Til Death

by Bella Jewel

  “That isn’t an answer,” Ulio growls. “You’re askin’ me to fuck with a big name who has come in and decided he wants your side of town to run his money through . . .”

  “Then fuck with a big name. It’s your job. Do it right.”

  He mutters something under his breath and I grin, even though he can’t see it because he’s on the other end of a phone. I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. These men—fuck, you’d think I was asking them to cut their own legs off and drag their sorry asses across a hot desert.

  “Fine, I’ll deal,” he mutters. “Talk to me about Lucas’ feral goon.”

  “He’s takin’ my jobs, my money, my business.”

  Ulio snorts. “Fucker.”

  “He’s stepped into my world, takin’ my clients. I’m doin’ what I have to do, and I do it without my name being dragged around. He’s goin’ to bust what I’m doin’ wide open and I don’t need that. End him.”

  “Right,” Ulio grumbles.

  “Nice talkin’ to you,” I say, hanging up.

  I lean back in my chair, running my hands through my hair. Runnin’ this business as well as keepin’ certain other dealings going, is proving difficult. Not to mention having the added shit of tryin’ to convince a girl she’s the one for me. I haven’t had to chase a woman in my life; never had to do all that nice shit to make them believe I care. Now I have to, because if Katia finds out her purpose, I’m fucked.

  Hot as she is, I’m not looking forward to giving up my space.

  It’s always been just me.

  I’m not ready to share.

  ~*~*~*~

  KATIA

  “I look terrible!” I cry.

  Candice rolls her eyes. “Stop talking poo! You look great.”

  I turn and glare at her. “My hair looks awful, I’m slightly sunburned and I’m sure there’s a pimple growing beneath my skin.”

  Candy puts her hands on her hips, tipping her head to the side and giving me an exasperated look. “Your hair is gorgeous, you are tan, not red and there is no pimple. Stop trying to get out of this date with Marcus.”

  “He’s too much,” I say, my voice going softer. “I can’t possibly juggle a man like that as well as trying to work and look after Mom.”

  Candy’s eyes soften and she puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to enjoy life, Kat. You don’t have to live life just working and looking after your mom. Go out; enjoy Marcus because he’s there to be enjoyed. He likes you, because from what I hear, he never ever calls a woman back. Go for it.”

  I stare at her and I know somewhere deep down that she’s right. A slow smile spreads across my face. “So I look okay?”

  She wraps an arm around me and laughs. “You look amazing.”

  Thank God for Candy.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Mom?” I whisper, tucking a strand of hair behind my mom’s ear.

  I stare at her in her chair, and remember a time when she was tall and graceful. She seemed so healthy, so radiant, until one day she got a headache. It went on for months, she saw doctors, until finally she got a scan. She had a tumor in a difficult position. We spent a year believing it couldn’t be removed, and that she would die, but a doctor said he’d try. She was in such a bad way, suffering to the point where she couldn’t get out of bed, and so she decided it was worth the risk.

  She got the tumor removed, but essential nerves were damaged. Now she struggles with her limbs. Her brain doesn’t send the right communication signals, and she finds it difficult to move her body how she would normally. She has intense physiotherapy and has had another operation to fix some damage, but she’s still not well enough to live a normal life. She will be forever in care, even if it’s just mild.

  This is never what she wanted, but it’s what she got, and I can’t leave her alone.

  “I’m okay, sweet.” She beams, her voice slightly slurred. It’s not bad, but it’s there. “Enjoy yourself.”

  My beautiful mom—even when she’s in such a state, she still manages to make my life beautiful. She hums, even sings, on a daily basis. She always requests I put flowers and bright things in the house, and she’s forever encouraging me to go out and enjoy myself. Even though she struggles with her movements, she is able to work her hands enough to do basic things for herself, however when I’m not here, she needs a carer.

  We have Ellie for that.

  I pay a great deal for Ellie, but it’s worth it.

  “Ellie will arrive any minute, and I won’t be long.”

  She reaches out for me, but it takes her longer than it should so I reach down and clasp her hand.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she says slowly, and I know she’s tired. “Please, Katia.”

  “I always worry about you,” I say, kissing her cheek. “But I’ll go.”

  “Is he nice?” She smiles.

  I grin down at her. My mom, even now, is so incredibly beautiful. I wish she had found a man who loved her the way she deserves to be loved.

  “He’s handsome, but I don’t really know him.”

  I’m not about to tell mom I’m going out with a player and we slept together on the first night.

  “You will.” She beams.

  I laugh at her optimism just as Ellie arrives. She’s a small Mexican woman who is funny but stern. She doesn’t let Mom overdo it, but at the same time, the two have an amazing relationship and have made lifelong friends in one another.

  “Good evening, Katia,” Ellie says, kissing my cheek.

  She’s dressed in a soft, floral dress. Her hair is down, touching her shoulders and her brown eyes are stress-free and happy. She’s always happy. I love her for that. Mom loves her for that.

  “Thank you for coming at such short notice.” I smile, hugging her.

  “You don’t worry about that,” she chastises, wagging her finger at me. “You go, enjoy.”

  Car lights flash through the window and my chest seizes. “He’s here,” I breathe.

  “Shall Ellie come out, meet this man, tell him how to treat my sweetheart?” Ellie says, puffing out her chest.

  I laugh, kissing her cheek. “No thank you, Ellie.”

  I hug Mom and she gives me an easy smile. “Have fun. Take your time.”

  I wave to the two, and head outside. There’s a dark Audi sitting in the drive. I can’t see inside it, but I know it belongs to Marcus. Swallowing, I walk over and open the door. I gasp with pleasure as my eyes take in the gorgeous man in the front seat. He’s wearing a pair of black dress pants with a white, button-up shirt. Instead of a tie and jacket, he’s wearing a vest. The shirt is rolled to his elbows and he looks like, well, heaven dipped in hell.

  “Marcus,” I say, breathily.

  Way to go, Katia.

  “Katia,” he says, his voice low and husky.

  Damn.

  I slide into the car, the cool leather chair brushing against my thighs. My black dress is short, but not slutty. It’s low cut, showing enough cleavage to be sexy but classy. I matched it with a pair of black pumps, and left my hair down in light curls.

  I close the door and turn to Marcus, and the looks he is giving me are scorching. He doesn’t need to use words—his expression is telling me exactly what he wants to do to me.

  “So,” I breathe, “what’s for dinner?”

  His lip twitches.

  Dirty bastard.

  “Don’t answer that,” I say.

  “Tonight,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes to my lips. “You look devastating.”

  Oh. Wow.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  With that, he turns back and drives us to dinner.

  CHAPTER 11

  NOW

  Katia

  I bang on the door over and over, my fingers trembling. I close my eyes, trying to gather myself. I’m hurt; Marcus went away for two weeks and then came home and simply dismissed me. Did he miss me at all? Was there one moment he thought about me and longed to be at home in my arms?


  My heart aches—it aches because something deep down in my chest is tugging at me, telling me I’m missing something. I just don’t understand. Marcus could have any woman he wanted at the click of his fingers, make no mistake, so why pick me and then marry me, if he doesn’t care?

  “Sweetheart.”

  I jerk my head up and see my mom sitting in her chair at the door.

  “Momma,” I whisper.

  “Oh Katia, come in, sweet.”

  I rush in, leaning down and throwing my arms around her neck. She holds me tight and then we both head into the kitchen.

  “You look awful. What’s happening?”

  “It’s Marcus,” I say, sitting at the kitchen table, dropping my head into my hands.

  “Have you two had a fight?”

  I sigh, then lift my gaze and look at her. I go over everything that’s happened with Marcus and she listens, her eyes soft. She nods every now and then, but says nothing until I’m done.

  “I just don’t know what to feel,” I admit.

  “Honey, maybe there’s more to it. Maybe something bad happened? Maybe he’s stressed.”

  “It’s not just this once, Mom.”

  “Is he bad to you, honey?”

  “No,” I say, and it’s the truth. He isn’t bad to me; he’s just not loving either. “I just don’t feel like he loves me, which makes no sense because he married me.”

  “Let me tell you a little something I’ve learned about men like Marcus,” she begins. “Men like him struggle with emotion. They’re broody and angry because of their lives and how things turned out for them. They struggle to show love, and sometimes seem cold to keep control.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I understand—I just don’t know what could have gone down in his world that would make him so closed off.”

  “Do you love him, Katia?”

  “More than I should.”

  “Then stand by him. Talk to him; see if you can get him to tell you why he pulls back. It can take time, but you’re a good girl, Katia. If he loves you, he’s going to come around. Marriage can be hard—you just have to find a way to fight the battles.”

  I smile, because I know she’s right. I lean forward and hug her again. “Thanks for listening, Mom.”

  “Any time, sweetheart. Don’t give up on him, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  I spend the next two hours with her, and after three coffees and two chocolate-chip cookies, I head home, ready to face this head on. Ready to push my doubts down. Ready to make myself believe that I’m not crazy, and Marcus really does love me.

  ~*~*~*~

  The smell of garlic and tomato hits me the moment I step through the front door. Yum. I walk towards the kitchen and stop when I see Marcus sitting at the counter, fork twirling in some pasta.

  “Where have you been?” he asks, without turning.

  My chest seizes. I want to believe my mom is right, I want to push and fight for this man I love so dearly, but when he talks to me in that tone, with that voice, it’s so hard to believe there’s any hope.

  “I went to see Mom.”

  “How is she?”

  “Fine.”

  He turns and stares at me, God he looks tired. He nods his head towards the spaghetti that’s still sitting, mixed with sauce in the pan.

  “You made this?” I ask, walking in and lifting a bowl.

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know you cooked.”

  His eyes flash to mine. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Katia.”

  “Like?” I prompt.

  He shakes his head, standing. He walks over, dropping his bowl in the sink. Then he makes his way towards me. His hand lashes out, curling around the back of my neck where he pulls me close and brushes his lips against mine. My heart aches, and I know how weak he makes me from that single touch.

  “I didn’t put onion in,” he murmurs, stepping back. “I know you don’t like it.”

  With that, he disappears down the hall.

  My heart bursts with love.

  He paid attention. I only told him once I didn’t like onion, and it was right back at the start.

  Maybe Mom is right; maybe he just needs time.

  CHAPTER 12

  THEN

  Katia

  “Oh my God,” I moan, closing my eyes and licking my fingers—yes, licking them.

  When I open my eyes, Marcus is watching me with that melty chocolate, sex stare again. Damn. I bite my bottom lip and look away. I just had a food-gasm over the pasta we got served at this amazing Italian restaurant and he watched, fascinated¸ like I am the first woman he’s seen in his life and he’s just discovered he has a penis.

  “It’s good, yeah?” he says, reaching over the table and swiping his finger over my bottom lip. He returns it with a dollop of sauce and slowly, seductively, slides it into his mouth.

  Man.

  This guy is to die for.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, watching his lips curl around his finger as he sucks the sauce off.

  Yum.

  “Tell me something about yourself, Katia,” he says, his voice husky.

  “I’m pretty sure you know most of it.”

  I force my eyes away from his face, his lips, just him in general because he almost hurts to look at. He’s so striking.

  “Then tell me something I don’t know. Do you have siblings?”

  My eyes flash to his and he must see the pain in my face because he narrows his eyes.

  “No,” I whisper.

  He studies me, then murmurs, “That hurts you.”

  I shrug and stare down at my food. His hand comes across the table and he grips my chin, tilting it up. “Katia.”

  “Tell me something about yourself,” I say, jerking my head out of his grip and forcing a fake smile to my face.

  He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t push it. He sits back in his chair, watching me as he speaks. “No siblings; well, direct, anyway. I have step-siblings. My father is dead. My mother is dead. My grandfather just died.”

  Jesus.

  “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

  He shrugs. “Life happens, Katia.”

  “What about your step-siblings? Are you close?”

  He shakes his head. “No. My father married their mother long after mine died. I never liked them and they never liked me. I’m not sad. They’re selfish, spoiled and are never going to make a life for themselves.”

  God, he’s so . . . bitter.

  “So you have no family left?”

  “There are some, cousins and such. None that are close.”

  Poor man. I’d die if something happened to my mother.

  “And your job. You love that, obviously?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, Katia, I love it.”

  That way he said that . . . strange.

  “Do you run it?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod.

  “Come here.”

  I blink, then stammer, “What?”

  “Come here.”

  My cheeks heat as he crooks a finger at me. My body, the little traitor, obeys and I stand, walking over. He pulls me down beside him and I become fully aware of every inch of him. God. His hand finds my thigh and he turns me towards him, dropping his face until it’s right near mine.

  “I won’t pull any punches here. I’m going to come right out and say I’m interested. I don’t play games. I don’t chase. I get what I want, and what I want is you.”

  Oh God.

  “You don’t know me,” I whisper.

  He lifts a finger, running it down my cheek. My body shudders. “I know enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “For me to know I want you in my bed more than once.”

  I shake my head, breaking eye contact. “I can’t, I . . . can’t. Men like you . . . I just can’t.”

  “Tell me why,” he growls, dipping his face into my neck and pressing his lips there. My eyes flutter closed
, and damn, if I don’t want to just give in and melt into him.

  “Because my mom . . . she needs me around a lot. I don’t have time.”

  “Your mom will be fine,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I work a lot,” I protest breathily. “I can’t find the space in my life to date.”

  “You come to my house after work, or I’ll come to yours. Simple.”

  “Marcus,” I moan, when he slides his tongue up my neck and his hand disappears under my dress, grazing my panties.

  “Soaked,” he rasps. “Fucking sweet.”

  “Marcus, please,” I beg weakly.

  He slips his fingers beneath my panties and begins stroking. Holy shit. My fingers curl around his bicep and I try to push him back, but I’m as successful as I would be if Marcus were a brick wall. He doesn’t budge. He keeps nuzzling my neck, causing my skin to tingle, while his fingers stroke my pussy.

  “Your pussy is wet, Katia. I assure you,” he growls into my ear. “While you’re with me, it’ll stay that way.”

  Such a promise.

  Such a tempting promise.

  “Marcus, you don’t understand.”

  “I don’t need to understand.”

  Jesus.

  His finger dips and then slides inside of me. Mother of God.

  “Marcus, stop.”

  “No, Katia,” he rumbles.

  “More wine, sir?”

  My body goes still when I hear the waitress’s voice. Marcus lifts his head from my neck and looks at her; thank God she can’t see that his fingers are deep inside me.

  “Please,” he purrs.

  Using her as an excuse, I shove backwards, knowing he won’t fight to keep me there because of our sexual position. His fingers slip from me and I shift so she can’t see what’s going on as I move from the seat. Marcus shoots me a warning glare, but I stand anyway. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  I turn and rush off, shoving past people until I reach the bathroom. I stop, hesitate, and then decide I just can’t deal with this. A man like Marcus is dangerous for me. I don’t have the time or the patience to fall for someone like him. He’ll destroy me. Crush me. Take my life in his hands and twist it until there’s nothing but a pathetic, dangling string left.

  I can’t let that happen.