Chapter 26
26
MARCUS
W e drove back to Dominion Hall in silence, the Bugatti’s engine a low growl beneath the weight of everything Hart had said. Claire sat beside me, her hands folded tight in her lap, her jaw set, staring out at the blur of Charleston’s streets like she could will the answers out of the humid air.
I didn’t speak either. Didn’t trust myself to. My mind was a roiling mess, Hart’s words looping like a sniper’s scope I couldn’t shake— “Do you even know why your father died?” —each syllable a bullet I didn’t know how to dodge.
Evelyn Hart was a snake in Little Bo Peep’s clothing, all blond bob and polished smiles, the perfect goddamn disguise. I’d seen it the second we walked into her office—those sharp blue eyes cutting through the room, the way she’d leaned back in her chair like a queen on a throne, daring us to take a swing.
She’d played us, pushed me right to the edge, and I’d almost fallen. If Claire hadn’t grabbed my wrist, hadn’t anchored me with that quiet “Marcus,” I’d have torn Hart’s throat out right there, security be damned.
But it wasn’t just her taunts about me that had my blood simmering. It was my father. Byron Dane. The man who’d raised us—me and my six brothers—on grit and silence, who’d never once talked about his work.
Ever.
Sure, he’d spin a story now and then about his Army days, dumb shit like the time he and his buddies rigged a latrine with firecrackers just to watch the new guy jump. Laughs, nothing more. Never a word about missions, about what he’d done before he died. We’d suspected there was more after he died—after that call from some slick attorney in the Bahamas telling us we’d inherited billions we didn’t even know he had. Billions tied to shadows we couldn’t name.
Now Hart had cracked that open wider. Department 77. The ghost we’d been chasing, the blade at our throats, and somehow, our father had been tangled up in it. We’d always figured he’d been more than just a soldier turned businessman—Ryker, Atlas, Charlie, all of us had felt it—but this? This was a punch to the gut I hadn’t seen coming.
The gates of Dominion Hall loomed ahead, iron teeth glinting under the sun, and I pulled through slow, gravel crunching under the tires. Claire didn’t move, didn’t look at me, just kept her eyes on the horizon like she was piecing it together, too.
I parked out front, killed the engine, and sat there for a beat, my hands still gripping the wheel.
“We need to talk to Ryker,” I said finally, voice rough, breaking the quiet.
She nodded, short and sharp, and climbed out. I followed, the weight of Hart’s words pressing down like a hundred-pound pack.
Ryker was in the ops room—where else?—leaning over the steel table, maps and monitors spread out like a battlefield. He looked up when we walked in, his eyes narrowing as he clocked the tension rolling off me.
“What happened?” he asked, straight to it, no bullshit.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall. “Hart knows something about Dad. Said we don’t know why he died, that there’s shit buried with him we don’t even touch.”
Ryker’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “She say anything else?”
“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “That we don’t know half of what he was into. Threw it in my face like a goddamn grenade.”
Claire shifted beside me, her shoes scuffing the floor, but she stayed quiet, letting me lay it out. Ryker dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose.
“I know as much as you do,” he said, voice steady, no trace of a fight in it. “Dad didn’t tell us shit. Army stories, sure, but nothing real. After the Bahamas call, I figured he’d been playing a bigger game. Didn’t know it tied to this.”
“Department 77,” I said, the name heavy on my tongue. “She’s linked to them. But we still don’t know who the fuck they are.”
Ryker nodded, slow, thoughtful. “Earnest agreement here, brother. Something’s gotta be done.”
“We should recall the others,” I said, pushing off the wall. “All the brothers. Get them back in town, just in case this blows up bigger than we think.”
He shook his head, crossing his arms. “They’re as safe out there as they’d be here. Charleston’s the hotspot right now, not them. No point dragging them into this before we know what this is.”
I didn’t argue. He was right—out of town, they had distance, cover. Here, we were in the crosshairs.
“Why Hart?” Ryker mused aloud, staring at the map like it might spit out an answer. “Why Charleston?”
“No fucking clue,” I said, frustration bleeding into my tone. “But she’s sitting on something big. I’m gonna let her stew for a bit—give her time to think she’s won—then I’m going in. Tear her office apart, her house, whatever it takes.”
Ryker didn’t disagree. Just tilted his head, sizing me up. “Wait ’til night. Cleaner that way.”
I nodded, sharp.
He glanced between me and Claire, his brow furrowing. “You two look like death warmed over. When’s the last time you slept?”
I shrugged, not wanting to admit it’d been days since I’d gotten more than a couple hours. Claire didn’t answer either, just shifted her weight, her gray eyes shadowed.
“Get some rest,” Ryker said, voice firm. “Both of you. You’re no good to anyone like this.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, already turning for the door. “Come on,” I said to Claire, jerking my head toward the stairs.
She followed without a word, her steps steady behind me as we climbed to my quarters. The whole way, I stewed—Hart’s smirk, her jabs about Dad, the way she’d played me like a damn fiddle.
My hands flexed, knuckles cracking, the tension in me coiling tighter with every step. Claire didn’t pester, didn’t push, and I appreciated that. She was trying to crack this too, her mind spinning as fast as mine, but she gave me space.
Until we hit my room.
The door clicked shut behind us, and something in me snapped. The silence, the weight, the fucking want I’d been shoving down since Hart’s office—it all boiled over, hot and sharp. I turned to Claire, my chest tight, my blood roaring.
“Take off your clothes,” I said, voice rough, low. “Now.”
She froze, her gray eyes locking onto mine. There was a flicker of fear there—small, fleeting—but beneath it, I saw the heat, the wanting. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held my gaze, and that only stoked the fire in me higher.
“You’re mine,” I said, stepping closer. “And you’re gonna do what I say.”
Her lips parted, a soft breath slipping out, but she didn’t back away. Her hands moved slow, deliberate, reaching for the hem of that black tank top. She peeled it off, the fabric sliding over her head, revealing the black lace bra underneath, the one that barely hid the swell of her tits. My cock twitched, already hard, straining against my jeans as she dropped the tank to the floor.
The bra came next, her fingers unhooking it with a quick flick, and when it fell away, I groaned low in my throat. Her nipples were tight, pink, begging for my mouth, and I clenched my fists to keep from lunging at her right then. She kicked off her shoes, then unbuttoned those denim shorts, shoving them down her thighs along with her panties in one smooth move. They hit the floor, and there she was—naked, bare, all curves and fire, staring at me with that mix of defiance and need that drove me fucking wild .
“On the bed,” I growled, yanking my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. “Now.”
She obeyed, climbing onto the mattress, her ass swaying as she crawled to the center. I kicked off my boots, unbuckled my belt, and shed my jeans and boxers, my cock springing free, thick and heavy, already leaking pre-come at the sight of her. She turned, sitting back on her heels, watching me, and I stalked toward her, the bed creaking under my weight as I climbed on.
I grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach in one rough move, and she gasped, her hands fisting the sheets. I dragged her up onto her knees, spreading her thighs wide, and fuck, she was dripping—pink and glistening, her cunt slick and ready for me. I ran my fingers through her folds, slow, teasing, and she moaned, pushing back against my hand.
“You want this?” I rasped, smearing her wetness over her clit, circling it hard with my thumb.
“Yes,” she breathed, voice shaky, needy. “Marcus?—”
I didn’t let her finish. I lined my cock up with her entrance, the head nudging her open, and thrust in—deep, hard, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. She cried out, her back arching, her walls clamping tight around me, hot and wet and perfect. I gripped her hips, bruising, and pulled out slow, just to slam back in, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.
“Fuck,” I groaned, setting a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving her forward, her tits bouncing, her ass jiggling with every hit. She moaned, loud and raw, her hands scrabbling at the sheets as I fucked her senseless. I reached around, finding her clit with my fingers, pinching it, rolling it, and she bucked, her whole body trembling .
“Marcus—oh God—” Her voice broke, high and desperate, and I felt her tighten, her cunt pulsing around my cock as she teetered on the edge.
I leaned over her, my chest pressing against her back, my mouth at her ear. “Come for me,” I snarled, biting her shoulder, my fingers relentless on her clit, my thrusts brutal. “Now.”
She shattered, screaming my name, her orgasm ripping through her so hard her legs shook, her walls milking me tight. I didn’t stop—couldn’t—driving into her harder, chasing my own release, the heat of her soaking me, her slickness coating my thighs.
But I wasn’t done. I pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and spread her legs wide, hooking them over my shoulders. Her eyes were hazy, pupils blown, her chest heaving as she panted up at me. I thrust back in, deeper this time, the angle letting me hit that spot inside her that made her sob with pleasure.
“Look at me,” I growled, grabbing her jaw, forcing her gaze to mine as I fucked her raw. Her tits bounced with every slam, her nipples brushing my chest, and I leaned down, sucking one into my mouth, biting hard enough to make her gasp.
“Marcus—fuck—” She clawed at my back, nails digging in, and I felt the sting, the burn, fueling me harder. I shifted, grinding my pelvis against her clit with every thrust, and she whimpered, her body arching, chasing another peak.
I slid a hand between us, finding her ass, my thumb pressing against the tight ring there. She tensed, then moaned, loud and filthy, as I pushed in, slow, stretching her. “You like that?” I rasped, fucking her cunt and her ass at the same time, my cock pounding, my thumb sinking deeper .
“Yes—yes—” Her voice was a wrecked sob, her head thrashing, and I felt her clamp down again, another orgasm hitting her like a freight train. She screamed, her body convulsing, come gushing around my cock, soaking the sheets, and that was it—I lost it.
Heat roared down my spine, my balls tightening, and I thrust once, twice, then buried myself deep, coming hard, ropes of it spilling into her, marking her, claiming her. I groaned, low and guttural, my vision blurring as I rode it out, her cunt still pulsing around me, pulling every last drop.
We collapsed, slick with sweat, her legs trembling over my shoulders, my breath ragged against her neck. I stayed inside her, softening slow, feeling her heartbeat thud against my chest. She reached up, fingers threading through my hair, and I pressed my forehead to hers, both of us spent, wrecked.
“You’re mine,” I murmured, voice hoarse, and she nodded, a small, shaky smile tugging at her lips.
“Yeah,” she whispered back. “I am.”
For a long moment, we just lay there, tangled, the chaos of Hart and Dad and Department 77 fading into the background. It’d come back—soon—but for now, it was just us, and that was enough.