Marrow

by Tarryn Fisher

  Love,

  Tarryn

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  I’LL START WITH THE PERSON I DEDICATED THE BOOK TO—MY MOM. Who is nothing like Margo’s mother, I might add. I would have been a sociopath if Cynthia Fisher had not raised me. Thank you for teaching me kindness and what it means to love without the presence of self. If everyone had a mother like you, there would be less hurting in the world. My dad, who has very strange things in his marrow and passed them on to me.

  My team of supporters—otherwise known as Tarryn’s Passionate Little Nutcases. Fierce and brave and frightening. I hope you’ve all seen the movie 300 because that’s what you remind me of. I wish I could thank you all individually and give you a hug. You girls truly brought me back to life.

  Lori Sabin—my person. Simone Schneider, Tracy Finlay, Madison Green—people I love and wish I could see more. Nina Gomez and all of her alter egos. Some of my best times are spent with you. James Reynolds, for always encouraging, gifting, and giving that extra help when I need it. Rhonda Reynolds, for always being my mother.

  Jenn Sterling, Rebecca Donovan, Tali Alexander, and Claire Contreras—Your encouragement and texts are always much appreciated. Alessandra Torre, for rescuing Mud Vein from Marrow! So grateful for that insight!

  The bloggers who take the time to so eloquently review and support my books. Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae for the beautiful cover that encompasses everything Marrow is. Jovana Shirley at Unforeseen Editing—You always drop everything for me. Much appreciated.

  Michelle Wang and Kolbee Rey—Thank you for sharing your stories with me. Human nature may have bullied your childhood, but you are tough and kind and full of light. I hope you never let other people’s mistakes dictate your worth. You are so loved.

  Jonathan Rodriguez—You were aged in oak. Thanks for always being everything I need right when I need it and for making Knick Knack your favorite character. You get me.

  Amy Holloway, my friend and muse, who inspired some of the deeper thoughts in this novel. You give me such peace. We are the color of BANG!

  Madison Seidler, my editor, my business partner, but most importantly, my friend—I choose you! And then, Judah comes for a visit…and shit gets real scary.

  Serena Knautz, my assistant and possibly the best human on the planet. Leader of the fierce gang. Rebel and out drinker. Loyalist. I would be lost and confused without you. Your love and unfaltering support carried my heart across dark places. I learn more about love every day from you. Olive you! Please don’t ever leave me (not even to go to France).

  Colleen Hoover, who always gives me advice in the form of song lyrics. I’ve tried ten times to express my love and adoration for you, but I keep seeing you chase pigeons down Bourbon Street, and I get distracted. Baby, you crazy! I would kill for you. Seriously, I would. Just tell me who, and I’ll do it.

  My little people, Scarlet and Ryder—Mommy is crazy, but everything I do is for you. (Yikes!)

  OTHER BOOKS BY TARRYN

  Mud Vein

  LOVE ME WITH LIES SERIES

  The Opportunist

  Dirty Red

  Thief

  Never Never

  TARRYN WELCOMES STALKING

  TWITTER

  FACEBOOK

  INSTAGRAM

  BANG

  book one in the Black Lotus series

  A PSYCHOSEXUAL THRILLER WRITTEN BY

  E.K. BLAIR

  Preface

  THEY SAY WHEN YOU TAKE REVENGE against another you lose your innocence. But I’m not innocent. I haven’t been for a very long time. My innocence was stolen from me. Taken was the life I was supposed to have. The soul I was born with. The ruby heart embedded in a life full of hopes and dreams. Gone. Vanished. I never even had a choice. I mourn that life. Mourn the what-ifs. But I’m done. I’m ready to take back what was always meant to be mine. Vengeance is what I seek to reclaim what was viciously ripped from me. So now? Now I plot. Now I take control. Now I don my crown of hatred.

  Chapter One

  (Present)

  “HONEY, ARE YOU ALMOST READY?” my husband’s voice calls from the other room.

  I look at my reflection in the mirror as I slide in my pearl earring, whispering to myself, “Yes.”

  Straightening my posture and smoothing the slick fabric of my dress, I run my fingers through my long, red hair. A blanket of carmine. Loose waves falling over my bare shoulders. The coolness of the midnight blue silk that clings to the slight curves of my small frame. The stoic good wife. My husband, the beacon of my admiration, or so it seems.

  “Stunning.”

  My eyes shift in the mirror to Bennett as he strolls into my closet and towards the island dresser where I stand. He drags my hair to the side, exposing my neck for his lips to land.

  “Mmm,” I hum at his touch before turning in his arms to adjust his black bowtie.

  His eyes are pinned on me as I focus on his neck, and when I flick my attention up, he gives me a soft smile. I return it. He’s striking with his strong bone structure, square jaw, and chestnut hair with the faint flecks of silver. A sign of his thirty-four years and his influential status. A mogul. Owner of the world’s largest steel company. He is power. And I the recipient.

  “Baldwin is ready with the car,” he says before kissing my forehead.

  I grab my purse and Bennett helps me with my coat before we take the elevator down. As we walk through the lobby of The Legacy, my home for the past three years, Bennett keeps his hand on the crest of my back, guiding me out into the night’s bite of winter.

  “Mr. Vanderwal,” Baldwin, our driver and good friend to my husband for years, greets with a nod before turning his attention to me, “Mrs.”

  “Good evening,” I say as I slip my hand in his, and he helps me into the back seat of the Land Rover.

  Bennett slides in after me and takes my hand in his lap when Baldwin shuts the door and then hops in the front seat. ‘Metamorphosis’ by Glass, Bennett’s favorite, swallows the silence and fills the car. Lifting my free hand up, I place it on the ice-cold window, feeling the dampness and chill as it seeps into my skin.

  “I love the snow,” I murmur, more to myself than to my husband, but he responds anyway.

  “You say that every winter.”

  Turning to look at him and then down at our linked hands, I release a soft hum before he shifts and says, “So Richard said he stopped by this hotel the other day and mentioned that it would be a good location to hold our New Year’s Eve party this year.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Lotus.”

  “Interesting,” I note before asking, “This is McKinnon’s new hotel, right?”

  “His son’s, actually. I’ve yet to meet him.”

  “Hmm.”

  Giving my hand a light squeeze, he questions, “What’s that look for?”

  “McKinnon can be, well . . .”

  “An ass?”

  I smile and agree, “Yes. I just never knew he had any children, that’s all.”

  Driving through the Saturday evening traffic in the loop of Chicago, we finally pull up to the newly built boutique hotel that will cater to the city’s elite. We tend to find ourselves at a monotonous number of events such as this. With Bennett’s status, not only in this city, but worldwide, his presence is of an accord that is sought after for publicity and other reasons. But Bennett has found himself in several business dealings with Calum McKinnon over the years, so tonight’s event wasn’t one that we could skip out on.

  When Baldwin opens the door and helps me down, I right myself and adjust my long dress before being led through the glass doors and inside the lobby of Lotus. While Bennett leaves my side to
check our coats, I take in the decorum of guests and bite the inside of my cheek. I know I’m with the wealthiest man here, but my nerves tend to stain my gut, wondering if these people can see right through me.

  I’m greeted with a glass of champagne and the eyes of a few women that serve on some of the charity boards that I sit on.

  “You ready, honey?”

  My husband wraps his arm around my hip and guides us over to the first of many interactions we will have. I gloss on my smile, raise my chin, and play the part. The part I have played since I met Bennett.

  He’s a loving husband, always has been. Firm in his business, but so very gentle with me, as if I’m breakable. Maybe I used to be, but not anymore. I’m as strong as they come. Weakness derives from the soul. Most everyone has one, which gives a woman like me leverage. Leverage to play people to my liking, and so I do.

  “Nina!” I hear my name being drawn out by one of my friends.

  “Jacqueline, don’t you look lovely,” I say as she leans in to kiss my cheek.

  “Well, I can’t even compete with you. Gorgeous as always,” she says before turning her attention to Bennett and blushing as she says hello. I’m sure she just soaked her panties as well. She’s a desperate flirt. Her husband is a sorry excuse for a man. But that husband is a business partner with Bennett, so I put up with his misogynistic bullshit and feel sorry for the twit that he married. She’s been trying to get into my husband’s pants since I first met her. I’ve never said a word because desperation is not something that Bennett is attracted to.

  While Jacqueline flirts with my husband, I scan the room. Everyone dressed in their finest, drinking and socializing. I turn away from the mindless people and take in the sleek, modern design of the hotel. A minimalistic fitting but clearly bathed in money. As I float my gaze around the room, I land on a pair of eyes staring at me. Eyes that catch my interest. Standing in a small group, not paying attention to a single person around him, a man—a startlingly attractive man—is watching me. Even as I look at him from across the room, he doesn’t divert his lock on me; he merely cocks a small grin before taking a sip out of his highball. When a slender blonde strokes his arm, the contact is lost. Impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit, he has a slightly uncaring look about him. His hair is styled loosely, as if he just ran his hands through the thick locks and said fuck it, and his defined jaw is covered in day-old stubble. But that suit . . . yeah, that suit is clearly covering a body that is well maintained. The lines and cuts hug his form, accentuating broad shoulders that V down to slender hips.

  “Honey?”

  Pulled away from my lingering eye, I turn to my husband’s curious look and notice that Jacqueline is no longer by his side.

  “What’s got your attention?” he asks.

  “Oh. I’m just taking everything in. This place is amazing, huh?”

  “I was asking about the party, but I guess you were zoned out. So what do you think?”

  “Yes, I agree. This would be a great venue and a nice change of scenery,” I tell him, and when I do, I see fuck it guy approaching. He has an ease with his stride, and the other women in the room see it too.

  “You must be Bennett,” he says in a silky, rough Scottish brogue that’s reminiscent of his father’s accent as he reaches out his hand to my husband. “I’m Declan McKinnon. My father speaks very highly of you.”

  “Good to finally meet you, Declan. I haven’t seen Cal here tonight,” Bennett says as he shakes fuck it guy’s hand, who now has a name.

  “He’s isn’t here. He had to fly to Miami to take care of some business.”

  “That old bastard never stops moving, does he?” Bennett laughs and Declan joins, shaking his head, saying, “Sixty years old and still barking orders to anyone who will listen. Hell, even to those who won’t.”

  When Declan looks over to me, my husband apologizes and says, “Declan, this is my wife, Nina.”

  Taking my hand, he leans in and kisses my cheek before pulling back and complimenting, “It’s a pleasure. I couldn’t help but take notice across the room earlier.” Looking at Bennett, he adds, “You’re a lucky man.”

  “I tell her that every day.”

  I wear my smile as a good wife should. I’ve been doing this for years, numb to the ridiculous accolades these men tend to throw around in their lame attempts at gentlemanly ways. I can see that Declan makes no attempts though. His shoulders are loose. He’s relaxed.

  “This place is quite an accomplishment. Congratulations,” Bennett tells him.

  “Thank you. It only took a few years off my life, but,” he says as he takes in the surroundings, “she’s exactly how I envisioned her,” before bringing his eyes back to me.

  This guy is outright flirting, and I’m surprised when it slides past Bennett as he continues in conversation.

  “I was just telling Nina that your hotel would provide a perfect backdrop for our year-end party that we throw for our friends.”

  I butt in with a smirk, saying, “It’s a once-a-year event where my husband releases the reins, allowing me to create an event to accentuate his financial power, simply to remind everyone who’s on top. A penis extender, if you will, and he’s due for his annual visit.” I tease with a tender femininity that has the boys laughing in amusement at my tart words. I laugh along with them as I shoot my husband a flirty wink.

  “She’s got a sweet mouth on her,” Declan says.

  “You have no clue,” Bennett responds as he looks down at me with his grin. “But despite what she says, she loves planning this yearly engagement, and I get a thrill out of watching her spend all of my hard-earned money. But we’re in a bind because the venue we selected a few months back is now under renovation and the space won’t be ready in time.”

  “When does this event take place?”

  “It’s a New Year’s Eve ball,” he answers.

  “Sounds like that is doable,” Declan says as he takes out a business card from inside his suit jacket, and instead of handing it to Bennett, he hands it to me, saying, “Since it seems you’re the woman I’ll be answering to, here are my contact numbers.”

  Taking the card from between his fingers, I watch as he turns and tells my husband, “I’ll be sure to oversee the planning to ensure that Nina gets everything she requests.”

  “Looks like I’ll be writing a big check this year,” my husband jokes. “Well, Declan, it was great to finally put a face to the name, but if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to show off my wife on the dance floor.”

  When Bennett leads us to the full dance floor and wraps me in his arms, I take the opportunity to peek over his shoulder to find Declan watching me intently. This guy makes no qualms about his interest, and a pang of elation thrums inside me as my husband slowly moves me with ease.

  We continue to spend the evening mingling and visiting with friends and business associates before we retire for the evening and head back to The Legacy. Stepping off the elevator and into the penthouse that Bennett owned when I first met him four years ago, we walk through the darkened living room. The only light is from the moon that’s casting its glow behind the snow-filled clouds outside the floor to ceiling windows that span across the two walls. I enter the master suite behind Bennett, and as I slip off my heels, I look up to see that he has already undone his bowtie and it hangs around the collar of his white tuxedo shirt, which he is now unbuttoning.

  His eyes are rapt as they move down my body. I stand there as he slowly approaches and then slides his hands along the length of my sides until he finds himself on his knees in front of me. He runs his hands up my legs through the opening of the slit in my dress, and as soon as his fingers hit my panties, I turn it off.

  The steel cage wraps around my heart and before my stomach can turn, I shut down.

  Numb.

  Vacant.

  He drags my panties down my legs and I step out of them before I feel the warmth of his tongue when he slides it along the seam of my pussy, but I am able to keep
myself from entertaining the slightest impulse of intimacy. I’ve been sleeping with my husband for years, but I refuse to allow the pleasure I lead him to believe I’m experiencing.

  Why?

  I’ll tell you why.

  Because I hate him.

  He thinks, in this moment, that we’re making love. His cock fills me slowly as I lie beneath him. Arms laced around his neck. Legs spread open wide, inviting him in deeper as he makes a meal out of my tits. He believes everything I want him to. He always has. But this is merely a game for me. A game he foolishly has fallen into. He never questions my love for him, and now my body writhes underneath his and moans in mock pleasure as he comes hard, jerking his hips into me, telling me how much he loves me, and I give his words right back.

  “God, Bennett, I love you so much,” I pant.

  His head is nestled in the yoke of my neck as he tries to calm his breathing, and when he lifts up, I run my fingers through his hair and over his damp scalp as he looks into my eyes.

  “You’re so stunning like this.”

  “Like what?” I question softly.

  “Sated.”

  Idiot.

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