Mark (The Mallick Brothers #3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  Those naughty little words proved the last push I needed.

  His cock slammed inward, and I splintered apart with an orgasm that seemed to start at the base of my spine and explode outward.

  I cried out his name, face buried in his throat, feeling him fuck me through it, his own breathing getting ragged, cursing viciously right before he slammed deep, body jerking, coming with my name on his lips.

  His weight collapsed into me, pressing me deeper into the mattress, making breathing more of a wish and a prayer than a reality. But it didn't matter.

  My arms slid around his upper back; my legs wrapped around his hips.

  And I just... held on.

  Because I knew I wouldn't have long. In the grand scheme of things, just minutes with him. So I was going to hold onto it while I had it. To him while I had him.

  But we couldn't stay that way forever.

  Mark proved this point just a few short minutes later when he planted his hands, taking some of his weight, and pulling against my hold so he could press up and look down at me.

  His eyes were intense for a moment, completely unreadable.

  But then a slow, wicked, boyish smile pulled at his lips.

  "I think I made it up to you."

  "Made what up to me?" I asked numbly, brain completely blanketed with a post-orgasm contentedness that made everything else fuzzy.

  A chuckle rolled through his chest, vibrating through my body. "Guess that proves it," he said, pulling slightly, finding resistance as I wrapped him up tighter. "Let me up, honey. Gotta deal with the condom," he informed me, making me let out a grumble as my legs unfolded and fell weightily toward the mattress. My arms released him next and he quickly pressed up, and rolled away to stand off the side of the bed, moving away from me toward a door to the side of the room, closing it after himself.

  I didn't want to be alone right then. Not even for a minute. Because my mind went ahead and did what I knew it shouldn't. It ran away with itself. It seemed to shoot off in a hundred directions all at once, completely frantic, but somehow the data still all came to me clear and crisp and full of happiness, dread, excitement, and worry.

  Because it didn't matter how good I felt right then, and it might have been better than I had ever felt before, it was fleeting. Sometime soon, maybe in just another day, maybe a week, but no more, it would all be gone. Mark would be a fading figure in my rearview.

  The few short hours of contentedness, of domestic bliss, would be nothing but a memory I would try to forget at first. Because if I remembered, it would make me angry and bitter for having to lose a chance at a life other than the one I had chosen for myself. That would fade eventually, though. It would become a waking dream I would summon up in the wee dark hours of the night in some shithole rental I was sharing with my brothers, after a long day of the same old stuff I had been going over for a decade, on a mission that while it was justified, was still somehow empty. Right then, in those moments of drudgery, of discontent, of bone-deep desire for something more, that was when I would bring it up, I would roll it over like a video, rewinding and replaying my favorite parts one hundred times over.

  I worried though that parts of it would blur around the edges, faded by time. Would I forget the exact timbre of his voice? The words he said that made my belly wobble? The intensity with which he looked at me? The feeling of possessiveness I got hearing him come with my name on his lips?

  Would it all lose its impact?

  Would it eventually be nothing but a time-soaked silent film in dull sepia-tone low contrast?

  Would there be a day when the name Mark Mallick wouldn't mean anything?

  Somehow, there was a sharp, piercing sensation inside at the very idea.

  "That's a deep look," Mark said suddenly, making me jump and turn to find him standing at the side of the bed, somehow coming out without me hearing. "You alright?" he asked, a small crease between his brows.

  I forced a smile I knew didn't meet my eyes and scooted up on the bed, reaching to slip under the covers. "Yeah, fine. Just cold." I exhaled hard, dropping my hands down at my sides, and looking around. "Oh wow," I said, a real smile pulling at my lips. "I didn't really get a chance to look around before."

  Mark's smile was devilish as he slid in with me, reaching for me, pulling my back against his chest. "Yeah, you were a little too busy worshipping my cock to notice the window dressings."

  The laugh was genuine and much needed as his fingertips started to whisper up and down my arm, his other arm a heavy weight across my lower belly. "You really are good at what you do."

  "Making you come? Yeah, baby, I'm a fucking pro if the way your pussy was squeezing me was any indication. Oh, you mean at decorating," he added, sounding light and sweet and carefree.

  It was almost enough to make me feel the same way.

  Almost.

  He definitely was good at the orgasm thing. But his decorating skills weren't lacking either.

  The bedroom wasn't a huge space, given the small house in general. But the floors were like that of the ones downstairs. The walls were a deep chocolatey brown. The bed was a massive king-size deep wood, charmingly dinged in places, but beautiful. I found I liked that about his decorating style. He didn't seem to like new and shiny. He preferred pieces with a history, with character, with a story to tell. There was no TV to speak of, somewhat surprising me, and a very unique dark wood set of nightstands and dressers.

  "Where did you get those?" I asked, motioning to the long dresser across from the bed beside the door to the hall.

  "My brother Hunter, the one who is covered in ink, he's a tattoo artist, but he makes furniture for shits and giggles. Happens to be really good at it too. When he has the time, I use him to build shit in the houses I renovate."

  "Does he have a business card?" I asked, knowing I would never be able to get an original Hunter Mallick piece. Seeing as in no time at all, I would be half a world away.

  And there was that dread again.

  But this time it had nothing to do with completing a decade-long mission, with the worry of new customs, of learning new languages, of finding gainful employment.

  No, this was something else entirely.

  Then, before he could say something to make the feeling etch deeper into my soul, I turned to face him, running my hand over the half-sleeve of his arm. "Did he do all this work on you?"

  "Some of it," he offered. At my raised brow, he shrugged. "Hunt took off for a while years back. He didn't want the lifestyle anymore, but didn't think there was a way out. So he just took off without saying anything. That's when he met Fee actually. But anyway, yeah, during that time period, I got a lot of work by another guy around here named Paine."

  "Wait," I said, smiling, watching as he smiled in return. "A tattoo artist named Paine?"

  "Yep. It's his legal name too. He did this arm," he said, gesturing. "And my back piece. The rest of this is Hunt."

  "Is this your family coat of arms?" I asked, not really needing to seeing as it had his family name there, along with red feather supports, a phoenix crest, and the family motto on top of it all. "Vis nescia vinci?" I repeated, wanting the translation, wanting all the little pieces of him I could have to fold into my memories like a flower pressed in the pages of a diary to be taken out years later, bringing it up to your nose as if there was any trace of the real memory left. There wouldn't be. I knew that. But I wanted it anyway.

  "A power ignorant of defeat," Mark supplied easily.

  "That's quite the motto to live up to, huh?"

  "That sounds like you are questioning my muscles," he said, looking mock-offended. "I have huge muscles," he added, flexing an arm.

  "Yes, just massive," I agreed, patting him, smiling the whole time.

  "So, not to ruin the moment, but, ah, I want a fucking apple flower damnit."

  I laughed as I leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips before rolling off to the side of the bed. "We're going to have to reheat them. They're so much b
etter right out of the oven."

  With that, we both got re-dressed, half in the bedroom, then half back in the kitchen where the rest of our clothes were. We ate too many apple flowers while talking about our families, comparing our brothers, bonding way more than was smart seeing as I wasn't long for Navesink Bank.

  In the end, that realization had me shutting down the opportunity to head back up to the bedroom. "I should be getting back before they start a search party. Believe me, they're not above doing that."

  "Alrighty, don't want to get on their bad side, I guess. Let's get you home."

  The drive, and the silence enveloping us during it, felt awkward.

  "Hey," he said when I went to open my door, sliding an arm across my shoulders, and hauling me back toward him, making my stomach press against the center console in the process. "Not even going to give me a kiss for dinner and two orgasms?"

  I smiled at that, liking how casually he could turn around uncomfortable moments. Then before I could ruin that one too, he pulled me tighter, and sealed his lips over mine.

  Then he kissed me like there was no freaking tomorrow and I hopped out of that truck and walked up the path in a sort of daze.

  I heard his truck rumble off as I reached to open the back door, taking a deep breath to brace myself against their likely interrogation.

  Except that didn't happen.

  Because when I opened the door and walked in, I found the shack cleaned, smelling strongly of bleach and Comet and Pledge. And I found my four brothers standing there, waiting for me, duffle bags in hands.

  "Money is clean," Kingston supplied, giving me a regretful look.

  "It's time to go," Nixon added.

  It was time to go.

  But just as there was no denying the way those words sent a searing pain through my system, there was also no denying the truth of them.

  It was time to go.

  EIGHT

  Mark

  "What do you mean she's gone?" Eli asked, sitting on my back porch, dutifully throwing a slimy yellow tennis ball for Coop who, as it turned out, was not only an ugly mutt and hard to train, but absolutely full-up of restless energy. Eli had started taking him on runs twice a day, then a long walk in the middle, riddled with intermittent fetching sessions. And he was still always on the go. The vet said it was likely just because he was a puppy, that he would calm down eventually. Especially after he got fixed.

  Until then, it was just a matter of trying to tire him out.

  A fruitless task, if you asked Eli.

  He was even active in his sleep, running so hard in his dreams that he would drag himself clear across the floor several times.

  Oh, the joys of puppy-ownership.

  "I mean I went to the house when I hadn't heard from her in three days even after I called and texted, and the shack was empty. Not a trace of them. Fucking literally. The place was wiped clean. I doubt there was a fingerprint anywhere."

  I told Eli the whole story, while keeping the rest of the family out of the loop. We were not generally a family for keeping secrets, but since this secret wasn't exactly my own, I felt justified in keeping it close to the vest.

  That being said, I needed to vent, and Eli seemed like the safest sounding board.

  "Did you call her after?" he asked, brows drawn together, holding the ball in his hand as Coop literally jumped up and down waiting for him to toss it again.

  "Of course I did." And it wasn't like me to do that shit. It wasn't that I was always a wham-bam kinda guy. There were many women I talked to after, I kept on speed dial for something casual, but friendly. But if I texted once and didn't get a response back, that was it. I wasn't going to fucking beg anyone for their attention. But I texted Scotti. And when the last message wouldn't go through, kept giving me a failure notice, I called too.

  That's when I realized the number was no longer in service.

  "They moved onto another job," Eli guessed, just as I had guessed after I threw my phone and kicked a pile of lumber piled at my job site, almost breaking my fucking foot in the process.

  "Yep."

  "There was no note or anything?"

  "I don't think I was ever part of her plan, man. I think I showed up and threw a wrench in the works. I don't think they ever stayed as long in a town after a job like they did here. Something must have been holding them up. That was the only reason I could get her to agree to come over here in the first place. Guess right after, whatever the holdup was, went away, and they had to go."

  "Sucks, man," Eli said, exhaling hard.

  It did.

  Maybe it shouldn't have.

  It wasn't like we had been together for a couple weeks, got really close, and she split on me. Hell, I had spent more time with a fuck buddy whose last name, address, and age I didn't even know than I had with Scotti. I had never gotten so hung up on so little before.

  That being said, it didn't feel like little.

  Maybe it was because we mostly discussed topics that meant a lot to us, that mattered, that truly made up who we were as people, instead of the useless, trivial bullshit most people discuss during the first weeks of getting to know someone.

  Maybe it was because I had never met a woman like her before. And that was saying something because I knew a lot of women. I even knew a lot of badass, amazing women. But she was in a class all her own. Outside of women I didn't know all that well like Lo and Janie up at Hailstorm, I couldn't say I had ever met a woman with such single-minded focus, such drive to accomplish her own version of justice, such dedication to the cause. And even with all that, behind the mask she wore as a shield, she wasn't cold or detached or a loner. In fact, she had stronger bonds with her family than anyone else I had ever seen outside of my own.

  She was blunt, but in a sarcastic way that wasn't offensive. She was confident, but had a hidden vulnerability as well. She was an experienced criminal, but not a hardened one.

  The sex was off the fucking charts.

  And it pretty much went without saying that she was almost unfairly gorgeous.

  She had a lot going for her. And I had learned that about her in a matter of hours. I wanted to know what I could learn in days or weeks or, hell, even months.

  That was unlike me. I wasn't a settling-down kind of guy. I didn't look at a woman and see a future.

  But maybe that was because I had never looked at a woman quite like Scotti.

  Maybe that was what happened with my brothers as well. Because, quite frankly, none of them were any more inclined to getting tied down than I was. Shane was always out on the town, but something just... changed when Lea came into his life. He pursued her with a single-minded focus he had never given a woman before. And they were happy. The same could be said of Ryan who had always been married to his job, too busy to even notice most women. And then there was sweet, troubled Dusty. His entire life became about focusing on her, getting her comfortable with him, letting himself become a 'safe place' for her and her anxiety. And while none of us had been around to see the beginning of it, Hunter and Fee had a bond as deep as any I had seen. He had seen the most tragic parts of Fiona and never once found them unattractive or unlovable. If anything, he loved her all the more for them.

  They all just... knew their women when they saw them.

  Maybe they wouldn't have admitted it while it was happening. In fact, I was sure none of them would do such a thing. They likely evaded, made excuses about just wanting to get laid, being mildly intrigued, whatever. But in retrospect, each one would tell you there was just a... pull. Right from the jump.

  What I felt toward Scotti, it was a definite pull.

  And it was driving me up a goddamn wall that I wasn't being given the chance to pursue that, to see if it led somewhere that would miraculously make me want to leave my old life behind and start a future with her. As absolutely batshit crazy as that sounded.

  Quite frankly, I was more than a little pissed that the chance was completely taken away from me.

 
"Figure this job of theirs is far off?" Eli asked, trying to tuck the ball behind him which only made Cooper leap up and nudge the shit out of him until he sighed and gave in.

  I shrugged at that, a strange pit forming in my belly.

  "Sounds like they are almost done with their plans. After that... it's Russia or China. I'll never fucking see her again."

  "Just watch the news," Eli said with a shrug, giving me a look that years of experience reading my brothers' facial expressions told me said 'you fucking moron.'

  "What?"

  "If they keep robbing the stores, it will hit the news somewhere. Figure they have to crash somewhere near by. They wouldn't risk going across state lines with dirty money. That's probably why they were here so long- getting their money cleaned. Maybe getting more fake IDs if they heard about Barney. So if you see the news of a robbery, you can head out to that town and look for her."

  "Seems a bit stalker-ish, don't you think?"

  "Or maybe a grand romantic gesture?" he supplied, not looking convinced himself.

  "Think that's a bit of a stretch, man," I said with a laugh. "Coop, Jesus, sit the fuck still for two minutes," I said, snagging the dog and pulling him between us, trying to distract him with petting. This didn't work, in case you were wondering. He thrashed until he scooted away and went right back to begging for the ball to be thrown.

  "Dunno. Think you can get away with it. Just once. Just to confront her and see what she has to say. What's the worst that could happen? She sics her brothers on you? You've survived beatings from all of us; I think you can handle it." He looked away for a long minute. "You know... just so you don't always have this 'what if' hanging over your head. That isn't any way to live, Mark."

  Sadly, I was pretty sure he knew this from experience.

  Not over a woman, mind you.

  But I think he felt that way about his life choices, his career, his constant putting his desires on a back burner to handle family business, being forced into being a rage monster when it was needed.

  There were times I really felt bad for the fuck.