Chapter 64
Justice
The pool house is laid out like a studio apartment. Marcus dawdles on a stool at a bistro table in the kitchen portion of the home. There’s a bed between us and a floral sofa set. Tears run like a river down my cheeks. My mouth is a hard line, lips trembling.
“You should count all of your blessings, Marcus.” I cut each word out with venom. “My gun is in my purse.” On the damn kitchen table.
“Aw, sucks to be you, huh?” Marcus’s emerald eyes drag over me. “Lost a couple pounds.”
“Don’t.”
He smiles. “You always had a cute face, but don’t flatter yourself, bitch. If anything,” he turns a knife in his hand, gesturing to the blade, “I would fuck you this way.”
“Come here.” I prod my chin. “Maybe I’ll be the one who penetrates you, Mr. LeRoux.”
A slimy grin tugs at his lips. “You weren’t so confident while running me my money, bitch.”
“It’s a new day.” I don’t tell him that I’ve fallen for the definition of crazy, and our squabbling has given me a new perspective on life.
Brody said I would probably cry over him one day. My first thought was that I’d pray each morning and night that the tears of lost love would only stream down my face once wrinkles and an abundance of smile creases had etched themselves into my dark skin. Now, I wonder if Brody will cry for me.
“I’ve been waiting for you to get away from the guy with the beard.” Marcus gestures to his clean, soft jaw.
“You don’t know his name?”
“Nah. MacKenzie something.” Marcus shrugs, holding up an old Polaroid camera. “Nothing else I need to know. Except, I plan to email him a picture of your blubbery, gutted body. Seeing how that bum I paid to kill him didn’t finish the job, I guess killing you will have to do.”
I let out a laugh, though there’s a nervous edge to it. I doubt he notices. I quip, “So after I’m dead, you, what? Ride off into the wind? So, you’ll kill me, a woman? Not a man, then?”
“The beard’s a big motherfucker, so cut the sarcasm.”
Marcus clicks a photo of me. Hypersensitive, my body tingles as the camera snaps. “Would’ve been nicer to kill you both at his place. Steal some of his shit, hock it, move to Mexico. I have a lot of assholes on my ass. One dude, in particular, tried to drug and sell me. The old geezer who was supposed to buy me said I wasn’t what he wanted, y’know. So, now, I’ll kill you because you and those fucking Scots ruined my life!”
“Then Mexico, is it? But now that you haven’t killed Brody, he will come after you.” God, I hope Brody will vindicate me.
“Him and everybody else.” Marcus snorts.
“How did you get here?” I ask, subtly scouring the room for a weapon.
“Hitchhiked.” Marcus stands. “You ready to die? There are a whole lot of those fucking MacKenzies. And they come and go at all hours. Best get this over with.”
“Yeah, I agree.” I crack my neck.
He lets a laugh fall into a sigh. “Girl, if you lost a couple more pounds and had that same attitude, I’d fuck you.”
“No, thank you,” I reply. My eyes stare straight at him, though I’ve already executed my first self-defense move—locating the lamp on the nightstand table kitty-corner to us.
“You were easy to walk all over, Justice. I like my bitches with half a backbone. Y’know, Lance was cheating that whole time.”
“I know.” I smile. He’s trying to weasel his way into my head. His aim is to hurt me; though, he’s only succeeding in enraging me. With his legs in a fighter stance and the knife fisted in his hand, Marcus starts toward me.
After he’s taken a couple of paces, I lunge toward the lamp. The smooth glass is warm to my touch. Unfortunately, the damn cord anchors it to the wall as I yank.
Marcus’s fist darts in my direction. The knife slices through the side of my shirt. Serrated pain burns my bicep, blood washing over my arm. I kick out at him. The discarded lamp, still linked to the wall, crashes to the ground. Beautiful lilac shards rain across the marble floor. Damn it. Marcus LeRoux has the upper hand, as usual.