Marshall: A Bad Boy Romance

by Kara Hart

  I drink my Corona quickly and find myself ordering another one. The door nearly slams open and all of the bells attached to it jiggle violently. I’m shaky, probably too nervous. I need to relax. When I glance over, I see the guy. I know who he is. I’ve studied him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Warren Marshall. Jesus fucking Christ. I try not to cry, but I’m so freaked out. I hold my breath and count to ten. I fake a smile at the pool players, but it’s obvious I’m not with them. I have no plan, no good alibi, and no great escape. I down the second beer in a second, and push toward the door, avoiding all eye contact.

  “Shot of Whiskey,” I hear him say to the bartender. I feel it. I feel his head turn in my direction. Don’t do it. Don’t say anything. Please. “Whoa there! Hold on a minute. Who are you and where are you going? You look suspicious,” he says.

  I stop dead in my tracks. “Um, I—” I choke. I don’t know what to say. He’s caught me. I’m done for. I’m going to jail forever. All my plans down the drain. He smiles, looking like a wolf. He’s got perfect teeth, a perfect body, and a perfect face. He terrifies me.

  “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “Didn’t mean to frighten ya. What’s your name? Why don’t you have a drink with me?”

  Shit. I look toward the door, but he sees my hesitance, so I attempt to look calm. No dice. I am not calm. I am far from it. My heart is pounding. I swear, I’m starting to sweat. I’m losing fucking control in the worst way. I start to feel dizzy. I start to think about how things were three months ago, when the guys and me first hashed out this plan. It was so idyllic. It wasn’t too hot. Summer hadn’t quite hit yet. We had all these plans. There was going to be so much money coming in that we could all buy a villa somewhere, on the cheap. All of our dreams could come true. I could own a coffee shop somewhere in the south of Italy, in Sicily. The old country. Things would be real. Finally.

  “I really shouldn’t,” I say out of the side of my mouth. God, why do I have to be so awkward all the time. I’m tough. Deep down, I’m really tough. Why can’t I ever let it show? “I’ve had enough alcohol already…”

  “What?” he laughs and claps his hands eagerly. “Too drunk? It’s early, darling.”

  “Yeah, but…” Come on. I need an excuse. Anything. I just need to come up with something good. “Studying,” I blurt out. I don’t even say a real sentence, just studying. It’s pathetic and I hate myself for it.

  He checks his watch and I suddenly notice how smooth his lips look, how perfectly tanned his skin is. He’s riding that perfect line of young enough to still be attractive and old enough to be a man. He’s powerful. It all happens in a split second and then the allure wears off. Bad news. I’m always tempted by bad news. If someone told me to stare away from the sun, I’d stare straight at it until my eyes burned out.

  “It’s only 10:30. You’re really going to leave this place at 10:30?” he asks. When I don’t answer, he keeps going, pulling up two stools for both of us. “Come on. Sit down. This place gets real fun around 11.”

  “Okay,” I mutter. I’m forced to oblige him. If I say no, I’m afraid he’ll tail me. I hate cops more than I hate the real bad guys, killers and the like. They’re practically the same thing to me. I still don’t know if he’s on to me or not. If he’s not, then I can move on and feel a little better about my situation.

  “What’s your name? I think I’ve seen you around here before. You’ve lived here a while, haven’t you?” he asks me, motioning for a drink at the bar tender. “What’re you drinking?”

  “Uh, yeah. A while now,” I lie. “I’ll take a—?” I glance over at his drink.

  “Whiskey soda!” he yells at the bartender. He nods. “It’s a simple drink. I like it enough, I suppose. Anyway, I’ve been here all my damn life. Name’s Marshall.”

  He puts out his hand, but when I go to shake it he takes my fingers in his hand and kisses the top of my knuckles. His cologne wafts into my nose slowly, but surely, and I can’t help but approve. It reminds me of my father’s and it brings back good memories for a second. Then I remember that he’s not akin to me. He’s nowhere near like me.

  “Marshall. Nice to meet you. I’m Virginia Greene.” I say it to him in a nice, sweet voice. As long as I’ve got him here, I might as well play the character up a bit. If he thinks of me as nice, beautiful, and willing to please him, he’ll always think of me that way. That’s one advantage women have over men.

  “Virginia slim,” he jokes, wrapping his hand around my waist. I twitch a little and he lets it drop to my knee. I let it rest there, despite my major reluctance.

  “Bad joke,” I tell him honestly.

  “Yeah, I’m not too good at telling jokes,” he says, taking a sip. The way he looks at me is deep and thoughtful, and I soon start to realize that I have nothing to worry about. He has no idea that I’m a criminal. He can’t care to give that a second thought right now. Right now, all the thinking is going on in his cock.

  Am I scared still? Yes. But my heart has slowed down to a normal rate and I’m not clammy anymore. Scared, but I can get out of this.

  I drink from my glass faster than normal. All I can think about is getting back to my bed, back to the comfort of my shitty apartment. I’ve hated that place for so long, but now it seems like a godsend. God, why did I have to change my life around for some extra cash? Freedom, I know. But the whole thing now seems unthinkable. If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t go through with it. That much, I know.

  He squeezes my leg and it snaps me out of my trance. Actually, he’s looking more handsome. In this deck of cards, he’s an enemy. But he doesn’t know that. “You’re funny,” I laugh. “It wasn’t that bad of a joke.”

  I don’t know why I’m humoring him. It’s the daredevil in me, always willing to ride the line. I could go back to his place right now. I could jump onto his lap. He could feel down my waist, around the curves that lead toward my ass, and even further toward the greatest treasure man has ever laid eyes on. I could unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. I could grab his thick cock. I know it’s huge. And I could slowly push it inside me. I can feel it now.

  I’m wet.

  “Thank you, sweetie-pie,” he says, winking. The wink. It kills me. I need to calm down. My heart starts beating in a very different way. All of the blood has moved between my legs. I’m warm and he can sense it. Men like him can always sense it.

  “You’re cute,” I say, laughing a little and scrunching up my nose. What the hell am I doing? I’m riding the line…

  4

  Marshall

  “I’m cute?” I reply back. I can’t believe this woman is saying I’m cute. The things I could do to her. The things I will do to her. She has no idea. I’m not cute. I’m an animal and I’m going to ravage her.

  “Little bit,” she smiles. God damn, her cute little nose. She’s the cute one. She’s fucking beautiful. Jaw-dropping, gorgeous. Perfect figure. An ass and a pair of tits that men would kill each other over. She’s talking to me. I found her first. I can’t believe it.

  “Damn, you’re a whole lot of wonderful,” I say, feeling the alcohol start to influence me. “I needed this.”

  “Needed what?” she smiles. Her teeth are white. Her eyes are hazel green. Her skin has a slight tan color to it. Perfect. She’s perfect. I want to bend her over against the bar right now. I want to kick everyone out and have her do a little dance for me, while I sit in the back and stroke my…

  “I needed to talk to someone beautiful,” I say. “I had a hard night last night.”

  “Yeah?” she looks down at my belt and I feel my cock twitch a little. Gotta control myself. Can’t get hard in front of a crowd. Everyone here knows who I am.

  I see her glance at my holster and then at my badge, which is tucked inside of it. It shouldn’t be hangin’ out like that, but it is. Fuck it.

  “You some kind of a sheriff?” she asks me.

  “Somewhat,” I say. Ranks don’t matter. She doesn’t know the ins and outs of the busi
ness. Anyway, I’d rather not even talk about what I do for a living. That whole thing is boring. Unfortunately, women tend to focus on it. They love a man in uniform. They love the idea that there are some bad men out there and I can be the one to protect them.

  “You lock up the bad guys?” she asks innocently. She makes a fake gun gesture with her hand and shoots at the air, making some noises.

  I laugh when she laughs. I want her to keep having a good time. Being a cop is much more than that, though. It’s putting your life on the line. Any place you go, there can be trouble. Shit, there are probably a few people who want me dead in this bar here. I try not to let it get to me.

  “Been a cop almost all my life. Even when I was a kid, I was already a cop. It’s in my blood, I guess,” I tell her.

  “Was your dad a cop or something?” she asks. She stirs her ice in her glass, letting me know that I need to buy her another drink. I glance at the bartender and point with my head, making a “two” sign with my hand. She continues, “Seems like a scary job to sign up for.”

  I laugh again and glance down at her legs. She’s wearing a basic skirt, white, it’s a little short, but I want to see more. I have to see more. I place my hand on her thigh again and try to test fate. She doesn’t fret or say a word. She just lets me. She’s warmer the higher I go, but I stop at a normal respectable place. I don’t want to press too much, too fast.

  “It’s a stupid job to sign up for. Most of us, believe it or not, aren’t the smartest people,” I smile. “But I was called to it. I, uh, grew up around some pretty bad people growing up. My pa used to beat up on my sister… Being a cop was a duty I felt I needed to do, despite my well-being.”

  It’s the truth. My parents were assholes. No. They were worse. They were low-life drug users who had a knack for knocking my older sister around. Then, they took to beating me, which wasn’t really the whole problem. I could take a beating. I wanted to protect Sarah, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. Helpless. That’s the only word that sounds right.

  “That’s very noble,” she says, nodding. I look solemn. I know it. I gotta snap out of it.

  “Anyway, I’m getting all depressing now. Let’s talk about something nice,” I say.

  “Like what?” she asks. She checks her watch. Have I blown it? Is she going to leave me here high and dry?

  “Like that smile of yours,” I say. She glances down bashfully. It’s damn cute. “How can I get that smile to go out with me?”

  She laughs a little and keeps on smiling. “I don’t know. I…” she trails off, thinking a little. She’s seeing someone. I’ve seen this reaction before. “I sort of have a boyfriend,” she says. Nailed it.

  “Is your boyfriend as handsome and charming as me?” I ask her.

  “Well, he’s not a cop,” she says. Ouch. “Just joking. He’s kind of a deadbeat.”

  I don’t care what he is. I want to feel what it’s like when my lips crush against hers, dragging down her delicate skin, kissing her bellybutton, as she twitches ever-so-slightly, and I finally meet the center of all pleasure. I want to suck on each fold, massaging my tongue against her smoothly. I want to taste her and enjoy her. I want to devour her.

  “Good,” I say. “I’m not. Let me take you out. Steak dinner. It’ll be expensive.”

  I never put this much effort into a woman. She should feel grateful. Hell, I do. I still can’t believe I found a woman this beautiful in this kind of a shithole. “I might have to take you up on that offer,” she says.

  “How about we just skip the dinner and go back to your place?” I find myself saying, feeling pretty good about myself.

  She just shakes her head and says, “Nice try,” and she begins to walk away. I call after her and she stops, grabbing in her purse. A real fucking tease, this woman. She smiles and pulls out a pen and a blank card. She writes down a phone number and kisses the front. Her lipstick leaves an impression and I nearly fall from the barstool. “Call me. Maybe I’ll answer. Maybe I won’t,” she says.

  “Sure thing,” I say. I’m intrigued, to say the least. If I can solve this bank thing and bag a hot girl, I’ll have won the fucking lottery.

  5

  Virginia

  God, I want to vomit. What the fuck is wrong with me? Borderline personality? Maybe. I don’t know anymore. You’d think I’d play it safe, but deep down I love to skirt the line.

  “One week. That’s all you’ll have to wait. There’s a boat with your name on it. Tell the ticket guy at the docks your name and he’ll take you where you need to go,” Craig told me before the big heist. “We’ll all meet up in Sicily. We’ll have a big fucking celebration. Pasta, fried squid, wine… it’ll be perfect.”

  We’re all good friends and now things feel so incredibly lonely without them. The only thing I have to do to pass the time is read the few books I’ve kept around my place. Other than that, it’s stare at the wall. So I guess that’s another reason why I talked to him. He really seems to have no idea who I am or what I really do for a living. I’m the girl he’s after, in so many ways.

  My phone rings the next day, but I don’t answer it. I don’t want to see Marshall. I don’t need that kind of shit right now. It was stupid of me, anyways. No, instead, I head over to a small coffee shop down the block. It’s a total dump, but they always have the TV on, there’s never anyone there, and I figure I can get some news that way. I don’t have a TV at my place, so it works out.

  I open the door and Jin, the old Japanese owner, nods in my direction. I nod back and he smiles. My heart is beating quick again. I still haven’t gotten used to the thought that nobody knows what I did. Part of me is waiting for the day where everyone points in my direction, when I’ll feel that heavy lump fall to the pit of my stomach.

  No. I can’t think that way.

  “Just a drip coffee,” I tell him and I glance at the top right corner of the store. The TV is off. He’s got the radio playing some old tunes instead. A fly buzzes by an open container of alcohol and he shoos it away.

  He pours me a cup of coffee and asks, “How’s it been, sweetheart?” Sweetheart. It’s the type of compliment all men give to women in the area. For the most part it’s cute and I accept it around these parts.

  “Okay,” I take a sip of the coffee. “Anyway, I’m alive.”

  “Yeah, that’s something,” he nods. He doesn’t take it any further.

  “Think you can turn the TV on for me? Heard there was some commotion the other day,” I say. It’s a small town. He’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

  “The bank thing? They stole a hell of a lot of money,” he laughs and clicks the remote. “Good on them though. Those bankers have been stealing from us for decades. It’s about time someone gave them some payback.”

  “I guess so,” I mutter, feeling sort of thrilled by the whole thing. I never really thought about the idea that other people might actually inadvertently be rooting for us, like we’ve done the town a favor or something. I expected pitchforks and mobs, and angry policemen. So far, we’ve gotten very little of any of that.

  “It doesn’t worry you?” I ask him. “Seeing people steal like that? It kind of scares me.”

  He shrugs. “Nothing really scares me these days. Nothing except myself,” he says.

  Truth is, I really relate to that. Nothing scares me either, except my own guilt, and my history. The one thing I could relate to when talking to Marshall last night was when he mentioned his father beating up on his sister like that. My father also beat on us. The only difference was, my mother went right alongside with him. I don’t know what kind of a relationship he has with his family now, if any, but I still see my parents around this city. I still have to be in the same proximity, knowing they got away with everything. I don’t talk to them anymore, but every so often, our eyes meet.

  The knowing hurts more than anything.

  The TV volume blares and Jin struggles to hit the remote fast enough to turn it down. “The police have offered v
ery little information, but the investigation is going at full speed,” a reporter says. They cut to a prior interview with Marshall’s partner, a man named Adam. He says, “We will find these men and we will bring them to justice.”

  It’s a standard answer, and one that has the desired effect, I suppose. They will find these men, perhaps. But will they find the woman? I laugh slightly and Jin eyes me. “See, you think it’s a little funny too. Don’t you?”

  “A little bit,” I admit.

  “I doubt they’ll find them,” he says.

  “I honestly have no clue,” I shrug. “Life goes on, I suppose.”

  I think about Marshall and I feel sick to my stomach again. That guy is a bastard. No doubt about it. He’s a cop who fucks women, and probably doesn’t even think to call them back. And yet, I’m drawn to him like a fly to a spider’s web.

  Before I get out of this city, I’m going to do everyone a favor. I’m going to respect Jin and everybody else’s wishes. I’m going to take Marshall down.

  I am the spider. And he has no idea just how far he’s caught in my web.

  6

  Marshall

  The bitch won’t even answer her phone. All I get is the same “We’re sorry. The caller you are trying to reach is not available,” message. It’s disheartening, to say the least. Here I am, working on the hardest case of my damn career. I thought she’d be there when I needed her. Well, shit, I thought wrong. I have to hand it to her. She led me on real well.

  I have no real case to work on. That’s the worst of it. All I have are a few lousy descriptions of the three perpetrators. Let’s see… they’re about 5 foot 4 inches to 6 foot two inches. They were wearing masks. They carried bags. They were highly skilled. Possible sexual crimes on the side. The pantyhose still perplex me.