Denielle hasn't spotted me. Her gaze is on her reflection in the mirrors mounted along the entire wall of the basement. Her eyes are unfocused. Tilting my head, I briefly wonder what's been going on with her—nope, I don't care.
I place my gun on the shelf next to me and fish my phone out of the pocket of my shorts. Swiping it open, I start scrolling. Nope. Nope. More scrolling.Perfect!
I make sure my phone is connected to the gym's surround sound system. Rhys and Lilly, equally, try to blow out their eardrums when they work out. When they spar against each other, the entire estate shakes, despite the soundproofing. It's a miracle they have functioning hearing.
I lean with one shoulder against the wall and cross my legs at the ankle. Devious anticipation hums through me. I peer up at Denielle to ensure that she hasn't noticed me. She has not. Her wireless headphones won't matter in a second. Turning the volume all the way up, I press play on "Idol" by Hollywood Undead feat. Tech N9ne. It's not as much about the lyrics—though they fit, to an extent—as it is about the sound. If you don't expect it—
Denielle trips as the bass shatters through the speakers and catches herself at the last moment before diving off the treadmill. The adult in me is aware that my actions are anything but safe. She could've gotten seriously hurt, but— Her head jerks around, and her wide eyes narrow. Whether her chest is heaving from her run or my surprise is the question—both probably.
The hum has turned to a buzzing, my muscles tense in anticipation.
I straighten from the wall and fold my arms over my chest.What are you going to do?One side of my mouth stretches up and forms something between a sneer and a grin.
Keller rips her earbuds out. "WHAT THE FUCK?"
She jumps off the exercise equipment and marches toward me.Come fight me.Her face resembles a wet tomato and is anything but intimidating. I bite the insides of my cheeks to not start laughing. She stops right before our feet touch. I can sense the gravitation. Scanning her up and down, her skintight, dark-purple shorts and matching sports bra burn themselves into my retinas. I don't allow my mind to go where my dick is already heading. My chest constricts, and the only option I have is to surrender and walk away, or she will see that one part of me does not loathe her.
I move around her as if she hasn't spoken at all. Striding casually to the weight bench, I shove my phone into my pocket and utilize the motion to adjust my hard-on.
"MARCUS!" She's seething.
Not turning, I study the weights lined up in front of me. I stroke my chin with my thumb and forefinger. I'm acutely aware of her following my every move in the mirror.
This game is beginning to be fun. Game? What the fuck? I don't play games with a target. And that's all she is—the target of my hatred.
The sound suddenly cuts off. I slowly lift my eyes to hers. I slant my head. "Did you say something?"
Her fingers ball up. Livid Denielle Keller is a sight to be seen. Something I've never been privy to since she has always submitted to me—until now. I understand where her nickname came from. But I know her little secret. She doesn't intimidate me. I consciously recall the last time I held Ken in my arms—her closed lids, her face battered, and her hair caked with blood until the paramedics wheeled her into the operating room. After that, I was never able to wrap my arms around her again. I couldn't.
"You could've killed me, asshole. What if I had tripped?" She props her tiny fists on her hips and tilts her chin up.
I slowly swivel on my heels and approach her. I study her features before scanning her body up and down. Her breathing has slowed, but the closer I get, the quicker the rise and fall of her tits. I don't stop until the heat radiating off both of our bodies mingles. For the first time, I don't fight the pull and lean in. My nose trails her cheekbone to her ear. Her breath hitches, but she doesn't move away. When my lips align with the shell of her ear, my tongue darts out, swiping over the skin. The salty taste from her sweat registers, and desire shoots to my groin. A whimper escapes her mouth, and I close my eyes.
"Who says I didn't want to kill you?" My tone is ice, and her spine stiffens.
I take a step back and casually fold my arms over my chest.
Give me your best, Keller.
I watch her carefully as her gaze locks on something past me. I don't turn to see what it is. She doesn't make eye contact when her lips part. At first, nothing comes out, but then she surprises me. "How did you find out?"
My short nails dig into my biceps, leaving crescent-moon imprints on my skin. I expected pretty much anything, but not this.
Denielle's eyes slowly focus again and shift to my face. She stops on my lips before her gaze flitters back and forth between my eyes. She waits for my response when all I want to tell her is tofuck off. How dare she bring that up?
My muscles strain against my skin until my body vibrates. I draw in slow, deep breaths in an attempt to stop the images flashing in front of my eyes.
I was backin the hospital.
After they informed me Ken would never wake up again, I lost it. I trashed the waiting room until security escorted me outside. I sat on the curb for hours. My head in my hands, I cried. No one attempted to help the kid from the wrong side of town. My clothes showed it. The blood still staining my hands showed it. After the adrenaline rush had left and the emotional exhaustion set in, I stared at the slightly rounded edge of the cement next to me. It wasn't even sharp, yet it took her away. No! The curb wasn't at fault. Ken fled from him. I yelled at her to run. I wanted to save her. But she dashed into the street, her eyes behind her, on me taking the beating for her. The car couldn't stop. Ken got thrown off the hood and—
I enlisted in the military that same week. I needed to do something with my rage and grief, direct it toward something of worth. I refused to disappoint Ken. She always dreamed of us having a future far away from this. It was during boot camp that I got introduced to a guy who knew a guy who knew someone else.
I got a credit card, maxed it out, and wrote a check. Then, I waited. Less than two months later, I had answers. Some. To this day, I have no idea how he dug it all up. It couldn't have been through legal channels, but I knew.
Ken's neurosurgeon, Victor Keller, had recently lost his wife. It was ruled an accident, but he remarried mere months later. He had two children with his late wife, Oliver and Denielle.
I should've put it together immediately when I met Denielle, but it didn't click until I saw her with her father at the airfield in Virginia.