“What difference does it make?” he grumbles, his frustration building and coming out clear in his deep tone. He crosses the bunker and slams his fists against the wall before leaning into them and letting out a low groan. “I can’t take this anymore. I need to get out of this fucking shoe box.”
“9 pm,” Roman reminds him for the millionth time, taking absolutely no pity on the brother who he almost lost only three days ago. “Not a minute before. Not a minute after.”
Reaching out, I press my hand to Marcus’ hip, wanting to offer him what little comfort I can. He immediately drops his hand to mine and shuffles just a little bit closer, needing that closeness just as much as I do.
Roman has his reasons for wanting to leave at nine. The whole plan he’s carefully constructed with Mick to get out of here unscathed and undetected all starts when the clock strikes nine, and Marcus knows that. He knows it’s imperative to wait, but he’s not exactly a patient guy. He likes to act first and deal with the consequences later, and if they weren’t still healing, maybe we would have taken the risk.
I don’t know how Mick intends to pull this off, but Roman insists that he’s as good as he says he is, and I trust Roman’s instincts. He’s never let me down … except that one time when he jumped to conclusions and decided my word wasn’t worth trusting, but that’s all in the past now.
The thought has my gaze shifting across the room to Roman to see the perfect outline of my bite tattooed on his forearm. Every now and then, when he’s caught deep in a thought, I catch him looking at it, staring as though his will alone should be enough to change the past. His finger traces over the bite mark, and it only lasts a moment before he sighs and drops his hand away. Those moments kill me. I’ve been able to block out those memories, been able to replace them with new ones, but not Roman, he holds on to everything.
“That’s still a fucking hour away,” Marcus mutters, relentless with his demand to get out of here. “What the hell am I supposed to do for another hour?”
“The same thing you’ve been doing for the last seventy-two hours.”
Marcus sighs before a grin begins pulling at his lips, and he slowly angles his head down to meet my gaze.
“No,” I say before the words even get a chance to come flying through his full lips. “Absolutely not. I’ve told you a million times already, you’re not fucking me until your stitches have healed properly. I’ve fallen victim to that bullshit before, and it won’t be happening again. You can wait.”
“Come on, babe,” he says, crouching in front of me, his hands falling to my knees. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
Rolling my eyes, I capture his hands in mine and push them off my knees, grinning back at him. “I don’t doubt that, but the answer is still no,” I tell him, not daring to let on that the thought of being vulnerable like that right now scares the absolute shit out of me. I know it’s irrational and the boys would never hurt me like that, never take away my consent, but it’s too soon, too fresh, and if I had the guts to actually speak up about it, I know Marcus wouldn’t dare press me on this right now.
His eyes narrow, and for a split second, I fear he’s reading my mind and trying to put the pieces together, but the moment his eyes light like it’s Christmas morning, I let out a soft sigh of relief. “What about this,” he says. “What if, instead of me fucking you, you fuck me. I can just lay back and let you take control, let you do your thing. It’s a win all around. My stitches won’t tear, you’ll get to take control, do whatever the fuck you want to do to me, and the boys get a fucking show.” He grins wide, pausing as if to give me a chance to think it over. “Why didn’t I think of this before? It’s pure genius. We should have been doing this all along and those seventy-two hours would have flown by.”
Marcus shakes his head, his smile faltering. “Actually, it’s kind of depressing. What a wasted opportunity.”
I scoff and his brows shoot back up, meeting my stare once again, the question still lingering in his eyes. “You’re insane if you think I’m about to fuck you, but I’ll definitely take a raincheck on that one. Besides, that camera up in the corner looks far too suspicious. I’d bet a week’s worth of orgasms that Mick has been watching us this whole time with his dick in his hand, just waiting for us to start fucking.”
“Nah,” Marcus says, falling down on his ass and leaning back onto his hands, not willing to push me any further. I said no the first time he asked, and if he were seriously trying to convince me, he would have played me with those dark bedroom eyes that he knows I can’t resist. He’s a gentleman like that. “Mick’s not like that.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat and I raise a brow. “How do you know that? Have you met the kind of people you like to keep company with? Don’t think for one second that I’ve forgotten that party you guys threw in the castle. Literally, all your friends are either serial killers, on the FBI’s most-wanted list, or have done hard time in the past few years. What’s a few perverts added to the list? Or is there only room for one serial killer pervert around here, Marcus DeAngelis?”
My eyes sparkle and he immediately picks up what I’m putting down. “If you didn’t have such a tight little ass, then I wouldn’t have to be such a fucking pervert around you. You bring it all on yourself, Shayne Mariano.”
“Damn,” I say, batting my eyelashes, feigning adoration. “All this time away from you made me forget just how sweet you can be. I bet you tell all the girls that right before you slit their throats, just to watch the blood stain their pretty white dresses.”
Marcus grins at me, slowly shaking his head as his dark eyes sparkle with mirth. “You better wash those filthy words out of your pretty mouth, Shayne. You’re getting me hard, and you’ve already told me no. Don’t set me up for disappointment.”
“Sorry,” I laugh, patting the space beside me and watching as he instantly moves into my side, curling his arm over my shoulder and pulling me into the safety of his warm body. I relax into him. I’ve been sleeping in their arms every night and remaining as close to them as humanly possible just to have that warmth and feeling of home that I get when I’m close to them. When they hold me, nothing can hurt me, not even the bad memories, and over the past few days, I’ve become dependent on it. “Tell me something.”
“Like what?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know … anything. We have an hour to kill. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Marcus grins and shoots his stare across the room to Levi who has done nothing but sit across the bunker minding his own damn business. “Have I ever told you about the time I caught Levi jerking off to Ronald McDonald?”
What the actual fuck?
Levi’s head snaps up as Roman groans from his bed, knowing all too well what the next hour is going to consist of. “I was not,” Levi demands, his eyes wide as he looks at me, shaking his head. “I swear, babe. I don’t have a fucking clown fetish. I was getting off to the chick on the opposite page. It’s not my fault there was a full-page McDonalds advertisement on the next page.”
A grin pulls at my lips as I pinpoint my entertainment for the next hour. “Really? Are you sure? Because if you need me to wear a red wig and paint my nose red, I will, but I draw the line at the big, floppy clown shoes.”
Levi shakes his head. “Fuck me,” he breathes, leaning back against the wall as he glares at Marcus. “Thirteen fucking years we managed to never bring that up. Thirteen years, bro. I thought you had my back.”
Marcus laughs, his eyes twinkling with the type of secret he knows will bury him. “It’s cute you think that over the space of thirteen years, I haven’t told every motherfucker who came my way.”
Levi’s face drops, mortification taking over his sharp, handsome features. “I swear, dickwad, if you weren’t barely holding on right now, I’d fucking shred you to pieces.”