Marshall: A Bad Boy Romance

by Kara Hart

  How could this be? Why are Craig and Elroy fucking everything up? I should have never trusted two men to come up with a steady plan. Of course there would be some shakiness to all of it. All I can think is, “This is fucking bullshit.”

  I almost fucked that man. I almost let him grapple with his innermost desires. Worst thing is, I think I actually wanted it. I think I wanted his hands to touch me, to grab me, to pull me in deeper. It’s that look in his eyes that does me in. He looks at me like I’m a treasure, like I’m a cut above the rest. I’ve never really felt that before, but now I have the chance to pursue it in the most fucked up way ever.

  I shouldn’t do it. I mean, I couldn’t even go through with it. How could I? But I deeply wanted to. God, I’m so fucked up. I’m not a girl that plays games? Fuck, I play the best games and it always starts with myself. My own battles… it’s just not right. I’m not right.

  Craig calls the new burner phone that I bought earlier this morning. “What’s the word?” he asks me.

  “Nothing,” I sigh. “What do you want? Do you have a plan?”

  “We have something cooking up,” he says. He mumbles something to Elroy in the background and then says, “45 minutes outside of town. There’s a small local place. No CTV.”

  “Security? Police?” I say, turning my head in paranoia to see if anybody could be listening or watching me. I’m in my house. I don’t know how it would be possible, but I don’t want to take any chances.

  “Of course, some security. Nothing we can’t handle,” he says. “Police will get there fast, no doubt. We’ll have to get a vehicle.”

  “Why can’t we go at night like last time?” I stupidly ask. Of course, we can’t. We have no materials left since the first hit.

  “You know why we can’t. That took months of planning, months of buying the right stuff,” he says. “No. This time, we do it the old school way. In and out. 90 seconds or less. Hopefully less.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I say. “Not at all. It makes me sick to think about.”

  “We’ll be fine,” he assures me in a calm voice. “You’ll do great. Just grab what you need to grab, while I do the yelling. In and out. Remember.”

  “We need to meet,” I say. “At least, go over things better.”

  “Sure thing,” he says. “Hey, listen. I saw you with that Marshall guy.”

  When he says that, I take a seat, quickly. I don’t know how he’s going to react. He’s already expressed to Elroy in the past that he thinks I’m too wild, too crazy. What’s he going to think now?

  “Yeah?” I try and keep cool. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Then what are you doing? Are you sabotaging us? There’s people I’ll let know. I’ll bring you down with us,” he says.

  “Keep your enemies closer,” I say. “Anyway, it’s not like anything crazy has happened. He thinks I’m just another cute girl at the bar.”

  He sighs loudly and talks to Elroy again. Finally, I hear the phone switch over. “Craig wants you done.” It’s Elroy’s voice.

  “Yeah, well. What do you want?” I ask him. Elroy’s had a crush on me since, well, forever. But he’s not like Craig. He’s a standup guy. I just don’t like him in that way. Elroy will have my back on this. I know he will.

  “I want you to come to your senses, girl,” he says. “This isn’t a game. It’s life or death.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s that extreme,” I argue.

  “No? I think it’s worse. We could go away for a very long time, V,” he says. “You really want to get out and see that the world’s changed, that you could have had kids but missed the chance, and that you could have lived a real life if you just chilled out?”

  “I didn’t have a fucking choice, okay? He came at me at the bar,” I tell him. “What was I going to do? Tell him to fuck off? I was scared. I was scared for my goddamn life.”

  “You should have kept your mouth shut and kept walking. He’s just another horn dog who wants to fuck you. Big deal. There’s no need to talk to the man,” he says. “What did he want anyway?”

  “Exactly what you just said. He wants me,” I say, shielding my eyes. The whole thing is just so stupid. I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this mess.

  “Now he’s going to do everything in his power to keep his eye on you. You really think he doesn’t know you’re involved in the hit? Really?” he presses me.

  “Just let me deal with this. Your secret’s safe with me. You have nothing to worry about,” I plead. I place my head against the table. “Look, just leave me alone. And don’t call me on this number again. Goodbye.”

  “V! Wait, I—” I hang up the phone.

  Do I really like this... this… cop? No. I don’t like him. But now I’ve done myself in. I’ve given into the idea of the unthinkable and now I have to keep him close, especially after this next job. I need to make sure he has no idea what’s going to happen next. I think I’m about to make the worst mistake of my life.

  10

  Marshall

  I’ve waited for her to call me for days. Fucking days. I don’t get this woman. First, she acts like she wants to straddle my cock, then she acts colder than cold toward me. What’s her angle? Is she game or is she going to keep stringing me along? Better yet, what’s she hiding in that brain of hers? Must be some kind of trauma. Maybe I want to back off.

  Of course, just as I decide to, I feel my pocket vibrate. “Sorry about the other night,” she says. “I overreacted.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I type. “It’s your choice. If you don’t want to hang with me, you don’t have to.”

  “No. I do,” she says. “I really do.”

  “What about tomorrow night?” I ask her.

  “Sounds good,” she says.

  Sounds good? Great. I think I was wrong about this woman. She lives for the game. She lives to play tricks on guys like me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Adam says. We’re sitting at his house, whiskey bottle on the table, but we’re barely even drinking. I’ve tuned out again. I shouldn’t be focusing on what my cock wants. I should be in the game, trying to catch these bastards.

  “Nothing,” I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. “I’m listening. Go on.”

  “Look, I’ve found three possible sites that could point to where they’re going to hit next,” he says. “Here, here, and here.”

  His fingers point at this last bank, one a little far away, but it’s a damn good guess. “It’s big enough. It would be hard to rob though. How much security do they got over there?”

  “Not as much as you think,” he says. “Two. Sometimes three if they’ve hired on too many people for the year.”

  “Hm,” I sigh. I can’t concentrate as much as I want to. My head isn’t in the game. I keep thinking of her. Her waist. Her ass. Those perfect, supple breasts. God dammit.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “It seems too convenient.”

  “I’ve got a hunch that these guys are about justice, or at least they think they are. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, they’re nothing but money stealing criminals,” he tells me, looking confident with himself. “It’s a big bank. It’s not a conglomerate, so they could get away with it. They do a lot of shady loans over there. Very poor area. The people wouldn’t give a damn if it were hit. In fact, they’d probably celebrate it.”

  “Just like they did over here,” I nod. “Sure. You’re probably right about that. But what about this one right here?” I move his finger over to the left, maybe twenty miles south.

  “Too small,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Marshall. I just don’t see them hitting that one. It’d be easy, but there’s not a lot of money in it.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” I say. “They already did their big hit and it made national news. They’re not that cocky. They can’t be.”

  “Don’t underestimate the stupidity of a criminal,” he says.

  “Don’t underestimate t
he brains of a criminal,” I correct him. After a few seconds of thinking this through, I tell him, “Fine. We’ll go your way on this one. You deserve to call the shots every now and then. You’re a big boy.”

  “Shut up, man,” he folds up the map and takes a swig from the bottle. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “I know you won’t,” I mutter. But deep down, I know they’re going to get away with this one too. They almost always do, if they’re smart enough. And these guys sure are smart enough. It takes three or four to really take a motherfucker down, and when it happens, I’m going to be the man who does it.

  11

  Virginia

  “You still haven’t shown me your place,” he says, with a sly smile on his face. He calmly looks into my eyes as he takes another shot. I’m still sipping on my first, heart beating quick and irregular. My temperature has gone up and I know I’m glistening in the yellowish light of the bar.

  “You don’t want to see it,” I tell him. “Trust me. It’s a shithole.” It’s not really a lie. It is pretty bad. Clothes are strewn everywhere, I haven’t vacuumed in months, and dust lines the tops of my cabinets. I thought I’d be out of the country in a few days. I didn’t expect to be in this insane predicament. Still, even if my apartment was spotless, I wouldn’t offer to show him. He’s already gotten too close to me. He expects to get much closer.

  He puts his hand on my kneecap and I nearly spill my drink from jumping. “You okay?” he asks me, slightly angry, I think.

  “Yeah. Sorry I keep doing this. I’m just not used to—” He laughs, cutting my sentence short.

  “Used to cops? I get it,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  “No,” I laugh a little sarcastically. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Sure I do, darling,” he says, pointing at a bottle of something. The bartender knows exactly what he wants and he pours him another one. “Everybody hates the police nowadays. They think we’re bad men. It’s a shame, really. I pride myself on being good. In multiple ways.”

  I get the idea. But he’s downright annoying. He’s got this heather-grey undershirt on that tucks in right at that V-formation that forms underneath his perfect abs. The shirt hugs tight against each and every curve of his muscles, and for a split second I wonder what it would be like to feel between those lines, to kiss each ripple of flesh.

  I gulp my drink down and feel my thighs start to grow warm. I’m doomed, so doomed. “Well, that’s great. You’re the one good cop that’s out there. A real small town hero, right?” It comes out bitchy and I know it, but I can’t help it. I can’t hear this guy brag about how righteous he is when he knows that deep down, we’re all prone to being bad every now and then.

  “Now you’re getting rude,” he says.

  “Sorry. Again. But what makes you think you’re such a great guy?” I ask him. His eyebrows arch upward as if he’s never pondered the question before in his life. “I mean, what gives you the right to take another man’s freedom away from him?”

  “You’ve been watching too much of the local news, haven’t you?” he laughs. Then, he heaves a sigh and relaxes a bit. “But I get it. Don’t you worry. I really understand. There’s something to what you’re saying. But it’s like I told you a few days ago. I grew up watching really bad people get away with flexing their power. There were no checks and balances. Now, I’ve dedicated my life to stopping those people.”

  I nod, even though I’m sure he doesn’t get what I’m saying. If he did, he wouldn’t be pursuing this line. “Let’s just hope you don’t turn into one of those people, yourself. It’s a real fine line.”

  This date is already off to a rough start. Why are we talking about this crap? Why do I always have to interject with my brazen opinion? Normally, it doesn’t get me anywhere, and I’m sure it won’t take me anywhere nice with Marshall. I want his attention focused on me, not my criminality.

  “Let’s talk about nicer things,” I let up with a smile.

  “Better yet, let’s dance,” he says, twitching his brows up and down. He kicks the stool back and holds his hands out in front of him, bending slightly to the old country music. I turn to look at the empty dance floor and laugh.

  “There’s nobody dancing, Marshall. It’s embarrassing,” I say.

  “Aw, come on. Live a little. You’re always so damn tense,” he says, spinning me around. I awkwardly turn and waddle my feet.

  “I can’t,” I tell him, feeling so embarrassed already. The old bartender starts clapping to the music and he hollers a “Yeah!” in my direction.

  “You know you want to,” he hums. “Be my girl tonight.”

  Be my girl. Be my baby. Be my woman. The thought of that feels good. To be somebody’s anything makes me smile, and I actually start laughing as he pulls me toward the dancefloor.

  “There we go!” he says. Warmth floods my body like sunshine, like those good days I can remember, from back when I was a child. I step back and find a small groove, and I follow his lead.

  “Dammit,” I say. “I can’t believe I’m dancing. I haven’t danced in over a decade.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he says. “Well, now’s your chance to be free again.”

  The thought is funny to me. That dancing with him could somehow be freeing in anyway is almost an oxymoron. He’s my enemy. He’s the man that wants to lock me up forever. Only, he has no idea. He’s ignorant to the whole damn thing.

  He pulls me close to him as the lights dim around us. Soon, others are dancing by us. The music has slowed down to something romantic, and slightly cheesy. I can feel his heart beating against mine, the pounding of the rhythm of his body. The bass moves too, causing us to drift closer to each other. “You’re beautiful. You know that?” he whispers, lips against my cheek.

  “You’re only saying that because you want something from me,” I say, honestly. My eyes soon close, though. My argument doesn’t matter much anymore. The truth is that we all want something from someone. We all want good things out of this life. I used to fault some people for this, but now it just seems like human nature. We’re all just searching for a little bit of the magic. Whatever of that is left, at least.

  “Not true,” he lies. “I’m telling you because I want to. That’s the only thing I’m getting out of this. I know I’m not taking you home tonight, and that’s fine with me.”

  My cheek falls to his shoulder. It’s strong and bold, and so is the arm that hugs around my back, the hand that is now running down my hair. It feels so good, and so pure. A bit of excitement runs through my body and I smile again. I suddenly want to give him something real. I want him to have something special.

  “Let’s go back to your place,” I say. “We’ll have some coffee and talk.”

  “You sure about that?” He pulls me away slightly so I’m forced to look at him in the face. “We don’t have to.” He’s courteous, but of course deep down he’s thinking, “Please, lord. Let me bang the shit out of this woman.” I know, because it’s how all men think. At least he’s kind on the outside, although you almost have to worry more about guys like that.

  “I want to, idiot.” I turn away from him and slide my hand down the front of his shirt. I feel his muscles finally and they’re impeccable. He’s built to last, that’s for sure. I let my fingers brush the top of his zipper, and I swear I can feel him grow a little for me. I walk toward the front door and he’s forced to follow me like a dog begging for food at the table.

  Outside, I can hear the crunch beneath his soles. He’s not wearing the cowboy boots anymore. Instead, he’s got a pair of nice working man’s boots, a little used from being on the job most likely. He’s got his gun around his waist, which never scares a girl like me. Instead, I sort of like it. Maybe I’m not supposed to, but I grew up around men like that. I’ve never had a problem.

  His house is cold with A/C and oddly enough, it’s much cleaner than I imagined. He turns around with a bag of coffee in his hand, smiling. “I got that coffee if you�
�” I stop him with a hurried kiss, and I pull back only to see his hungry-eyed expression.

  Before I can even take another breath in, he quickly picks me up by my thighs, flipping me around until I feel myself fall against his kitchen counter. Everything is rushed and sloppy, in the best way possible. We’ve both been building this up for days, but tonight is the breaking point. We must give into our lust and all the primal passions we have to offer.

  He rips off both of our shirts as I fumble for his belt. I pull it off and throw it around his waist, making sure he moves even closer. I unzip his jeans and I can already feel how hard he is as my hands graze over him.

  “Yes,” he moans, a simple gesture.

  His right hand moves across my tits, and he feels me gently, becoming freer every second as a man. I let him have his way with me. His left hand moves firm around my thighs, slowly falling toward my core. I’m wet, so fucking wet, and the excitement is throughout my very being. He cups my pussy, spreading me apart. Two fingers push inside me and I unleash a high-pitched moan of desire. He feels so fucking good.

  He falls to his knees and kisses the inside of my thighs. “Finally,” he says, as if he’s been starving for me. “Finally, I can have you.”

  Marshall’s tongue moves across my already wet lips with a confident assuredness I rarely ever get the chance to feel. His fingers arch up inside of me as if to say, “Come closer to me,” but we’re already as close as we can get. No, there’s a different type of closeness we wish to get to, a level of feeling that’s far too real. This man is much different than I am. We’re practically on the other ends of life’s spectrum. Yet, that’s what makes this feel like it needs to happen. It’s so wrong, of course life shoves us together.

  He finally tastes me, kissing forward and licking in the opposite direction. He lets out a hungered groan. All his muscles flex for a second, tightening up. I wrap my legs around him and fall back against the cupboards above. “Fuck V,” he moans, unknowing that that’s the nickname my partners call me, how I’m known to all the bad seeds he so desperately wants to destroy.