I couldn't breathe. My fingers curled into fists, and I dug my nails into the palms of my hands.
"She drowned." Charlie choked as his eyes found mine. The anguish in his depths was too much.
Bile rose in my throat while dark blotches appeared in front of my vision. Kelly drowned. Alone in her car. Was she in pain? Did she know what was happening? Or was she unconscious? It didn't matter…she was all alone. No one helped her. I pressed my fists to my chest. Even if someone else had been on the bridge and stopped, the water was too far below. They couldn't have gone after her. She never had a chance.
Charlie reached out. "D…"
"No!" I shrank back in my seat. "Don't."Don't touch me.
My skin was too tight. I peered around the café. None of the other guests were paying us any attention. I needed to get out of there.
Kelly drowned.
I reached for my purse and almost landed on my ass as I hastily slid out of the booth. "Charlie, I—" I couldn't finish the sentence. I needed to be out of there before I lost it completely. I needed water. Go under. Calm. I couldn't. Oh god…
"No Light, No Light" by Florence + The Machine is thundering through my earbuds. The sound hurts, but not enough. I want it all to stop, and for that, I need the pain before the numbness sets in. I trip and catch myself at the last moment, jumping both feet to either side of the band.
Without pausing, I prop myself on the sidebars and start running again, not fully touching the band until my feet keep up with the speed. I slowly lower myself, my legs nearly buckling. Each muscle in my legs is rubbery. I refuse to slow the pace.
Not one minute later, I stumble again. One of my wireless earbuds falls out and is catapulted somewhere behind me. But this time, I don't have to break my stride. One ear with music will have to do. I can't stop. Suddenly, the emergency stop is pulled, and I hit the screen of the treadmill.
"Owww!" My ribs collide with the edge. The stabbing sensation causes stars to pop up behind my squeezed eyelids. I wrap my arms around myself, bending over.
"What the fuck are you doing?" The thrashing pulse in my ears drowns out the seething demand.
Breathing in and out through my nose, concentrating on the slowly subsiding agony, I ignore him. Strong fingers curl around my biceps and pull me upright. "KELLER!"
The abrupt motion intensifies the burn, and I whirl around. My throat aches, and tears sting my eyes, but I pull my shoulders back and rip my arm out of his grasp. "My name is Denielle,Marcus! Stop fucking addressing me by my last name. I'm not my father."
A new emotion settles in the pit of my stomach. I needed a distraction. The pool wasn't an option. Running didn't do it for me either. Standing up to Marcus Baxter, however…the insensate urge to drown myself shrinks to a bearable level. I submerge myself in the craved numbness his presence evokes.
His hand still lifted between us, Marcus regards me with a mix of curiosity and disdain. "What the fuck are you doing,Keller?"
As he leans in, he lowers his palms on the sidebar of the treadmill to support his weight. Our noses almost touch as he growls my last name once more. It's his way of establishing his dominance. We both silently agreed to the rules of our little game. Tonight, though, I don't care. I bridge the gap and copy his motion from the other night—my cheek against his until my lips align with his ear. His slight stubble causes friction against my skin that instantly makes heat shoot to my core. I fight the need to shift my stance. Next, I do something I would've never in a million years expected from myself. The tip of my tongue darts out, and I lick the soft skin under his ear. Marcus goes rigid but doesn't pull back. Out of the corner of my eye, I witness his hands curl around the bar of the treadmill in a knuckle grip. One would think he is livid if it weren't for the barely audible groan he can't suppress.
I lower my voice. "Go. Fuck. Yourself.Marcus." I press my lips to his flesh once before pulling away, meeting his shocked gaze. His nostrils flare with his mouth in a thin slash. I take a step back, pivot on my heels, and put one foot in front of the other. I can sense his stare on the back of my neck, but even if I wanted to execute one more power play by winking at him, I have to put all my concentration into walking out of here. My legs can barely support my weight, and for the first time in hours, I feel like the old me.
Thanks to Marcus Baxter, the man who hates my guts.
CHAPTERNINE
MARCUS
What the fuck?What the actual fuck?
I trail Denielle's swaying ass out of the gym. Still latched onto the treadmill, I want to crush the plastic underneath my fingers. My heart hammers at an unnatural pace, and I struggle to draw in a breath with sufficient oxygen to supply my lungs. The heat in my core fuels the contradiction shredding my insides. Part of me wants to chase her down, bend her over the nearest exercise equipment, and spank the sass out of her while watching my cock driving in and out of her tight little pussy. The other half of me itches to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until she can no longer talk back. Her audacity topretendshe is in charge, she needs to be taught a lesson.
I have no desire to work out now. My dick is throbbing, yet I refuse to give in and allow my body what it craves. For a brief moment, I debate following through with the hunt, but then shake my head. That would just prove to her that she's won this round. And that's a big, fathell no!
Instead, I put my body through a workout that makes me question my ability to report for my shift in a few hours.
Despite strugglingto lift my arms to slip my holster on (or walk), I show up on time.
Lilly and Rhys are in the kitchen. Audrey sits in her high chair and hand-feeds herself something resembling macaroni and cheese—at least, I hope it's that.
"Denielle is starting her new job on Thursday," Lilly interrupts my scrutiny of her daughter's nourishment. At first, I think she is addressing me, but then I realize she is talking to Rhys.
I slip into the bench seat and pull my phone out of my back pocket. Holding it in both hands, my thumbs hover over the display as I eavesdrop on the conversation.