by Rose, Callie
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah.” I give her an encouraging smile, resting the elbow of my good arm on the counter. I wore my prosthesis again today, and the straps of the harness sit heavily on my shoulders under my jacket. “I’m looking for information about my brother.”
She squints at her computer. “Your name?”
“Ayla Fairchild.”
She types it in, then leans even closer to peer at the screen. I know she’s pulled up the record of my own time under CPS’s care, and my skin itches uncomfortably as I think of everything she must be reading. Memories I have no desire to revisit.
“You have no record of any known family,” she finally says, as if this will be news to me.
“I know.” I keep the smile on my face, even though I can already feel a sinking feeling spreading in my gut. This is how these conversations always go. “I think there’s been a glitch in the system, or a misplaced file somewhere or something. My brother and I were separated when we were young, and I’m trying to dig up any information about him I can possibly find.”
Her gaze flicks up to me, annoyance flashing in her eyes—as if I’ve accused her of personally taking the file out back and burning it in a dumpster. “We don’t lose entire people here, miss.”
“I know.” It’s getting harder to hang on to my pleasant expression. “I just know that a lot of kids come through here, and I was hoping I could—”
“We can’t give out personal information on any children to non-family members,” she says abruptly.
“Right. But I am his family member.”
“You don’t even know his name.”
“I know, but…”
The conversation only devolves from there. My hand unconsciously curls into a fist as I go around and around with the woman. I’m not sure who’s being less helpful, me or her—but I’m suddenly viscerally reminded why I gave up this search in the first place.
I don’t have enough. Fuck, I barely have anything.
I’m on the verge of slamming my head on the counter in frustration when a familiar prickle raises the small hairs on the back of my neck. Breaking off mid-word, I turn away from the front desk woman and glance behind me.
Marcus leans against the wall near the door, a soft sweater hugging his broad shoulders. He lifts his eyebrows when I catch his gaze, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there.
How much did he hear?
Can he see how close I am to losing my shit?
I don’t want to do that—even less so now that he’s here watching—so I mutter a cursory thanks to the woman behind the desk and then turn and head for the entrance door. I push outside into the bright, mild air, not even bothering to wait for Marcus.
He’s right behind me anyway, stepping through the door after I do and letting it swing shut with a thud behind him.
“I didn’t realize where you were going at first when you left your place this morning,” he says quietly, coming to stand beside me as I gaze out at the parking lot. “You’ve only been here once before that I remember. And I never knew why.”
I make a noise in my throat. His open admission of how closely he’s tracked my movements over the past two and a half years doesn’t even faze me anymore. Nor does the fact that he was watching my apartment this morning.
“Any luck?” he asks.
“No.”
His hand comes to rest on the back of my damaged arm, just above the socket where the prosthesis is attached. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
It’s not a request, but it’s not quite a command either.
It’s more like… an offer.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His brown and blue eyes are as penetrating and intense as ever, and I won’t admit to myself that something unwinds in my stomach a little as I meet his gaze.
That I missed it somehow.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He leads me to his car and holds the door open for me again like he did the other night, helping me sit before closing it gently. The engine purrs to life as he starts the ignition, and he pulls out of the parking lot smoothly.
Music fills the car as we drive, and I find my head nodding along to the beat. I don’t recognize all the songs, but I like them. They all seem like surprising choices for Marcus Constantine, although I’m learning slowly not to let myself make assumptions about this man. They’re almost always wrong.
Still, the music is a sharp contrast to the aura he usually projects, which is harsh, dominating, and overwhelming. These songs are haunting. Beautiful. Melancholy.
When we’re about halfway back to my place, he glances over at me. “Sorry you didn’t get what you were after. But I’m glad you’re looking for him.”
“Why?”
“Because I know it’s important to you.”
I clear my throat against the lump that tries to rise up, forcing down the swell of emotions at the honest simplicity in his words. “Yeah. It is. But it’s just a dream. A fantasy.”
He presses a button on the dash, and the music grows a little quieter, allowing us to talk more easily. “No. I don’t think it is. That picture you have is real. Tangible. The boy in it is real. And if he exists, then that means somewhere, somehow, there’s a trail that leads to him.”
Hope.
How can a man who’s so full of secrets and violence also be so fucking full of hope?
I let out a breath, picking at the fake fingernails of the prosthetic silicone hand that rests on my lap. “I really want you to be right. But I can’t find the trail.”
“What have you done?”
There’s no judgement in his voice, no hint that he doesn’t think I’ve done enough. Just thoughtful curiosity.
My brows draw together, and I shift in my seat, turning to face him a little more fully. The last time I saw Marcus was in this very car, almost a week ago. That time, he sat stiff and rigid in the driver’s seat, his jaw set as intense emotions I couldn’t quite decipher poured out of him. Now, he looks utterly relaxed, and there’s something about the way he’s speaking to me that feels different than any interaction we’ve ever had before.
It’s like he’s seeing me as a whole person—a real person. Not just as some object or abstract idea he’s coveted for so long.
“Um, I’ve done a lot. Well, everything I can think of.”
I quickly go through each of the efforts I’ve made to track down my brother, all the way up to the shitty private detective, although I leave out the bit about the hand up my skirt.
Marcus nods along as he listens, his gaze on the road but his focus on me. When I finish, he hums softly in his throat. “Yeah. I admit it’s not a lot to go on. Right now you’re pulling at nothing. But all you need is one good thread to pull on. That’ll get you started. It’ll lead to another, and another, and another.” He glances sideways, catching my gaze. “Maybe I can help.”
My heart stutters in my chest, and my head jerks back slightly in surprise. I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that at all.
I should probably say no. Over and over, as he and his friends have worked their way into my life, I’ve warned myself against giving them any more parts of me. Against handing over the few pieces they don’t already have.
But if he could help… if he could truly help…
I don’t know what else Marcus has going on in his life, what other connections and resources he might have. But I know he has money. And I know money is sometimes all that’s needed to open doors that otherwise stay barred shut.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I murmur.
It’s not quite a yes and it’s not quite a no. It’s leaving the possibility open, which I already know from experience is a dangerous proposition with this man. But I can’t help it.
We drive down the narrow, trash-littered streets of my neighborhood, and I find my gaze inexorably drawn to the man beside me. Marcus’s features are just as striking in profile as they are from the front, with his chiseled jawline, straight no
se, and full lips. The bruise on his face from his fight with Greg is almost gone, no more than a small pink mark beneath his cheekbone now.
A few pieces of brown hair fall over his forehead, and I have the strangest impulse to reach up and run my fingers through them, to push them back from his face and delve my hand into the thick, rich strands.
I dig my fingers into my own thigh instead, gripping tightly and trying to ground myself as I wrench my gaze away from his face. I wasn’t being subtle as I stared at him. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever am.
As if he can feel the loss of my gaze—as if he misses it—Marcus shifts his head to glance at me. “I never knew you had a brother.”
“Well, I barely do.” I laugh softly, then hesitate. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t know though, honestly. I mean, you’ve been watching me for so long, I would’ve expected you to know everything about me by now.”
The car rolls to a smooth stop as he parks in front of my apartment. When Marcus turns to face me, I can’t look away. Nothing else seems to exist outside of this car. Outside of the space between us.
“I know a lot.” He speaks simply, making no effort to deny the length and breadth of his stalking. “But I still don’t know what I want to most.”
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“You.” He reaches across the center console and pushes a lock of dark hair out of my face, his fingertips brushing my temple. “What’s in your head. What’s in your heart.”
His hand skates down the side of my face and over my collarbone to rest gently on my upper chest, as if he could pull the knowledge he seeks directly out of my heart through this contact alone.
The traitorous organ jumps under his touch, thudding harder against my ribs. Like it’s trying to reach him. Like it wants him to know.
I shake my head, the movement a little strained. “Trust me,” I joke weakly, the words catching in my throat. “Nobody wants that.”
“I do.”
His hand leaves my chest, wrapping around my wrist instead. He lifts my arm, his thumb brushing over the delicate skin on the inside of my wrist. Then he brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to the small white scar that marks my suicide attempt.
The bruises from the bites he left there have faded, and this kiss feels like the antithesis to every one of them.
This kiss feels like a promise, an echo of what he told me that night at his house.
If he had known me back then, he wouldn’t have let this happen.
Because this man—this dangerous, enigmatic man—will do everything in his power to keep me safe.
I inhale softly, a quick gasp for air.
The gentle press of Marcus’s lips on my wrist sends heat shooting through me. His touch is both comforting and arousing, and it makes me want to crawl over the center console and into his lap, to wrap my arm around him and lose myself in his sharp, addictive scent.
In the warmth and strength of him.
In the burning intensity of his gaze.
It’s a two-way street, I realize. As desperate as he is to get inside my head, I’m equally obsessed with what’s inside his. I’m almost beyond caring why I feel the way I do about him, or whether it’s safe or smart.
Every attempt I’ve made to escape the pull of him has only thrown us back together even more violently than before.
Maybe we really are bound by blood. By the blood I shed that night and the blood that has continued to pump through his veins ever since.
By one hundred million heartbeats.
“If you…” I swallow hard as he glances up at me through his lashes, his lips still brushing the skin of my wrist. Pride and fear make the words thick on my tongue. But I push them out anyway. “If you think you can help me track down my brother, I would… like that.”
The smile that spreads slowly across Marcus’s face makes my heart gallop in my chest. Not because it’s terrifying, but because it’s so fucking beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like this, or seen his eyes shine with warmth like this.
“Angel, I would love to.”
He’s looking at me like I’ve given him a gift by allowing him to help me, not the other way around, and I wonder briefly if that’s what Ryland felt like when he bought me groceries the other day. If that’s why he was so irritated by my stubborn refusal to accept his kindness.
The way Marcus is gazing at me is too much, too overwhelming, so I quickly tug my arm back. His grip on my wrist tightens for just a fraction of a second as if he doesn’t want to let go, then he releases me and watches me fumble quickly for the seatbelt clip before I push open the door.
“I’ll see you around,” he says, and I know he means it.
“Yeah.”
The door closes with a soft thud behind me, and I head up the walkway to my apartment, trying to sort through my scrambled thoughts.
I’m not wrong. Something has changed in the dynamic between me and the men who follow me. Whether it was the events of that reckless night outside the bar or my confrontation with Ryland the next day, I’m not sure.
But something is different.
Chapter 14
Marcus’s car still idles on the street in front of my apartment, and I can feel his gaze on me as I quickly unlock the door to my building. I listen for the sound of the engine pulling away as I head up the stairs, but I don’t hear it.
As I’m rounding the landing onto the second floor, I pick up on a different sound though. There are noises filtering down from above me—heavy furniture being moved across the floor, and the muffled murmur of voices. Someone must be moving into the unit Natalie left vacant a week ago.
I never really got to know any of my neighbors except for her, and that was only because she and I had a history together from our time in the system. I doubt I’ll get to know the new tenant.
So I’m only half paying attention to the sounds above me until one voice filters up above the others.
“No, that should go on the other wall. Be careful with it, it’s new.”
Natalie’s sharp tone makes me freeze. What? What the fuck is she doing here?
Turning away from my apartment door, I move toward the stairs again, walking slowly up to the third floor as my ears strain to pick up more of the sounds floating down toward me.
That’s definitely her voice. Her smug, clipped tone grates at my ears.
When I reach the top landing, I blink. Natalie is standing in the hall, directing movers as they carry things up the back fire escape steps and into the same apartment unit she used to live in. The door hangs open, and I can see inside enough to tell that the place has been completely refurnished—with expensive looking shit, from the looks of it.
What in the actual fuck?
I was pissed at Marcus for intimidating her and basically kicking her out of the apartment above mine, but I’m shocked as hell that she’d dare to traipse back into this building. I’ve seen what the full force of his wrath looks like, and it’s not something most sane people would want to go up against.
I take another step forward, and the movement draws Natalie’s attention. She glances down the hall, and as soon as her gaze lights on me, a satisfied smile curves her red-painted lips.
“Oh, Ayla. I hope we’re not making too much noise.”
The tone of her voice suggests the opposite, and when she reaches up to flip her blonde hair over her shoulder, I catch the glint of a white-gold bracelet on her wrist. In fact, everything she’s wearing looks fancier and more expensive than her usual outfits. I know she has money she basically conned out of her old foster family, but this seems like more than that.
“What the hell are you doing, Natalie?” My words are blunt. I’ve got no interest in pretending I’m on friendly terms with this bitch.
“What does it look like?” She smiles at me, showing all her teeth. “I’m moving back in. I’m actually going to be renting out two units. Since they’re so small, you know.”
She says that like it’s
a dig at me, as if she hasn’t been living in this same mediocre apartment complex almost as long as I have.
And whether she needs them or not, I know renting two apartments has to be some kind of power play. A way of metaphorically pissing on the entire building, making it clear that she’s staking out territory here whether I like it or not.
Where the hell did she get the balls to do this? Or the money?
Before I can ask her those questions point blank, a man strolls out of the open apartment door. He’s got the lazy, predatory walk of a jungle cat, moving fluidly in dark slacks and a tailored jacket. His ash-brown hair is cropped short to his head, and the slight gap between his front teeth looks like an intentional imperfection, his concession to the mortals he walks amongst.
As soon as he reaches Natalie, she wraps her arms around him, practically plastering herself to his body.
“Are they almost done, baby?” she murmurs.
“Yeah.” His arm goes around her waist, pulling her closer. “They’ve just got one more piece to bring up. Then you’ll be all set.”
“Good. Then we can try out the new bed,” she purrs.
Natalie is practically licking the side of his face, and when the man’s gaze flicks to me, she notices immediately. She extricates herself from his embrace and moves toward me, smiling smugly.
“I really hope we can get along better this time, Ayla.” She offers me a falsely sweet smile. “I don’t know why you’ve always been such a bitch to me, but I’m willing to put that all behind us if you are.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I repeat, batting away her fake magnanimity like a piece of fluff.
Her expression hardens, and disgust flashes in her eyes as she lowers her voice, taking another step toward me. “What am I doing? I’m taking back what you stole from me. And if you give me any more shit, I’ll get you kicked out this time. So watch yourself. Carson knows people, all right? He could get the landlord to evict you like that.”
She snaps her manicured fingers in my face, and when I jerk my head back a little, she preens victoriously.
Then her face suddenly pales, her spine going stiff.
