by Sara Brookes
“What about the scene?”
“Just do the best you can until I get back. Call in CSI to start processing.” She steered Marcus toward her cruiser, arm braced across his upper back, her hand buried in his armpit to help her balance the weight. “I hope to hell this is worth it to you, Marcus.”
He leaned heavily against her car as she opened the door. “Thank you, Zoie.” When she fired a caustic glance his way, he wondered if he’d made a mistake refusing the ambulance. She was risking a career that she loved and was good at to help him leave the scene of a hate crime without an official report. He already owed her so much he wasn’t sure how he could repay her after this.
“Thought you were responding to another call?” He pressed his hand against his side as pain lanced up his ribcage.
“I was halfway there when dispatch radioed about this.” She nodded to his damaged car. “Someone walking by called in a fight between a couple of men. Had no idea it was you at first, but something—I don’t know. Just knew I needed to be here. Had someone else take the other call, and here I am.”
He sat without waiting for her help. “Christ almighty.” He was still swearing as she slid behind the wheel, fired up the engine and gunned it away from the curb. Marcus wrapped his arm around his midsection. “Can’t get a good breath in. Jesus, he packed a punch.”
She gave him the side-eye. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Zoie,” he warned. “You’re taking me to my house. I just need to take a shower. Sleep it off. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“And you’ll sleep away the stench of his urine on you too?”
He remained tight-lipped, eyes forward as she wove around a slow-moving car. He’d hoped he’d imagined that. Or that his bladder had let loose during the attack.
“Fuck you, Marcus Holly,” she said suddenly. “Fuck you and the high horse you ride on because you think you’re too good for anyone’s help.” Passing headlights highlighted her face as she drove, the determined set of her jaw signaling she wasn’t a pushover. “You aren’t in a position to tell me no, so you’re at least going to get someone to look to verify nothing is broken. Tell them whatever you want about how this happened, I don’t care.” When she pulled up to a red light, she turned to face him. “If nothing else, as your friend, it will make me feel better.”
“I can tell them you kicked my ass during a sparring match.” He chuckled at the searing glare of impatience she aimed at him. He’d forgotten she’d mastered that expression. “Fine. Let them look me over. But they’re not admitting me. I’ve spent too much damn time in hospitals as it is. I can’t do it again.”
“I can’t keep this off police record, Marcus.” Worry lines formed on her forehead. “Maybe if I’d been the only one there, the first one to arrive, but Waller and his partner...it’s their scene.”
“I know I’m putting you in a difficult situation, Zoie.” He appreciated her understanding his fear. Davis had clearly shown an aptitude for skirting the law since his release. If the cops showed up at his door to arrest him, he’d just con his way out of the accusation with some bullshit excuse. Marcus had another idea in order to bring an end to this mess.
Fifteen minutes later, Zoie parked the car. She came around the side, offering him a hand he knew better than to dismiss after her outburst. As he stood, he saw her expression had softened. Gone was the hard-nosed cop, replaced with the face of his best friend and confidant. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, Marcus. Sorry I can’t do anything to make this all go away.”
Despite the pain lacing through him, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve protected me in ways you can’t even begin to imagine, Zoie.” He continued to hold her as he realized he was going to have to cancel the contract with Noble House. The safety of those around him was now in jeopardy and ensuring it was more important than the money contract fulfillment would bring. More important than any connection he’d discovered with Enver.
Bullshit.
The echo of the word followed him into the hospital.
Chapter Nineteen
Enver couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking gorgeous Marcus was every time he was on his knees, waiting patiently for further instructions. Deliciously submissive and ready for a well-earned orgasm. Enver intended to give him quite a few of those tonight during their session, in and out of BLINC.
His enthusiasm cracked as he opened the door, shattering completely as he looked over the empty room. The table Marcus kept his stuff set up on had been wiped clean. Not even a speck of dust, though Marcus was too meticulous and protective of his equipment to allow dust to collect.
Enver stormed through Kochran’s door without knocking, stalking directly over to the desk where Kochran and Adelita Husk, the club’s accountant, were working. Both were dressed in corporate attire better suited for a nine-to-five job in a high-rise full of cubicles instead of hunkered down in an office at a bondage and kink club.
“Where is he?” For a brief second, Enver hated the possessive nature of the demand. He had no claim over Marcus.
Adelita blinked, clearly not comfortable with the sudden tension charging the atmosphere. He winced as he remembered she was one of the few employees at Noble House who didn’t partake in the kinky lifestyle. Plus, she was still mourning the death of her girlfriend less than a year ago. Her lifelong partner—and Kochran’s sister—Tory had finally succumbed to the heart condition that had plagued her since childhood. She was fortunate to have lived as long as she had, and gotten to experience a love few people in the world were capable of.
“Afternoon to you too,” Kochran responded without looking up, clearly not impressed with the intrusion.
Adelita stood, her posture rigid as she started gathering paperwork. “I can take care of this in my office.”
Kochran handed her a stack of folders. “I’ll come by and sign the rest of these when I’m done here.”
Enver waited until the door closed behind Adelita then leaned forward, balancing his weight on his hands. “Where the fuck is Marcus?”
Kochran stared at him over the rim of his reading glasses. “I don’t keep tabs on everyone, despite the rumors.”
Enver’s gaze flicked to the elaborate workstation set up on the desk behind Kochran. A grid of squares showed on the monitors that contradicted Kochran’s statement. The goddamn King of Noble House knew everything going on in his club.
“His stuff is gone from the room. Where did he go?” Enver repeated with more force.
Kochran’s brow furrowed as he removed his glasses. “I have no idea.” He picked up the receiver on the desk phone, tapped a button and waited. “You have a second?” He hung up without responding to the person he’d called.
Kochran stood, vanishing from the office. He reappeared a minute later with several bottles of water and Saint in tow.
“What’s up?” Saint settled on the closest chair, slinging one arm over the back and crossing his legs.
Enver remained tight-lipped as Kochran spoke. “Have you seen or spoken to Marcus today?”
Saint looked concerned. “Haven’t seen him in a few days. Figured he was just busy with the program or something.” His gaze flicked to Enver for the last part. “Why? Something wrong with the system? We’re set to go live in a week from what Ezra and Maddy are telling me. Customers are going to love BLINC if the session Boyce and I had with Grae in there is any indication.”
Enver knew that pleased look of satisfaction that hazed Saint’s light green eyes. He still remembered pushing Marcus, seeing his partner’s glassy gaze desperately trying to focus on him. He forced back the lump forming in his throat. No time to get all mushy now.
“His stuff is gone. Whole setup cleared out of the room.”
“Maybe Ezra had him relocate. Moving closer to launch, he would need a more central location than where he’s been set up. Giv
e me a second.” Saint pulled out his cell phone as he stepped out.
Kochran licked his lips. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last week. I was helping him with a scene.” If Kochran found the truth in that lie, he didn’t indicate, so Enver pushed on. “He said he had a meeting last night in Sacramento and would be back today.” Enver swallowed against the tightness drawing his throat closed. He shouldn’t have been that demanding, but damn if he could help it. He needed answers and he needed them fast.
I’ve got some shit going on that I’m trying to deal with.
The words echoed in his head, reminding him that he should have pressed Marcus on the issue. Forced him to give him more than a few vague details. He knew perhaps better than anyone that stuff like that—whatever it was—would only come forth when Marcus was comfortable enough to share. Enver had a sick feeling that those details had something to do with Marcus’s sudden disappearance.
“Ezra hasn’t seen him either,” Saint offered as he stepped back into the office. He crossed the room with a few quick strides and leaned over Kochran’s computer. The screens went blank as he worked.
Unable to remain stationary, Enver shoved his hands wrist deep into his pockets and tried not to imagine all the horrible possibilities. He wasn’t someone prone to such nervousness, but something had been off with Marcus since that first night he’d introduced Enver to the VR world. The first night they’d kissed. It all seemed to have melted away by the time they’d taken things out of virtual reality and into the real world. Even as the pieces had been falling into place, there had been an undercurrent Enver couldn’t put his finger on. He’d thought it had been his own worries about his addiction, but this was something else entirely.
“Hey, Thumper, you want to stop before you shake the club apart?”
“What?” Enver glanced down and realized he’d picked back up his nervous habit of tapping his foot rapidly. “Sorry.”
“Bingo,” Saint said triumphantly. “Got him. He moved his stuff out of the room at around three this morning. Club was just shutting down for the night. You here then?” he asked as he glanced toward the owner.
Kochran shook his head. “Had a gig at Screwdriver with the band. Tuesday nights are typically a slow night at the club, so it’s entirely possible he could have left without being seen as the staff closed up.”
Entirely possible given the lack of observation from the front door staff. Damn. Enver had neglected to inform Kochran of Rosen’s screw-up that night. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he needed to accept the one thing he couldn’t ignore: whatever had happened to Marcus, Enver had played a small part. If he’d mentioned Rosen’s lapse in attention to Kochran after the incident, he would have corrected the issue. Then the staff watching the front door may have gotten suspicious of Marcus removing all of his equipment without notice.
Saint pointed to the screens, gesturing to the small row of numbers across the top of each freeze-frame. “Outside cameras have him and a woman loading up a white truck with the equipment. They pulled out of the lot about three-fifty.”
“Truck?” Enver thought that was strange. “Sure he wasn’t in a car?”
“Nope. Take a look.” Saint queued up the video.
The image was grainy, but Enver recognized Marcus’s form as he loaded his equipment cases into the bed of the sleek truck. “He has a piece-of-shit beater Firebird that he always hauls stuff around in.” He leaned closer, trying to see if he could make out Marcus’s face or recognize the woman helping him. “Something’s going on.”
“Any idea what?”
“Doesn’t talk much about himself.” Enver thought back to the first time Marcus had introduced him to the virtual reality world. “There was a family issue he mentioned a few weeks after he started. Almost left then.” But Enver had convinced him to stay. Shit. Had that been a mistake?
“So maybe that’s the case again. Maybe it’s his sister.”
The woman helping him could have very well been related to him. The grainy night-vision of the security cameras made it impossible to tell.
Kochran cleared his throat. “Regardless of what happened, we need to face the reality that we very well could be out of luck with the club’s new expansion.” He gestured to the screen. “We’ll need to confirm, but to me it looks like he’s taken everything he’s been working on. If that’s the case, Noble House is up the creek without a paddle in terms of virtual reality.”
“I don’t think so.” Saint sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve been working with him on and off since we hired him. Ezra and Maddy too. Neither of them mentioned anything suspicious. Yeah, his behavior is a little odd at times, but that’s typical for a code grinder. I don’t think he’s trying to screw us over, and Enver’s right about something else going on.”
“I’ll keep in touch.” Enver left without further explanation. He had no idea what to do or even where to look, but he had to do something instead of staring at a stupid computer monitor. Problem was, for the first time since he’d admitted his sex addition, he felt helpless.
* * *
It had been four days since the attack, and Marcus swore he could still catch the stench of urine on his skin. Still feel the press of Davis’s hands pinning him to the ground, holding him immobile, threatening bodily harm. He was convinced no matter how hot the water, how much soap he used, he wouldn’t ever be able to rid himself of the putrid aroma. He hadn’t slept a full night since. Every time he closed his eyes, his vivid imagination carried him to a place where Davis had followed through with his threat.
Once the hospital had released him, instead of sleeping, he’d hopped himself up on energy drinks, shoved every bit of his equipment at the club into the truck borrowed from Zoie, and spent hours driving as far as he could away from California. Zoie had offered him cash, but he’d declined. He wanted a paper trail—the wider the better. He’d make one as extensive as the Grand Canyon if he had to if that’s what it took to keep those he loved safe.
Still, he didn’t have unlimited funds and had to be smart or this impromptu road trip would be over before it began. Road trip, hell. He was fleeing. When the money started to dwindle, he’d have to resort to selling the equipment they’d piled into the back. Better in the long run, really. It would be easier to run without all the baggage.
The other thing he had accepted from Zoie was a disposable phone. It sat charging on the dashboard, the red light beckoning for him to send a message or make the phone call he desperately wanted to make.
She’d surprised him when she’d handed it to him, convincing him that he needed a way to contact her if he thought he was in danger again. Though she hadn’t said as much, Marcus was convinced she had the untraceable phone because she might someday do exactly what he’d done.
The temptation to make contact with Enver was a powerful force he had fought against since he’d pulled out of the Noble House parking lot. But he couldn’t risk putting Enver in danger. Couldn’t live with himself if something happened to him. Maybe leaving this way wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was the only option Marcus could think of where everyone he cared about remained safe.
Spotting a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, he pulled into the lot. Aches and pains erupted through his body as he exited the vehicle.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, he came face to face with Davis. A monstrous sneer nearly split the man’s face in two.
Marcus blinked, and the man before him gave him a curious glance. “You all right, son?”
Not Davis. Not even close.
Panic nearly caused his knees to collapse from under him. He burst through the glass doors, swallowing the bile burning the back of his throat. Long hours on the road had notched his paranoia to an all-time high. As he fast-walked to the truck, cold sweat erupted over his body.
Fuck. No. Fuck.
He would not break down in the middle of Nowheresville in the state of Clusterfuck.
He. Would. Not.
In the safety of the truck, he ignored the ringing phone as he clutched at the wheel, setting his hands against his forehead. Inhaled deeply and counted to ten. Exhaled. Stared at the rumbling semitrucks jockeying for position at the pumps in the hopes that it would soothe him.
The persistent ringing of the phone finally made him snatch it up. Zoie’s name was displayed on the screen, and Marcus let out a slow breath as his heart rate settled. “Hey, cupcake.”
“You all right? Took a bit for you to answer.”
“Just had to pull over to take your call. Too tired to try to focus on driving and talk to you at the same time.” The lie slid easily off his tongue. Though, in reality, it wasn’t total fabrication. He exited the truck, leaning back against the bed as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You doing okay?”
“More importantly, are you? Sounds like you need some sleep.”
“Planning on stopping tonight for a few hours,” he lied again.
“Where are you—wait, never mind. Better I don’t know.”
Which was good since he didn’t know himself.
She sighed heavily. “We’re closing the case on the attack. Told the sarge we chalked it up to some kids out trying to cause havoc by vandalizing an abandoned car because they were bored. He laughed it off as boys will be boys.”
Which meant she’d buried the truth. “Thank you.”
“I still don’t agree that you’ve painted a big target on your back.” She paused. Marcus imagined her sitting at her desk, hunched over as she rubbed at the headache she’d probably been fighting since she’d found him in the parking lot. “But I understand. Just promise me you’ll stay safe and contact me if you suspect anything. Anything at all even if it turns out to be a sloth winning a marathon.”
“I promise, cupcake, as long as you do the same.” Which was absurd. Zoie didn’t have anyone chasing after her.
