Chapter 24
Her body pressed to his was starting to move to the top of the list of things he needed.
It was grounding. It was the one thing that could ease his mind, making him feel like he wasn’t spiraling out of control.
Her scent transferred to his sweatshirt, her back expanding and shrinking as she steadied herself to pull the trigger.
“Don’t anticipate it, just breathe and fire,” he coached softly, holding her hands steady. “Ready?”
Reign nodded, her head brushing against his chest. She squeezed the trigger, her hands jerking back just enough. “Did I hit it?”
“You barely got him, now that nigga is bussin’ back at you. What you gonna do about that?”
She fired another shot.
“Remember, when guns are drawn, it’s you or them. You makin’ it home or not?”
Reign squeezed another three shots out. They did this until the clip was empty and she was almost comfortable. Markus took the Glock, showed her how to reload, and held her hands again.
“Shoot that nigga,” he urged.
She squeezed again until the clip was empty, finding her comfort. This time, he let her reload and fire without his assistance. He watched from a safe distance, eight shots to the face and neck, the rest to the body. When her target was glided to her, he took in her proud smile.
“You’ve done this before?” he quizzed.
She swayed her head. “Nope. You said it’s me or them. I’ve gone through too much to go out like that. Is this it or can I get another round?”
“You can have as many rounds as you want. Put your earmuffs back on, though. And your safety glasses,” he directed, picking the items up and donning them on her himself. He swiped a curl out of her face and motioned her back to the stand.
He stood in the booth next to her and shot his own targets. It went from teaching to friendly competition to a series of bets. So far, Markus was going to help her cook and clean up after.
“Aight, I got one more before we get out of here. I win this round, you letting me have that spot on the couch without all that lip every night.”
“Every night?” Reign screeched.
He licked his lips and quietly admitted. “I haven’t taken a perc since I’ve been in your presence. Deadass. I’m learning I don’t do well alone.”
“Outshoot me and we’ll see.”
They turned back to their respective targets and waited for the timer to count down. Three rounds, three targets, and Reign was outshot by one bullet.
“Dammit. I just knew I was getting rid of you,” she grumbled, feigning upset.
Markus laughed, something he found himself doing more and more of around her. “You full of shit. You want me on that couch.”
“Uh huh, and that’s as far as you’re getting.”
“Hate to burst your little bubble, Speechless, but them little guardrails you putting up don’t stand a chance.”
“You want this alfredo or not?”
“Definitely want it,” he stated. “Already got the JoyCart on the way.”
“Well, the quicker we get back, the sooner I can get this forced sleepover over,” she offered him a tight smile and broke her gun down the way he’d taught her.
Back at Reign’s spot, they moved around each other, prepping, cooking, and eating from their respective plates.
“Nah for real, this shit is amazing,” Markus groaned.
“Don’t act like you don’t eat five-star meals,” Reign said, picking up her plate and moving to the sink. “It’s noodles and some cream sauce.”
“I do, but it’s nothing like a home-cooked meal. I don’t get that often. How’d you master this?”
“Uh, being left in the house with a clove of garlic, some milk, butter, and cheese. And pasta noodles or ramen. I learned to love noodles and how to doctor it up. Noodles are my favorite, I probably should’ve been a noodle,” she shared, not realizing she’d opened the door to his wayward comment.
“So you can be slurped up?” he grunted. “Noted.”
Reign balled up the dish towel and tossed it at him. “Emilliano, please.”
He chuckled. “You opened the door. I merely walked through it.”
“Anyway, I thought home-cooked meals were like a group norm?” she redirected the conversation.
“Neither Cyn nor Nia can cook. Nia tries, Cyn gets nasty ass takeout and tries to pass it off. The only time I get a home-cooked meal is Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, and Easter.
Or when Ms. Ophelia feels the need to whip something up.
But with Aunt Lucille’s health declining, those might be few and far between, too. ”
Reign looked over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Congestive heart failure. She raised two boys of her own and three kids who didn’t belong to her.
We stressed her ass out. She was running behind us and Uncle Slim, forgetting to take care of herself, and now she’s hooked up to oxygen.
I make it a point to see her at least twice a week. Her and Aunt G keep me straight.”
“Who gave her more hell?” Reign asked. “I feel like it was you.”
“Most definitely,” Markus spoke, moving from the table to the sink. He removed his sweatshirt and placed it on the back of a nearby chair before starting the water. “Hell then, hell now.”
“Oh, I can tell,” she chuckled. “You lost, get to washing.”
“I actually won, but go off,” he spoke, taking in her relaxed state.
The floppy, barely secure ponytail, the oversized shirt, and the leggings she’d changed into.
Reign may have been small because of the things she didn’t speak on, but two things went unaffected.
Her ass and her breasts, he couldn’t help but take all of her in.
“Why do you keep staring at me?”
“You keep asking me questions you know the answer to, Speechless. Because you’re beautiful and you know that shit.”
“Mm,” Reign hummed, prepping herself to dry the dishes. “You got a thing for damaged goods, don’t you?”
Markus turned the water off and turned to her. His eyes were intense, focused. His feet closing the space and his arms boxing her in against the counter. “What’d you say?”
“I asked if you had a thing for damaged goods,” she repeated, avoiding his glare. “That’s what I am, you know? Pretty on the outside, damaged on the inside.”
He hooked her chin. His reply teetered somewhere between wanting to kill whoever planted that seed in her mind and wanting to kiss that pain away.
He chose the latter. His lips pressed against hers in an assuring peck.
And then another and another until his tongue slipped in her mouth, his hands cupping her face.
Reign reached up, holding on to his forearms as if she’d float away; the embrace was packed with longing and a passion she hadn’t ever encountered.
Neither had he. She brought out the goodness in him.
The parts of him he was sure the streets had killed.
Markus lifted her off her feet, placing her atop the counter. Their mouths still connected, only breaking to kiss her neck, his tattooed hands slipping down further, and further until.
“Stop,” Reign breathlessly panted. “I’m broken. You don’t want me, you just think you do.”
His head butted against her softly as he groaned. He needed to calm himself before he continued. Reign was inducing arousal that he couldn’t do anything about until she was ready. “Gahdamn it. What are you doing to me? It’s like you’re pulling on the strings of my tattered fabric and undoing me.”
“I can say the same,” Reign softly spoke. Her eyes drifted to his. While this moment was intense and another layer shed, the way she peered at him made him feel like he was worth so much more. That feeling had to be returned. She needed to feel what she was coaxing inside of him.
“You got to be the most powerful thing I’ve encountered.
I don’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to be anything other than yourself.
I need you to tap into that power and know that that shit is yours.
You got one of the most dangerous niggas in Majestic Heights bending to your fuckin’ will.
Tap into that and stop being scared of who you are. ”
“You say that like you see me.”
“I see you as much as you see me,” he punctuated his comment with another peck to her lips. “Now, let’s get these dishes done and chill before I have to step out.”
Reign pulled in a deep inhale. “One request.”
“Anything.”
“Leave after I go to sleep.”
“Got you.”