CHAPTER 6 – Leona
Blood stains the back of my eyelids every time I close them. Not my blood, but the image burns just the same. The methodical way Marcus slid that blade across his betrayer's throat. The man's eyes as life drained from them. The complete lack of emotion on Marcus's face as he ended a human life.
I pace the loft apartment, unable to settle despite the exhaustion pulling at my limbs. It's been twenty-four hours since I witnessed the execution. Twenty-four hours of pretending I'm not spiraling between terror and a twisted fascination.
Because that's the most disturbing part—not just that Marcus killed a man, but that some dark, primitive part of me understood why.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out at Port Hollow as afternoon sun glints off distant buildings. Three days in captivity, and already the lines are blurring.
The door opens behind me. I don't turn, already recognizing Marcus's footsteps—confident, measured, the sound of a man who never questions his right to enter any room.
"Still contemplating your moral crisis?" His voice carries that hint of dark amusement I've come to associate with him.
"Still pretending you understand morality?"
He moves into my peripheral vision, the sleeves of his navy shirt rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle.
"Morality is a luxury in a world like ours."
"Your world. Not mine."
"Keep telling yourself that." He studies me with unsettling focus. "You're looking for weaknesses in my security. Don't bother denying it."
I turn to face him fully. "Wouldn't you, in my position?"
"Of course. I'd also recognize when efforts were futile." His lips quirk in what might be amusement. "The redhead you followed yesterday has been... reassigned."
The casual way he refers to what was likely another execution makes my stomach clench. "Another life on your conscience?"
"My conscience is perfectly calibrated to my world." He gestures toward the door. "Come with me. You need air."
"Why would you—"
"Because watching you pace like a caged tiger is becoming tedious, and I have a proposition that requires a clearer head than the one you're currently operating with."
I hesitate, suspicion warring with the desperate need to see something beyond these walls.
"No handcuffs this time," he adds, proving he's fully aware of where my thoughts have gone. "Consider it a gesture of goodwill."
"Nothing about you suggests goodwill."
"True." A genuine smile this time, revealing straight white teeth. "Let's call it enlightened self-interest, then."
Curiosity wins. I follow him through the apartment to a private elevator I hadn't noticed before—hidden behind what looked like an ordinary closet door. Marcus presses his palm to a scanner and then enters a code.
"Biometric security," I observe. "Impressive."
"Necessary. The Delgados have proven resourceful." The elevator ascends smoothly. "Though not as resourceful as you, apparently. How many escape routes have you identified so far?"
The directness of the question surprises me. "Three. All impossible without access codes or keys."
He laughs—a rich, unexpected sound. "Only three? I'm disappointed."
"I've only been conscious in this building for a day."
"Fair point." The elevator slows. "There are actually seven. You missed four—including the most viable one."
"Why would you tell me that?"
"Because it changes nothing." The doors open into open air. "After you."
We step out onto what appears to be a rooftop garden. Plants thrive in strategic containers, creating the illusion of natural growth despite being twenty stories above the city. A glass barrier surrounds the perimeter, offering protection without obstructing the panoramic view of Port Hollow.
For a moment, I simply breathe, the fresh air intoxicating after days of recirculated confinement. The city sprawls beneath us, bathed in late afternoon light that turns even the dirtiest industrial sections into gold.
"It's not the penthouse," Marcus says, moving to stand beside me at the glass barrier, "but it serves its purpose."
He gestures toward a section of the city—my former neighborhood, now partially visible as a blackened scar among intact buildings.
Marcus leads me to a small seating area, motioning for me to sit across from him. "We need a more permanent solution to your situation."
"I already told you I could disappear—"
"And I already told you why that won't work." He stretches his legs out, deceptively casual. "But there is an alternative that would make you essentially untouchable."
"What?"
"Marry me."
It’s so unexpected I'm certain I've misheard. "Excuse me?"
"You heard correctly." Not a hint of humor on his face now. "A legal marriage would place you unquestionably under my protection. The Delgados wouldn't dare touch the wife of Marcus Drake."
"You're insane."
"I'm practical." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "A marriage certificate, the right public appearances, and suddenly you're no longer just a pawn—you're a queen on the board."
"This is..." I shake my head, searching for words. "This is ridiculous. You want me to marry you? A man I barely know? A criminal who I watched murder someone yesterday?"
"A man who saved your life. A criminal who controls half this city and can ensure your continued survival." He tilts his head. "Let's not pretend there are better options."
"There's always a better option than selling yourself."
A bark of laughter escapes him. "Is that what you think marriage to me would be? Selling yourself?" He stands, pacing with coiled energy. "This isn't about sex, Leona. This is about survival—yours and mine. The cartel is using you to undermine me. This removes that leverage."
"And what would this... arrangement require of me?"
"Your public presence as my wife. Attendance at necessary functions. Maintaining the illusion of a united front." He stops, hands in pockets, silhouetted against the setting sun. "Beyond that, your private life remains your own."
"Until when?"
"Until the Delgados are no longer a threat, or until we locate your brother and determine exactly what he took from them." He shrugs. "Whichever comes first."
I stare at him, trying to process the absurdity of this proposal. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll have Gabriel drive you anywhere you want to go, with enough cash to last a month.
" His expression hardens. "But without my name, my protection, you won't last a week.
The bounty on your head now stands at eight million.
Every mercenary, cartel enforcer, and ambitious criminal in three states is looking for you. "
He's right, and we both know it. Without his protection, I'm already dead.
"This is insane," I repeat, but with less conviction.
"This is survival." He returns to his seat, closer this time. "I don't need an answer now. Take three days. Think it through."
I stand, needing to move, to think.
"You intrigue me, Leona. Most people in your position would have broken by now. You adapt. You observe. You plan." A slight smile. "And you look at me without flinching, even after what you saw yesterday."
He closes the distance between us. He reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek in a touch so unexpected I freeze. "Three days. Think about it."
Then he's gone, moving toward the elevator, leaving me alone with the dying light and a choice that feels like no choice at all.
Marry Marcus Drake. The thought is as terrifying as it is absurd. Binding myself to a man who kills without remorse.
The chain that binds me to him isn't made of metal or legal documents.
It's forged from the simple, cold reality that without Marcus Drake, I have no future at all.