not being followed and we’re closer to civilization, strip bars and bustling warehouses, I pull up to the corner of a quiet street.
Silence rains down.
The car’s suddenly, and impossibly, too small. The air crackles and fizzes.
I turn in my seat and catch her as she tries to jimmy the door handle.
“For fuck’s sake,” I grunt, slamming on the child lock.
She’s the daughter of a wealthy family that own Briggs Power. Moneyed on paper, in liquid form, in influence and ties. Not that I give a damn.
I don’t even care about the rumors of the family being tangled up in organized crime.
Until now.
But… Marlowe?
This brat moves in the upper circles of society and dances for some prestigious ballet company. And while I know she likes to play by slumming in illegal dance parties and clubs, she’s what’s known as a good girl. One I’ve had under me. One who had me in—
“I knew you belonged in prison. I should have told Daddy to make those charges stick.” The hiss of her voice is a knife to my gut.
Not because they hurt, but because they turn me the fuck on.
I should tangle my fingers in her hair and push her face down into my junk.
“I know you deserve a spanking,” I snap, ignoring the flare in her emerald eyes.
Everything about her turns me on and pushes the resentment for what she did to me back up into hot and flaming hate.
“Are you following me?” she growls.
I scoff. “In your dreams. We fooled around, like once, right?” It’s a lie. I remember every moment, every time. My balls ache with the memories.
She rolls her eyes. “So what were you doing there?”
“Let me flip that for you.” I pin her against the seat, lean in closer, breathe in her addictive scent. “What the fuck were you doing in the middle of cartel and mafia disputed turf?”
“Maybe I wanted to put a hit on you.”
I snort. “I left that much of an impression? I’m touched.”
She lances me with a glare. “Fuck you.”
“Fucking blonde hair and a white cap. What were you thinking?”
“That you weren’t going to start stalking me.”
“Marley girl, it’s been years since we almost fucked. If I haven’t stalked you before now, I’m not about to start.”
My blood’s hot in my veins, pulse pounding with a different sort of adrenaline.
“Let me go, Declan.”
“Talk.”
She clamps her mouth shut.
I sigh, and pick up the gun, and then I push the barrel to the front of her head, right at her third fucking eye. “I said talk.”
But Marlowe’s got a dancer’s steel and grit. She just leans forward, pressing against the barrel hard.
My cock twitches. Oh, fuck is she hot. “Or?”
I grin. “Do you really want to find out?”