Wrong Side of the Tracks by Ashley Zakrzewski
ChapterTwelve
After bringing Bodie up to speed with the plan, I take a cab home. We thought it would be more believable if I stayed angry about Bodie and Jason’s betrayal. I mean, I’m not just gonna let it slide. Of course, I’m angry, and rightly so. But I can appreciate why they did it. The cab driver drops me at the edge of my drive, and after paying him the fare, I fish my smashed phone and keys from my purse and practically run to the front door. This is a nice neighborhood. It’s quiet throughout the day and night. Nothing remotely interesting happens here. If I scream, I can guarantee my neighbors will hear it. They are so nosey; they would come out to investigate. Hopefully, I won’t need their help because the Hawks stashed a hidden camera inside the lining of my purse so they could see and hear everything I could. Hustle didn’t make a clean job of it. He’s no seamstress, and it’s not exactly my best purse. It wasn’t expensive. Like everything I own, it’s a little rough around the edges. No one will suspect it’s been tampered with, which is good, I guess. It means a dumb fuck like Marcus won’t suspect anything. Even if he rummages through it and tips the contents out, he won’t find it. I pretend I’m on a call to my mom, complaining about Jason being the biggest asshole on the face of the planet, telling no one whatsoever that I never want to ever lay eyes on Jason again. If Marcus is skulking around in the shadows, it’ll pique his interest. He can’t use me as a target if he thinks Jason and I have severed ties.
“The bastard was just using me as a smokescreen,” I mutter, opening the door and sparing a wary glance around. “Yeah, I’ll pack my things and leave this shithole for dust.” I continue the fake conversation after I close the door on the off chance someone is listening. “Okay, I’ll buy a train ticket and call you as soon as I get there. I love you. Bye.”
“Going somewhere?” A deep rasp comes from the open sitting room doorway.
I recognize it immediately and stumble against the wall with fright. “Holy shit. How did you get in here?”
Marcus flicks on the light switch, flooding the room with light that spills out into the hall. He must have come straight here to wait for me after sending his goons to go after Jason’s mom, Liv.
Marcus casually leans against the doorframe, a cocky smirk scrawled halfway across his face. “I used the key beneath the doormat. Not bad for a crack whore,” he mentions mockingly, his dark eyes fixated on me like a predator stalking his prey.
“I’m not on crack. And I don’t appreciate being called a whore,” I say, offended by his remark.
“You’re fucking Havoc though,” he replies crassly. “That tells me you don’t have any standards.”
He isn’t handsome like Jason, but there’s something dangerously sexy about his rugged looks that even I can’t deny. Not that it’s enough to turn my head to the dark side. But still. I’m only human. Marcus looks like the type of guy who could bend a woman across the kitchen table and make her forget her name. Jason may not like to hear it, but he and his half-brother are the same in that respect. I should be grateful I’m not dead already. Marcus isn’t pointing a gun at me, but I can imagine he has one tucked inside the waistband of his jeans. I can see the way he brazenly checks me out, his eyes lingering too long on my heaving chest. Bastard or not, he’s still a man.
“Yeah, and that’s ten seconds of my life that I’m never getting back. That fucker used me, and I used him,” I retaliate, making Marcus raise his brows with interest. “I just wanted to find out what happened to my brother, but I guess the joke was on me because they’re all a bunch of liars. You should have aimed a little higher and done us both a favor.” It feels wrong to say all this about the man I love, but it’s necessary to make my story believable. I know I have a vicious tongue and can say all sorts of hurtful things if I want to.
Marcus scrubs a hand over his face as he processes that. And judging by the look on his face, he’s stumped by my revelation. This has thrown a spanner in the works. If I’m nothing to Jason, then I’m worthless to Marcus. Kiera – one. Marcus – a big fat zero.
“Oh, man. Who would have thought Havoc was a two-pump chump?” Marcus mutters, mulling that over. “I can’t believe we’re from the same gene pool.”
I inwardly cringe at the thought of Jason sitting on the clubhouse couch between his snickering biker buddies, seething at me for trashing his performance. He’ll punish me severely for this. I just know he will.
“Is that all you took from that?” I roll my eyes and bravely walk past him on my way to the kitchen.
Marcus doesn’t grab me, but he’s right behind me as I turn around. “Well, this changes things,” he gruffs ominously. “I came here to leave a message to my entitled prick of a brother, which all seems pretty pointless now.” I side-eye the knife rack and contemplate whether I could snatch the carving knife before he does. “But now you’ve seen me. I can’t exactly let you go running to the cops.”
I hold his gaze. “The same cops who covered up my brother’s so-called death. Yeah, right.”
Marcus’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Still . . . you’re a loose end.”
I set my purse down and tilt the angle of the camera away, not wanting anyone to see what I do next. “You know Jason claimed me, don’t you?”
Marcus furrows his brows in a humored frown. “And your point is?”
I step toward him and put my hands on his chest, playing the art of seduction to the best of my ability. “If you really want to ruin him, you could start with his reputation.”
This has to work. I can’t screw this up. Everything is riding on me gaining Marcus’s trust. Liv Knight is fuck knows where, surrounded by filthy scumbags who could be doing fuck knows what to her. With any luck, Marcus will start thinking with his dick and be dumb enough to take me to her. I just need to grab my bag, and I’ll be fine. Jason and Bodie will be able to find me.
Marcus doesn’t flinch as I slide my palms around his shoulders, moving close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath. His eyes blaze into mine with a hint of distrust, the corners twitching a little like he’s considering something. Not that it takes more than a second for him to decide what he wants as he reaches down to squeeze my ass, the pressure of his fingers digging a little too tight for my liking. Marcus delves right in for the kill, crudely kissing my neck and groping my breasts beneath my hoodie. It crawls my skin to let him touch me like this, but the more he thinks he’ll get his dick wet, the less likely he’ll want to kill me. If I want Marcus to trust me, I’ll need to be smart.
I’m sorry, Jason. I’m doing this for you and your mom.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I utter before Marcus roughly kisses me, and I reciprocate.
Marcus swirls his tongue inside my mouth, hardly giving me a chance to breathe. He’s rough and driven by something more than lust – a cold vendetta against Jason that seems to be fueled by jealousy. I let him wriggle a hand down my sweatpants and cop a feel of my pussy; even parting my legs so he can drag his finger through my slit.
“Here’s fine,” Marcus replies, proving my assumption about him right. “We don’t have time for pillow talk. Turn around.”
I’m glad that I angled the camera away because things are about to get ugly. Marcus yanks down my sweats, then forces me flat against the table, stuffing a dish towel in my mouth. I hear a rustle of denim, then he spits, slathers his saliva around my pussy, then drives his cock inside me and starts thrusting. A moment of confusion crashes over me as he humps away, puffing and panting with exertion. I want to ask if it’s all the way in because it doesn’t feel like it is. But before I can fathom whether this is a joke, Marcus barks out a harsh cry and starts shuddering behind me. Should I fake moaning or claw at the tabletop? I’m just slumped here as wooden as the furniture not knowing what the fuck to think. A strangled yelp lets me know he’s finished, and I bite down on the dish towel to stop myself from laughing. If I didn’t feel it, does it count?
I spit out the towel. “Oh my god,” I rush my words to sound breathless. “That was amazing!” It’s not about what I say, it’s the way I say it. Jason knows me well enough to tell when I’m being sarcastic. Marcus doesn’t. He tucks away his flaccid junk and buttons his jeans like he’s God’s gift, thinking he just rocked my world and not just my kitchen table. I use the dish towel to clean myself, then pull up my sweatpants, hoping I did enough to convince him.
“I can’t wait to see the look on Havoc’s face when I parade you around town. It’ll ruin him.” Marcus rubs his hands together gleefully. “Dear old Dad will fucking hate it. He wants you dead, but fuck him. This is my time to shine.”
“Does this mean I can stay at your place?” I pretend to be so into Marcus I’m practically tripping over my tongue to kiss his ass. “If your dad wants me dead, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Makes sense to keep an eye on you,” he replies, glancing around the kitchen. “I need people to see us together if this is going to work.” Marcus jerks his head toward the door. “Get your things and let’s go.”
I grab my purse from the table, then grab a change of clothes, shoving everything into a backpack. This is it. I’m about to make another reckless move that could potentially get me killed, and it should scare me. Only it doesn’t. It thrills me. The danger, adrenaline rush, and the thought of jumping into the midst of all the action turns me on more than anything. I was made for this life. I just didn’t know it until I fell headfirst into a steaming pile of fuckery. Marcus beckons me to follow, then turns his back to walk through the hall. That’s when I grab the biggest carving knife from the rack, wrap it in the cum-stained dishtowel, and quickly shove it in my backpack. I raise my purse up to my face and wink at the camera, letting the Hawks know the plan is working.