Ethan shoots daggers at Jenn's back and drops her bag with a thud. He cuffs his biceps. "It's a nickname. One I stopped using years ago." He purses his lips.
Jenn peers over her shoulder, my hand still in hers. "Oh, come on." Turning back to me, her perfectly shaped lips turn into a wide grin. "The WK Wild Bill was Ethan's tool of choice when he and I worked together. He trained me, you know? When he and Cor—"
"Jennifer!" Ethan hisses, and she stops midsentence.
Jenn lets go of my hand and turns to him, poking him with her forefinger against the chest. "What? Stop pretending your past didn't happen. Man up." She shakes out her hands and rolls back on her heels. "Jesus, you've been working out, big brother. And what kind of espresso do you guys have here? This is worse than the one time T and I got into Cor's secret stash."
She pivots back to me. "I'm so sorry. I haven't slept in forty-some hours, and your man here made me a triple shot of espresso. This shit is legit. Jeez." She puts her palm against her sternum. "Do you guys have a gym here? Please tell me you do. I need to get this buzzing out of my body, or I'm going to lose it."
I have no idea what to say. This is not how I pictured a girl—uh…woman—cleaning up dead bodies. I…like her.
"We do. Let's go." Ethan takes her by the elbow and leads her toward the hallway. Almost out of the kitchen, Jenn turns one more time. "I promise I'll be in better shape when you see me again. We'll get your little problem handled."
With that, they disappear, and it's only Marcus and me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
DENIELLE
Marcus's fingersbite into my side when we hear the door to the gym click shut. He slowly spins, bridging the small gap between us so his hips connect with my belly. Withhimpressing against my stomach, a familiar flush of desire ignites between my legs. I keep my eyes trained on his still naked chest, which is not helping. This man has not one gram of body fat, and my mouth runs dry. I force my thoughts in a different direction.
We haven't discussed anything that happened since he found me in my office days ago.
Confusion about him staying with me—"Of course I came"—and then disappearing kept me from demanding answers. While Ifeltwe had moved forward—his hatred toward me no longer in the foreground—a nagging voice in my head kept whispering that this was all just a game. A long con to finally get his revenge.
Could it be?
With both hands on me, he takes a step forward, forcing me to retreat. He continues the advance until my lower back hits the edge of the kitchen cabinets. I don't feel the impact. The connection of his calloused fingers to my skin overpowers my pain receptors, sending every nerve ending into a frenzy. Leaving a blazing path behind, Marcus's hands glide down until he cups my ass. His grip digs into my flesh, and I'm quite literally painfully aware of how thin my sleep shorts are. He lifts me to sit on the counter. My exposed cheeks against the cold marble send a shudder down my spine.
Marcus's index fingers trail twin paths along my legs until his palms are pressed on my thighs. "What are you thinking?" He slants his head, and I meet his gaze for the first time.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt, "Is this all part of your revenge plan?"
The crease between his brows deepens. "Revenge plan?"
"For my hand in your sister's…" The last word lodges in my throat, and I chew on my bottom lip.
I've never brought up McKenna, and I'm not sure it is a good idea to confront him. He pulls away, and the sudden distance between us opens a chasm in my stomach.
Marcus recoils until he leans against the island across from where I'm perched. I watch the muscles in his biceps flex as he cuffs his fingers around them. The space is no more than a few feet, but it might as well be miles.
Raking his hands through his hair, he rests them on the top of his head. He studies me, unspeaking. My palms are planted on the countertop, and I press the tips of my fingers into the cold surface. I tilt my head, peering out the patio doors at the blue water of the pool shimmering in the rising sun.
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" he breaks the silence.
"I don't know what to think," I admit.
With lightning speed, his hands wrap around my wrists, and he's in front of me. My head jerks around, and I meet his unreadable gaze. He roots me in place as he steps between my legs. With his height, his groin is perfectly lined up with my pussy, and I suck in a breath. The mere proximity to… I can feel my own wetness betraying my resolve.
"Come with me," he orders as he pulls me off the counter.
"Wha—"
He doesn't elaborate, just keeps one wrist shackled and drags me after him. Before I can protest, we're through the patio doors and across the lawn. My heart is hammering in feverish anticipation and confusing uncertainty. The grass between my toes tickles, the cool morning air making me shiver. Marcus doesn't stop or release me until we're in the guesthouse.
I've been in here a few times, stayed here when we all visited and Wes and King had the suite I currently occupy. But I haven't been back since. Not since Marcus moved in. Not much has changed besides a few dishes in the sink and an arsenal of weapons on every visible surface.
He disappears into one of the bedrooms, leaving me standing in the short hallway. I tremble, slowly placing one foot in front of the other until I'm in the middle of the open-concept living area. Marcus reappears and, as he passes, reaches for my hand. Clasping my fingers in his, he guides me to the couch, gesturing for me to sit.