Chapter 11 – Marlowe
Chapter Eleven
MARLOWE
Ablack Escalade rumbles up the blacktop, kicking up a storm of dust in its wake, a rolling wall of dry earth swirling in the sun. The vehicle halts, the engine idling like a beast holding its breath. A warm breeze whispers across my face, carrying the scent of dust and gasoline.
The driver’s side door swings open, and a man steps out.
He’s tall, broad like Damian and Bridger, but there’s something sharper about him.
A little younger, maybe. The golden light catches the cut of his jaw, the hard set of his mouth, and the shadow of a scowl carved into his features.
His eyes are dark, piercing, and filled with something volatile.
He’s armed, and the way his hand hovers near the gun at his hip tells me he’s used to reaching for it.
His gaze locks onto me like a predator assessing unfamiliar prey.
Then, without taking his eyes off me, he points.
“Who the hell is that?” His voice is a sharp bite against the thick, sun-heavy air.
“Did you pick up a stray?” His anger simmers just beneath the surface, controlled but only barely.
Then, his head jerks toward Damian. “Did you find Vick?”
Damian exhales slowly, as if he already expected this reaction. His stance stays loose, stoic, but his tone is grim when he answers. “Yeah, we found Vick. But his pockets were empty.”
The man swears under his breath, shifting his weight like he’s about to put his fist through something. His fingers flex near his gun, then curl into a fist. “So what now?”
Damian’s gaze flicks to me. “He swears the money is here. Where he was staying.” Then, the words that tighten a vice around my ribs: “This is his daughter. Her name’s collateral.”
He doesn’t mention my half-sister. I’m collateral. Not Taylor. Just me.
Fear slides through me like ice water, pooling in my stomach. Did they do something to her already? Am I all the collateral left? My lungs ache, and I force my breathing to steady, my expression to stay blank. I can’t let them see me panic. Not yet. Not until I know what they’ve done.
The man beside the Escalade watches me a beat longer before making a low sound of frustration, shaking his head. “Fucking hell, Damian.”
Damian doesn’t reply. The sun burns overhead, the breeze doing nothing to chase away the heat pressing in on me.
I try to ask about my sister, but before the words can leave my mouth, Damian cuts me off.
"Shut up," he snaps, his voice cold and final.
He jerks his head toward the car as Bridger opens the door. "Get in."
I hesitate for half a second before stepping forward and sliding into the back seat.
The plush leather is cool against my skin, the contrast sharp against the heat still lingering in the air.
The scent of fresh upholstery fills my nose.
It smells brand new, untouched, like it doesn’t belong out here in the dust and heat of Nevada.
The man climbs into the driver’s seat, his movements fluid, practiced. Bridger follows, settling into the passenger seat, but not before giving Damian a look. "You sure?" he asks.
Damian snorts. "I’m sure I can sit next to her without killing her for a few minutes."
Bridger grumbles but doesn’t press the issue.
The driver starts the car, and the vehicle jerks forward, tires spinning against the loose dirt before finally gripping the road.
He drives fast—way too fast. My hands fumble with the seatbelt, the metal buckle slipping through my fingers as I struggle to click it into place. Damian chuckles darkly beside me.
Bridger and the driver speak in hushed tones, their voices too low for me to catch more than fragments.
But even without hearing them clearly, it’s obvious they understand each other in a way that doesn’t require full sentences.
There’s an ease between them, an unspoken familiarity that suggests years of knowing each other.
Damian leans back, his massive arms folding over his broad chest, his expression guarded. His voice is low and commanding. "Cody, turn on the radio. Remember we have an audience."
So, the driver’s name is Cody.
Without hesitation, Cody reaches for the dial, and a blast of heavy metal erupts from the speakers, the pounding drums and distorted guitars swallowing their conversation. Their words are lost beneath the music, leaving me alone with my thoughts, the relentless noise hammering all around me.
I shift my gaze out the window as we pull away from the small aviation center.
The hot sun glares off the pavement, turning the stretch of highway into a shimmering expanse of heat and light.
A green highway sign looms ahead: I-15 North.
Cody takes the turn, guiding us onto the three-lane highway.
There’s barely any traffic, just the occasional 18-wheeler rumbling past, its tires kicking up heat waves that distort the air.
Sparse billboards dot the landscape, advertising cheap motels, all-you-can-eat buffets, and wedding chapels that promise a lifetime of happiness in under fifteen minutes.
For miles, there’s nothing. Just open road and the relentless hammering of the music filling the car.
Then, on the horizon, the sky shifts. Dark storm clouds roll in from the distance, thick and heavy, swallowing the bright blue sky.
A jagged bolt of lightning splits the gloom, illuminating the clouds in a stark, white flash before vanishing.
The southern edge of Las Vegas emerges ahead, the buildings reflecting what little sunlight remains as shadows creep across the skyline. Traffic thickens, the once-empty highway now cluttered with rental cars and hurried drivers.
But instead of heading straight into the city’s chaos, Cody veers left, taking the exit onto 160 West. The city disappears in the rearview mirror, replaced by the storm-darkened road stretching toward what a sign says is Williams Ranch Road.
Whatever waits for us there, it's straight ahead, right where the storm is gathering.
I lean forward, gripping the edge of my seat as I watch the road stretch endlessly before me. My shoulders tense. This isn’t right. I know exactly where we’re supposed to be going, and it’s definitely not this way.
“This isn’t the right direction,” I yell over the music pounding from the speakers. I twist toward Damian, but he doesn’t look at me.
“We have to make a stop first,” he says, like that explains everything.
A stop? Where? Why? My pulse picks up, a jittery, uneasy feeling settling in my chest. “That wasn’t part of the plan,” I snap. “We’re supposed to be going the other way.”
Damian finally meets my gaze, his eyes dark and steady. “Plans change.”
I shake my head. No. No, this isn’t happening. “Turn around,” I demand, my fingers curling into fists. “Whatever this is, I’m not going along with it.”
Cody doesn’t even glance at me from the driver’s seat. The music blasts on, drowning out my racing thoughts, making it impossible to think.
I try again, louder this time. “Turn. Around.”
Damian exhales, slow and measured, like I’m being difficult on purpose. “We’re making a stop,” he says again, voice even but firm.
My breath catches, a tight coil of anxiety winding in my gut. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know why. And I don’t like not being in control.
My breath is coming too fast, my chest too tight, my body locked in that sharp, vibrating state between panic and adrenaline.
I don’t think. I just move.
My fingers fumble at my seatbelt, shoving the latch free with a sharp click.
The second it’s loose, I grab the handle of the door, ready to throw it open and take my chances.
I have no idea exactly where we are or how much this will hurt, but right now, anything is better than being trapped in this car with them going God knows where.
Before I can yank the door open, Damian’s hand clamps down over my wrist, firm and unyielding. “Don’t be stupid.”
I glare at him, twisting my arm in his grip, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers tighten just enough to let me know he’s not messing around.
“Let go of me.”
“Yeah, not happening.” His voice is calm, annoyingly steady, like I’m some irrational child throwing a tantrum.
“I’m not just going to sit here while you drive me to some mystery location like a fucking psychopath.” I yank at my arm again. He doesn’t budge.
He exhales through his nose, like he’s barely tolerating me. “It’s a stop. That’s it.”
“You keep saying that like it means something to me.” I throw him a glare. “Where? Why? Are we picking up your lost morals along the way?”
Damian’s lips twitch, just a fraction, but I catch it. “Cute.”
“I wasn’t trying to be cute, asshole. I was trying to get out of the damn car.”
“And do what? Roll onto the pavement at seventy miles an hour? Brilliant plan.” He finally lets go of my wrist, but only to shove a hand through his dark hair, like I’m testing the last of his patience. “Jesus, Marlowe, can you just stop fighting everything for five damn seconds?”
“Not when I’m being kidnapped.”
Cody chuckles from the driver’s seat. “It’s not kidnapping if you got in the car willingly.”
I whip my head toward him. “You’re new here. There was a gun to my face. None of this is willingly.”
Damian sighs like he’s exhausted. “Marlowe.”
“No,” I bite out, twisting in my seat to glare at him. “Don’t ‘Marlowe’ me like I’m being unreasonable. My sister’s still with Joel! What if—” My voice catches, panic clawing up my throat. “What if something happens to her?”
He doesn’t even flinch. Just tilts his head slightly, a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Oh, I’m positive she’s being treated like a princess right now.” His tone makes a knot harden in the back of my throat.
I dig my nails into my palms. “I need to get to my father’s place. That was the whole point of this. Instead, you’re dragging me off to God knows where, refusing to tell me why, and expecting me to just sit here and behave like some good little hostage.”
“You’re not a hostage.”
“Oh really?” I challenge, my voice shaking with fury. “Then open the damn door.”
His eyes flick to mine, dark and challenging. “Sit back,” he says, voice dangerously soft. “Put your seatbelt on.”
“Go to hell.”
“Already there, sweetheart.”
I clench my jaw so hard it hurts. I glare at him, my body still humming with tension, my pulse hammering in my temples.
I should try again. I should grab the handle and wrench the door open, force my way out before we get too far away from the city, but Damian is fast. Too fast. And just as the thought crosses my mind, he moves again.
Before I can react, he leans over me, his body pressing in close, stealing the space between us.
Heat rolls off him, suffocating and inescapable.
His scent, something dark and clean, like cedar and leather, wraps around me, making my head swim.
My breath catches, but I don’t dare move.
His hand grazes my stomach as he reaches for the seatbelt, his touch searing through the thin fabric of my shirt.
My body betrays me. A shiver explodes down my spine, quick and sharp, my skin prickling where he’s too close, where he’s everywhere.
I hate this. Hate the way my pulse pounds for reasons that have nothing to do with fear. Hate the way my stomach clenches, heat pooling low, twisting into something I do not want to name.
His fingers brush my bare arm as he pulls the seatbelt across me, slow and deliberate. I suck in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t react. He just clicks the buckle into place, locking me in like I never had a choice to begin with.
He lingers. Not moving. Not speaking. Just close enough that I can feel his presence, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the undeniable power in the way he doesn’t rush.
I hate him. Hate that I feel anything other than rage. Hate that a small, treacherous part of me likes the way my body tightens with something too close to anticipation.
Finally, he shifts, his lips just brushing the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Stay put.” It’s not a threat. It’s not a request. It’s something worse, something that makes my stomach drop and my pulse trip over itself.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think until he pulls back, settling back into his seat like he didn’t just ruin my panties in the last thirty seconds. I swallow hard, my throat dry. My skin feels too tight, too hot, every nerve wired and buzzing.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but my voice lacks the conviction it had before.
Damian smirks. “Probably only half as much as I hate you,” he murmurs.
I scoff, crossing my arms so I don’t do something stupid, like slap that smug expression right off his face. “So let me get this straight. You’re asking me to trust you to take me where we need to go and not, I don’t know, chop me into tiny little pieces and scatter me across the desert?”
Damian lets out a low laugh, shaking his head like I’m the most exhausting person he’s ever met. “Jesus, your imagination is fucking insane.”
I snarl. “Why can’t you just tell me why we’re driving in the opposite direction we are supposed to be going?”
“Because I don’t want to. Now be quiet, because you being chopped up in little pieces is starting to sound very enticing.”
I smirk, tilting my head as I meet his gaze. “Then I really hope you cleaned that hotel room well,” I say, my voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Because my DNA is all over it after last night. And, lucky for me, I told a ton of people I fucked you.”
Damian’s expression darkens for just a fraction of a second before that arrogant smirk creeps back onto his face. He leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, eyes glinting with something wicked.
I let out a dry laugh, but my pulse kicks up.
His lips curve further, his eyes dragging lazily over me like he’s reliving every second. “Bet you’re still feeling it, too.”
Cody chokes out a laugh from the front seat. “Jesus Christ.”
Bridger groans. “I swear to God, if I have to listen to this weird-ass foreplay for one more mile, I’m throwing myself out of the car.”
Somewhere in the chaos of our back-and-forth, I didn’t realize the music had been turned off. The silence makes everything sharper. The tension, the gravity of Damian’s stare, the heat simmering between us.
Damian looks away for a beat, wrestling something back down. But I see it, the flicker of something behind his eyes, the slight stiffening of his neck.
He’s still feeling it too.
Good. Let him stew in it.