"I will." I shut off the car. "Call me when you have the time for Friday, 'kay?"
There is a brief pause before Oli agrees. We say our goodbyes, and I enter La Déesse, hoping I still have a job.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
MARCUS
My feet are rootedto the tiled kitchen floor. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. Did she really just do that? Denielle Keller took my control over her, over ourgame,and shoved it up my ass.
Dropping my hands, I reach one to my groin, adjusting my cock straining against my jeans.
And I liked it. When her soft lips touched my mouth, the organ behind my ribs stuttered before breaking into a sprint like a fucking racehorse. My fingers itched to wrap themselves around her slender waist, digging into her flesh while turning her sassy peck into something entirely different. If she hadn't broken the connection, my self-control would've snapped, and we would've had a repeat from yesterday—in the pantry this time.
Fuck!
After leavingher in the laundry room last night—fleeing,a more accurate term—I went straight to the guesthouse. Walking in, I barked at Alexa to play music and turn it up. The surround-sound system shook with "Venom" by Eminem, and standing still in the middle of the room, I let the bass vibrate through me. Letting the playlist do its thing, I moved to take the coldest shower in the history of warm-water shortages. I needed to overpower all my senses.
By the time I allowed myself to shut the spray off, my body was trembling uncontrollably. My muscles spasmed from the torture and their attempt to stay warm. I wrapped my towel around my hips, not drying the icy droplets off my skin. I needed to prolong the physical pain for as long as possible.
I had fucked Denielle Keller. Bare.
I'd never done it without protection.Ever. She's on the pill—that much I gathered from her exchange with Lilly and Rhys the other day. I'm clean. I get that shit tested regularly, despite my usual OCD to suit up. Emphasis on usual. What the fuck was I thinking? I wasn't, that's what. Fuck. The woman was the reason I lost my sister. If she hadn't gone for her little swim, her father would've been in the OR, able to stop the aneurysm. Or that's what I've convinced myself of for the past two decades. He had been the best on the East Coast. When a nurse informed me he was operating on Ken—who he was—I had hope. Hope that was splattered like obliterating a bird with a large-caliber rifle. His spoiled little brat of a daughter didn't like the dinner her new mommy cooked—or whatever her tantrum was about—and fell into the pool. Victor Keller had left the OR, and my sister died.
My hands curled around the edges of the vanity as I stared at myself in the mirror. From the living room, the sounds of "Mirror" by Lil Wayne and Bruno Mars drifted in, and I huffed noncomically.What a joke.The memories began to resurface—memories I only allowed myself to relive once a year, on the anniversary. Being at the vineyard, I didn't get to mourn the way I was used to.
"Wouldyou like to see her? Say your goodbyes?" the elderly woman in scrubs had asked with pity in her eyes after the doctor had left.
See her? My stomach rolled as I forced the bile back down my throat. I couldn't.
I didn't want to remember her like that. Bloody and bruised. Her long blonde hair plastered to her sun-kissed skin. I wanted to see her bright smile when I thought of my baby sister. The way she had beamed up at me when I came home that evening, presenting her with a large burger and fries from the diner she loved. We didn't spend money onfancyfood, but that night, I had finished a project at the garage I worked at part time, and my boss had paid me an extra fifty. That could technically feed Ken and me for two weeks on PB&Js, but I wanted to treat her to something special.
"MARCUS!" she had squealed and tackled me so hard that I dropped the paper bag with the present on the floor. Untangling herself from me, she chastised, "You shouldn't have wasted your money on this." Ken peered down to my feet. The longing in her gaze was all I needed.
I hugged her to me. "You know I will always take care of you."
Always being two more hours.
We had sat on the couch, watching something on our ancient TV that was so fuzzy I had no clue how Ken could even follow the plot, when our father came home.
Ken instantly stiffened, and I leaned closer to her until our arms touched. She relaxed into me, but the strain around her eyes told me she was anything but—an emotion I could relate to. I reminded myself that if we didn't acknowledge or bother him, he would leave us alone—or so it normally went.
The refrigerator door opened and closed, followed by the pop of uncapping his beer. The paper-thin walls in the house hid nothing. When there was no sound coming next, I realized my error. We had thrown the burger wrappers in the bin next to the sink—instead of taking the trash straight outside to the dumpster where he couldn't see it.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" his bark traveled across the hall to the living room, and Ken shrank into the cushions next to me.
Ken's hand landed on my thigh, her fingers curling into my muscles.
"Go to your room and lock the door," I whispered.
My sister's eyes flew between me, the doorway, and our only other escape: the window.
"GO!" I hissed, and she jolted up.
She wasn't fast enough. Dad appeared in the frame, one hand around the neck of his bottle, the other clenching the orange-and-white wax paper.
He waved it in front of Ken, who stood frozen in the middle of the room. "Did you spend my hard-earned money again, you little shits?" His narrowed eyes traveled between us before he settled on me. He was swaying, a.k.a. he had stopped at the bar after work.
The beating of my heart thundered in my ears as I slowly raised myself from the sofa, not letting him out of sight. He was unpredictable when he was drunk before coming home. Most of the time, he didn't start until his ass was planted in his recliner, but on especially tough days, he started early.