1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Fourteen

by Kristen Ashley

  Marcus looked to Nightingale. “You should take your man and go.”

  “I’m feelin’ the need to see this through, too.”

  Marcus held his gaze. “Detective Marker is not going to close this case.”

  Nightingale did nothing but put his hands on his hips.

  “Your father is a cop, your brother is a cop, and your best friend is a cop,” Marcus pointed out.

  “Yeah, and none of them are here,” Nightingale returned.

  “You’re also not going to dissuade me,” Marcus shared.

  “Am I doing any dissuading?” Nightingale asked.

  Marcus studied him.

  Then he told him quietly, “I’m protecting you.”

  A flash shot through Nightingale’s eyes.

  Rage.

  “I saw that fuckin’ tape,” he bit out. “And just sayin’, so did Vance and so did Luke. So I think you more than anybody get me when I say Luke and me feel the need to see this through.”

  He was young.

  He was good at what he did, but he was young.

  He’d learn.

  Rage had no place in what they did, Nightingale’s place skirting the edges of it, Marcus’s right in the middle of it.

  You gave in to your rage, you got sloppy.

  In their game, sloppy men didn’t survive.

  You planned.

  You executed.

  Then you moved on.

  “Let me protect you,” Marcus urged.

  They locked eyes and it took some time but eventually Nightingale proved he wasn’t only good, he was smart. He did this jerking up his chin, cutting his gaze through Stark, and he dropped his hands from his hips before he cast a glance at Tucker and strode away.

  Stark stared at Marcus another beat before he dropped his arms from his chest and followed Nightingale.

  Marcus waited until the sound of the heavy door closing echoed through the room and only then did he look at Darius.

  “It’s arranged?” he asked.

  “Zano and Townsend are both on board.” Darius walked to Marcus, pulling a gun out of the back of his jeans and offering it Marcus’s way.

  Marcus took it.

  Darius continued, “They find anything, it’ll be linked to the House of Shade. Everyone wants Shade out. He’s sliding, somethin’ surfaces with this, things’ll get a lot more slippery.”

  “Is something going to surface?” Marcus asked.

  Darius shrugged. Then he smiled.

  Christ.

  Cold as stone.

  A long time ago, Shirleen’s now-dead husband made things very difficult for Vincent Shade. He was holding on mostly because there was always enough crime to go around, and even stupid and completely insane, Shade managed to find his share.

  He’d been a nuisance for some time.

  Darius was correct, everyone wanted him gone. It was just that, considering he was only a nuisance, no one felt any need to expend much effort to see to that task.

  Marcus could not know if Shirleen and Darius had reason to lose patience and intended to deal a killing blow.

  And he didn’t care.

  He looked to the man on his knees.

  “Vincetti’s clean up,” Darius muttered and Marcus knew he was on the move. “Dom and his boys’re en route. Ren is not in the know on this and Vito wants it kept that way.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus replied.

  “Serious, this piece of shit, don’t mention it,” Darius said as his farewell.

  Marcus waited again until he heard the door close.

  Then he focused on the man’s eyes.

  He was looking up at Marcus.

  “Why?” Marcus asked.

  “Just finish it,” the guy mumbled.

  “Why?” Marcus repeated.

  “Fuck!” the man exploded, the force of it making him veer forward so he had to put a hand out to catch his fall. He didn’t right himself but tipped his head back and shouted, “Just finish it!”

  Louie pulled him back up to his knees by his hair.

  “Fucking finish it!” he screamed, ripping his head from Louie’s hold, listing again but keeping his knees.

  “Why?” Marcus asked again.

  “We gonna play this game?” the man asked snidely.

  “I’m thinking you might not have absorbed this, but this is my game, so yes, we’re going to play it.”

  The man glared at him then spat, “Had me ejected.”

  “It’s my understanding you put your hands on her during a private dance. That’s not allowed at Smithie’s.”

  “She’s a fuckin’ stripper,” he hissed.

  Marcus ignored that and he could because he’d learned early how to control his rage.

  “You broke the rules, she had you ejected, so you raped her?”

  “I know she’s yours. I’ve heard your name. Didn’t know it at the time but I sure as fuck know it now. I also know nothin’ I say is gonna stop what you’re gonna do. Maybe just make it last longer and be less fun, and serious, man, that guy with a beard and his Indian friend weren’t a barrel of laughs. So not that I’m invitin’ that shit, but just sayin’, to top the joyride I had with those fuckin’ guys, you’d have to get creative. But how about we skip this bullshit and you just fucking finish it?”

  Interesting.

  Shirleen and Darius hadn’t played with him at all.

  Only Stark and Nightingale’s tracker.

  This meant Nightingale and his team had no qualms with a variety of aspects of their business.

  Marcus set these thoughts aside, studied the man before him for some time, and then whispered, “You can’t answer me.”

  The man looked away and Louie used his hair to make him look back.

  “Fuck,” he bit out.

  “Do you have a mother?” Marcus asked.

  “Fuck you,” the man spat.

  “Sisters?”

  “Fuck…you!” he leaned forward and shouted.

  Louie pulled him back.

  “You do, so why?” Marcus pressed.

  “Because I could, all right?” he yelled. “Because I fuckin’ could and she couldn’t fuckin’ stop me that time, could she?”

  Marcus tilted his head to the side. “That’s it? Because you could?”

  “Yeah, because I could.”

  “So you’re telling me you thought she bested you and your dick is so small, you couldn’t bear that blow so you needed to show her who had the power?”

  “Why do you do all the shit you do to wear your fancy suit and have your men at your back?” the man countered. “Don’t stand there thinkin’ you’re better than me when you got me on my knees and you got a gun in your hand I know you’re gonna use. Because for that reason right there, you aren’t better than me, asshole.”

  “That’s an interesting, but erroneous, comparison.”

  “Whatever,” the guy muttered.

  “I’ve never raped a woman.”

  “Oh, good. You’re a saint,” he bit back.

  “I’ve never ordered a woman to be raped.”

  “Whatever, motherfucker, just end this.”

  “The games I play, every player knows the score.”

  “Jesus, put you in a suit, you’re a superhero.”

  “The point I’m trying to make is, she was an innocent woman walking through a parking lot not having any idea someone was going to commit a violent act using her body to do it. And what I’m trying to understand is how you could be that someone who’d commit that violent act using an innocent woman to do it.”

  “I mighta got my bell rung pretty fuckin’ good by those two fuckin’ assholes, but I’m not missin’ your point.”

  Simply out of curiosity, Marcus asked, “Have you done this before?”

  “Never taken it all the way.” He suddenly sneered at Marcus, showing him a set of bloody teeth, of which three were missing in a way Marcus knew they’d only been recently lost. “Your girl was my first.” The sneer faded and a different kin
d of ugliness replaced it as he shook his head. “But no bitch disrespects me. No bitch. I had my way of communicatin’ that, and I don’t give a fuck I’m on my knees, I got no regrets. A bitch has it comin’, that’s just the way. You’re too weak to get that, not my problem.”

  At that, Marcus heard from behind him Brady pull in a hiss of breath through his teeth.

  This was not because the man on his knees had insulted Marcus.

  Or, not entirely.

  It was because Brady had three younger sisters and two shit-for-brains parents that got their asses incarcerated, one three weeks after the other, leaving an eighteen-at-the-time Brady the only one who could look after those girls like Marcus’s sister had done, or let them hit the system.

  He’d decided to look after his sisters.

  Fortunately, he’d found Marcus not long after and Marcus helped him do that.

  Nevertheless, for obvious reasons, Brady, like Marcus, wasn’t a big fan of any man thinking it’s just the way if “a bitch has it comin’.”

  Down low, Marcus swung a hand slightly out and he felt the heat of Brady’s anger at his back subside.

  He’d taught Brady the lesson about rage too.

  Marcus focused again on the man.

  “She was going to get her lip gloss.”

  “Do I care?”

  “Her laugh sounds like bells.”

  “Again, asswipe, do I care?”

  Again, Marcus studied him and he did it for a good length of time.

  Closely.

  “No,” Marcus finally said, speaking quietly. “You don’t. You don’t care. And that’s it. That’s why you could do what you did. Because you don’t care. I was right. You’re nothing but an animal.”

  “You think I’m gonna beg for mercy, I’m not, fuckwad. Again, don’t give a fuck she’s convinced you different. That gash don’t matter. Most gash don’t matter. But her? She’s a fucking stripper!”

  The gunshot echoed loud through the room.

  The man slumped to his back.

  Marcus turned, Brady came to his side, and Marcus handed him the gun.

  “You’ll coordinate things with Dom?” he asked.

  Brady nodded.

  Marcus took that in.

  Then he walked out of the warehouse.

  * * * *

  Sitting in the back of his car, Ronald driving, the phone held to his ear, Marcus heard it ring three times before Smithie answered with, “It’s after four in the fuckin’ morning.”

  “It’s done.”

  There was silence then, “What’s done?”

  “Daisy’s safe.”

  More silence before a muttered, “That Nightingale guy.”

  Marcus said nothing.

  “This does not make me happy,” Smithie announced.

  Marcus felt his neck get tight. “How can this not make you happy?”

  “’Cause, brother, whatever got done got done without me gettin’ my licks in.”

  Marcus let out a breath. “You’re not that man.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me too good.”

  “I know you, Smithie, and you’re not that man. But I am.”

  “Fuck,” Smithie bit out, his way of conceding the point.

  “She’s safe. It’s done. We can all move on.”

  Abruptly, Smithie asked, “You love her?”

  Without hesitation, Marcus answered, “Yes.”

  Smithie was back to muttering. “Fuck, now I gotta find a new dancer.”

  Marcus smiled into the dark. “She likes to dance, Smithie, but yes. Eventually, she’ll be busy having our children, and my guess is Daisy will feel the need to put all her attention into that.”

  “I like you enough to hope you don’t have girls,” Smithie mumbled.

  Marcus hoped he did.

  “Thank you for being the first man in her life she could trust,” Marcus said.

  Again, there was silence.

  After Marcus gave him time for that, Smithie replied, “Thank you for bein’ the second.”

  Then Smithie hung up.

  Marcus flipped his phone shut and turned his head to look out the window in order to watch Denver slide by on his way home to Daisy.

  * * * *

  “Boss,” Ronald growled.

  Marcus stared out the windshield at Lee Nightingale standing beside the elevator doors, arms crossed on his chest, one booted foot up, the sole resting against the concrete.

  Yes, Nightingale was good.

  Marcus’s building was secure. In other words, it had armed security guards that looked after everyone, not just Marcus. There were codes. There were monitored cameras. And Nightingale looked like he’d been waiting for some time, undisturbed.

  “It’s okay,” Marcus said.

  Ronald swung into his spot and bit out, “Fuck!” as Marcus threw open his own door.

  Lee pushed away from the wall. Marcus closed his door and met him halfway across the short space.

  Nightingale shoved his hand in his pocket as Ronald warned, “Not another move.”

  “It’s fine, Ronald,” Marcus said, not looking from Nightingale.

  He pulled his hand out of his pocket, lifted it, and from his fingers dropped a necklace—delicate gold chain, at the bottom a row of pearls.

  “Wasn’t the time to give you this an hour ago,” Nightingale muttered.

  Marcus lifted his hand palm up.

  Nightingale let the pearls go and they fell into his hand.

  His fingers closed around it.

  “Do you work on retainer?” Marcus asked.

  Lee Nightingale’s head twitched.

  And then he smiled.

  * * * *

  Marcus slid into bed beside Daisy, gliding a hand over the silk at her belly and pulling her back into his front.

  He curled into her.

  Her fingers curled to link through his at her middle.

  “Everything good?” she asked sleepily.

  He buried his face in her hair.

  “Everything is perfect.”

  Her fingers tensed in his.

  He pulled her deeper into his body and whispered, “You’re safe now, darling.”

  At that, her entire body tensed.

  She let his hand go, turned in his arm, and slid hers around him.

  He could feel her gaze in the dark.

  “Are you okay?”

  Marcus tangled his legs with hers.

  “I’m fine, honey.” He gave her a squeeze. “Are you?”

  “Peachy.”

  He grinned.

  She snuggled closer.

  “Love you, baby,” she whispered.

  “Love you too, darling.”

  She stiffened then melted in his arms.

  He’d had to wait to say it. He’d had to wait until he knew he’d done all he could to make it as right as he could make it.

  He’d done that.

  So he said it.

  “A dream,” she murmured.

  “Sorry?”

  “You. You’re the dream a girl like me never thought she could dream.”

  She was right. She’d told him she’d never given herself a prince charming.

  But now she had one in the way he came.

  So all that was left was to build her a castle.

  And Marcus was going to take care of that too.

  Epilogue

  Annamae

  Daisy

  I stood in the suite and stared out the windows at the snow-covered mountains while Michelle closed the door behind the girls who’d done my hair and makeup.

  “Gosh, but you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I turned to watch Marcus’s sister walking toward me and smiled. “Well, thanks, sugar.”

  She looked me up and down and then she got misty.

  I moved to her, my skirt swaying with me, and it had to be said, it felt nice. So nice, I never wanted to take that dress off. Not ever.

  But if I didn’t, it wouldn’
t stay as pretty as it was.

  And it’d be difficult for Marcus to give me some wedding nookie. He could get creative. But I didn’t want any of his creative ruining my dress.

  I got close and took her hands in mine.

  “You gotta quit cryin’, darlin’,” I advised, doing so because she’d burst into tears no less than six times since she and Doug had met us up in Aspen two days before. “You got your makeup done too and you’re pretty as a picture. Marcus and Doug’ll be all upset you show puffy-eyed and red in the face.”

  “Marcus won’t even know I’m there.”

  He loved his sister but I reckoned she had that right.

  She pulled a hand from mine, lifted it, and cupped my jaw. “I’m glad he waited to find the right girl.”

  In response, I gave her the understatement of the century.

  “I’m glad I was the right girl.”

  We grinned at each other.

  A knock came at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” she murmured, moving from me.

  Taking another one of the half a million (slightly exaggerated) opportunities I’d taken since I’d donned my dress, I turned and looked into a mirror.

  It had all come together perfectly.

  I was Daisy but Daisy did her wedding just a little bit differently seeing as it was the day she was going to become Mrs. Marcus Sloan.

  That meant my hair was teased full at the top back, but the sides had three soft twists in them, pulling them back to a big, swirly bun that nearly took up the entire back of my head. There was a diamanté comb tucked in one side (a girl’s gotta have her sparkle, especially on her wedding day) and tendrils dangling around my ears. My bangs were full and brushed my brows.

  I’d given up the smoke, the makeup girl bestowing on me subtle contouring, cheeks in pink, eyes in creams, browns, and pinks with magnificent shading and a set of fake eyelashes that I’d memorized the brand and style because they said perfection with a kapow!

  My hair was romantically fabulous.

  My makeup was understatedly dramatic.

  My dress was d-i-v-i-n-e, divine.

  It was white because I might not be a virgin but I was still a good girl and I reckoned I’d earned white, one way or another.

  The bodice was a V-neck that went low (I might be going romantic for my Marcus but I was still Daisy, so if cleavage could be had, and I was a woman who could have a lot of it, it was had—and it was).