Chapter 19 – Damian
Chapter Nineteen
DAMIAN
Pain explodes across my jaw.
The hit lands before I even see it coming, her fist snapping my head to the side with enough force to make my vision blur for a second.
“You’re married?!” Marlowe growls.
I barely get my head straight before she’s coming at me again, hands shoving, fists swinging, her whole body vibrating with rage.
“Hey—” I grab her wrists, holding tight as she twists against me, trying to break free. Trying to do more damage.
Fire burns in her eyes. I don’t blame her. It’s fucked up really.
Marlowe closes in and knees me in the groin, effectively getting me to drop her hands. I bend instantly, a flash of white-hot pain exploding through my spine. My knees nearly buckle as I stagger back, the world narrowing to a single, blinding pulse behind my eyes.
“Don’t you ever touch me again,” she seethes. “Fuck! You stupid fucking men are all the same!”
I straighten slowly, the fire in my gut rising, rage creeping in behind the pain and wrapping around my ribs. She has no idea how close I am to completely losing my shit. How thin the thread is that keeps me steady. I want to grab something and hurl it against the fucking wall.
She turns away, wiping her hands on her jeans like touching me left something filthy on her skin.
“You are taking me to my father’s place.
Right now.” Tears stream down her cheeks and she’s gasping.
“And then I’m out of here. I never want to see you again.
” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. She spins and storms toward the door, her steps clipped, her body radiating fury.
Cody appears in the doorway just as she pushes past him, her shoulder clipping his arm.
He watches her go, then turns back to me, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“What’s the story with her?” His mouth pulls into a smirk.
“She’s hot as fuck.” He snorts, shaking his head. “There’s no way she’s related to Vick.”
I don’t respond.
I can still feel her against me, still taste her, still hear the way her breath caught just before she pulled away.
Everything feels wrong. Everything is wrong.
Cody glances back through the door, watching her go, then swings his gaze back to me, his expression shifting. His brows lift, his lips twitch, and I already know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. “Oh shit,” he says, dragging out the words. “You really did sleep with her, didn’t you?”
I glare at him. “Shut up.”
His grin widens. “No, I’m right. You screwed her and you like her. A lot. Holy shit.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap louder.
He laughs, but it’s short-lived. I am not in the mood for his bullshit. “I have to take her to get the money,” I say, my voice tight, my head already pounding with everything that has gone wrong today. “Are you going to be okay to watch Mom this time?”
Cody’s smirk vanishes. “It wasn’t my fault she left.”
Rage rises inside me before I can stop it. I want him to feel it. I want him to feel as shitty as I do right now. “Wasn’t your fault?” I scoff. “She walked right out of this house. Alone. At night. And where the hell were you?”
Cody’s shoulders pull back, his face hardening. “I was here, Damian. You think I wasn’t watching her? You think I wasn’t trying?”
“Obviously not hard enough.”
Cody’s face twists, something raw and angry flashing across his eyes. “None of us thought she was this bad. Just go finish this and then we can deal with Mom.”
“What if the money is gone?” I ask, my voice low, my stomach tightening at the thought. “I don’t trust her.”
Cody smirks, leaning against the counter like he hasn’t just pissed me off enough for one day. “Well, it looks like you and her are close.”
The words hit wrong. They push at something inside me that is already stretched too tight, already about to snap. I round on him, my blood boiling. “Shut the fuck up, Cody.”
His smirk doesn’t fade, but something flickers behind his eyes. He knows he got to me.
I don’t want this. I want to be done with this. I want this over. I want the money to be where it’s supposed to be, I want Vick out of my life, and I want Marlowe to—
I can’t think about what I want from Marlowe. My jaw locks, and I shove away from the counter, storming out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Bridger and Mom sit on the couch, the TV murmuring softly in the background. Mom’s eyes are distant, fixed on something that doesn’t exist, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Bridger looks up, his brows drawing together the second he sees me.
“I’m taking her to Vick’s,” I say, my voice sharp, final.
Bridger pushes up from the couch. “I’ll come with you.”
“No.” The word comes fast, automatic. I need to do this alone.
Bridger doesn’t sit back down. “Bro, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I really don’t care what you think,” I say, my voice flat, cold. “Just keep an eye on Mom, since Cody’s not very good at it.”
He’s looks one second away from throwing a punch, but he reins it in. “Yeah. I got it covered.”
I don’t wait for anything else. I storm out the front door.
Marlowe is already outside, leaning against the car, her back to me. Her hair moves with the wind, strands lifting, shifting, soft and wild and effortless.
My dick is hard again.
The realization burns through me, a reminder of everything I don’t want to think about.
Of the way her body felt pressed against mine, and the fact that I was about one second away from having her on that kitchen counter.
I shake it off. This isn’t about her. This is about getting the money.
This is about ending this shitty situation.
I step closer, my boots scraping against gravel, and Marlowe straightens, turning just enough to see me. Her gaze locks onto mine. I can’t wait until I never have to look at those goddamn blue eyes again. I unlock the car, my voice cold, clipped. “Get in.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t say anything at all. She just climbs inside, moving with an eerie calm that grates against the raw edge of my nerves.
I slide in behind the wheel and pull the door closed harder than I mean to. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, and I force myself to calm down. I turn the key, and the engine growls to life.
The leather seats are hot, sticky against my skin, and I crank the air conditioning. Marlowe stares out the window, her body angled away from me, her expression unreadable. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere else right now, and that should make this easier. It should make me feel nothing.
So why do I fucking feel everything?
I shift the car into drive, pulling out onto the empty road.
My pulse thrums in my ears, and I steal another glance at her, at the way her fingers curl against her thigh.
I want to break the silence between us, to cut through it with something sharp, something that will make her look at me.
I want her to fight more, to scream at me, to show something other than this cold indifference.
Instead, I force my focus back on the road, swallowing everything that wants to claw its way out. This isn’t about her. There’s no me and her. This is about getting the money, getting out, and being done. Except the longer the silence stretches, the more I feel like I’m lying to myself.
“Vick said it was in Paradise Park. That’s North Vegas.” Her voice is quiet.
I grunt in reply. North Vegas. If the money is there, we’ll know soon enough. If it’s gone, if Vick played us, then this whole thing gets worse.
She shifts in her seat, pressing her fingers against the door like she wants to jump out. I press harder on the gas, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me from reaching for her.
The silence grows heavier, stretching between us with every mile. I can hear the way she exhales, slow and measured, the way her fingers tighten against the door handle like she’s holding something in.
I should be focused on the road, on the job, on what happens if we get there and the money isn’t where it’s supposed to be.
But my mind won’t stay there. It keeps circling back to the way her body felt against mine when we danced.
To the way her breath hitched just before we almost kissed.
To the way she looked at me like she actually felt something.
Whatever she’s waking up in me, it needs to die fast. She makes me want things I’ve spent years killing off.
That’s not attraction. That’s a liability.
Marlowe turns her head slightly, her gaze flicking toward me with red-ringed eyes.
No. I don’t want soft. I don’t want complicated. And I sure as hell don’t want her crawling into my head. I want no fucking part of it.
The sun beats down through the windshield, heating my arms despite the blasting air conditioning. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake the tension out, but it won’t go away.
She shifts in her seat again, this time turning toward me. “So where is she?” she asks.
I sigh, already exhausted. “What?”
She hesitates, just for a second. “Your wife. Is she…still in your life?”
I don’t lie. That would be childish. “No.” The word comes out clipped, final, but not enough to end this.
She waits, sitting straighter, expecting more.
I want to shut this down. I should remind her that we aren’t doing this, that whatever this thing between us is, it’s nothing. The words catch behind my teeth.
Her eyes are bloodshot, wet with tears—and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to say things I swore I’d keep buried. No, fuck her.
She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “Just tell me, Damian.”
“She died.” The two words just slip out.
Marlowe blinks, her lips parting like she was expecting a different answer. Maybe one that would have made it easier to hate me.
I don’t give her more. I turn my gaze back on the road, my grip like steel on the wheel.
Because the last thing I need is her pity.