Bona Fide (Illusive Duet Book 2)

by Hazel Grace

  Me: Who?

  Sadie: Didn’t say. Two other guys showed up in suits and kinda ran him off.

  I don’t respond to her, going into my settings and unblocking Wade’s number to text him. I have a gut-wrenching feeling that it has something to do with Demi, and I don’t feel safe here anymore.

  Me: Wade, someone was at my office in New York.

  Wade: I know. I got it handled.

  My jaw locks at his nonchalant attitude. This is the problem with texting, no emotion behind it, so I don’t know how he’s saying it in his head or how he’s feeling about it.

  Me: Were those your men who drove him off?

  Wade: Yes.

  I want to ask him if he’s at the White House, but I know the answer to that already. I want to chastise him for leaving without waking me up and not saying goodbye, but it’s not in my nature to feel so needy, and I don’t like how it muddles my every emotion.

  Tossing the phone along the seat cushions of the couch, I rise, about to walk into the kitchen for a glass of water when a cold voice commands me to halt.

  “Sit down.” I whip around and stagger backward.

  My calves hit the small coffee table behind me and everything shuts down. I can’t breathe, blink, swallow—all I can do is just stare down the barrel of a gun that’s pointed straight at me.

  “Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument as he motions with his weapon for me to hurry up.

  Yeah, no.

  Mentally, I measure out the distance from here to the sliding door that leads to the backyard.

  It’s too far away, where the fuck is everyone?

  Oh, shit, Mama.

  I haven’t heard her moving around yet, didn’t bother to look at the time on my phone.

  The man lifts his gun and shoots over my head, stunning me to react and sit at his demand. He’s warning me to not fuck around—point made.

  I try not to study his features, but I do, it’s morbid, examining the last thing you’re going to see before you’re shot to death. He can’t be older than twenty-five, short dirty blonde hair, and his eyes are dark, filled with anger as though I just pissed in his Cheerios this morning.

  His fingers flex around the handle of the gun as he aims it back at my body; pondering, hesitating—I don’t know because his face expresses nothing but narrowed eyes and a deep frown.

  Mama.

  I don’t want her to find my dead body in a pool of blood. I don’t want this dude to search the house for other people because she won’t stand a chance.

  I don’t stand one either sitting on this detailed table.

  “I have a message,” he states coolly, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. “Demi Lockwood would like me to tell you that she warned you and that you didn’t listen. That you’re done fucking her husband.”

  “She sent you?” His face twists at my obvious question because he just said who sent him here.

  “She just regrets that she isn’t here to see you die in front of her eyes. And that you’ll be the reason the President of the United States falls. Not only from grief and regret of your death but also your secret love affair will become public knowledge. Everything and everyone around you will suffer for you being a whore.”

  The hammer of his gun clicks back, and my eyes snap shut on their own before another shot rings out through the room. My exhale is loud at the shock of what I knew would come as I wait for the pain to start taking over my body. For a bright light or the sound of me hitting the floor.

  Another second and nothing.

  I replay the sound in my head because I know it was real and that I wasn’t imagining anything. Hesitantly, I crack my eyelids open, and Marty’s frame appears in front of me.

  As I open my mouth to call his name, he raises his arm, peering down at the floor before I see the gun in his hand.

  “You talk too fucking much,” he seethes before another discharge of a gun goes off twice. Then he promptly swings his leg back and kicks something in front of him—a fucking body.

  I know it is, the asshole didn’t just vanish into thin air. Another punt with his foot and Marty stops, cocking his head side to side before inhaling one deep, slow breath into his lungs.

  I shoot up from the table, catching Marty’s attention as he cranes his eyes to look at me, head-on.

  What in the actual fuck.

  “Marty,” I stammer, my gaze falling back on his gun.

  “It’s okay, Tsarina,” he coos softly then motions for me with his other, gun-less, hand to stay where I am. “Don’t move for me, okay?”

  My answer is lodged in my throat, but I do what he asks for once. He lets the clip from his gun fall before catching it and holding both of his hands in the air in silent surrender. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “What...the fuck does that mean?” He calmly rounds the couch, acting like he didn’t just shoot someone to save my life. As though this was a normal-ass thing that happens all the time.

  Maybe it does, he is a Marine after all, but still...I tried to stay as ignorant as I could so that I didn’t drive myself crazy with the uneasiness about what he was doing.

  “You alright?” he asks me, his green eyes never leaving mine. I stare at him, feeling my jaw drop as he makes his way only a few more steps before he stops. “You need to speak to me.”

  “You…”

  Who are you?

  I replay what just happened a few moments ago. He shot him three times then kicked him repeatedly. He sounded confident, unruffled, and…

  “I need more words, Tsarina. If you’re suffering some sort of shock, I need—”

  “Oh, I’m...in shock alright.”

  His lips break into a feeble grin. “There she is.” He places his gun on the side table next to the couch and proceeds to step closer. “We need to talk. But, first, I have some shit I have to handle.”

  “You just…” I can’t stop my body from shaking. My brother just shot someone, and he’s cool as a fucking cucumber.

  “She’s here, Emric.” I flinch back, knocking into the table again, and my head and Marty’s snap to another man who just strode through the room.

  Huge, tall, he looks like the Hulk without the green features as his gaze sweeps over me for a brief second before returning it to my brother.

  “Give me a second,” Marty replies, waving him off.

  “Who the fuck is Emric?” I mutter. Instead of answering me, Marty rubs one of his temples.

  “We’ll talk, but can you do me a favor?” I bow my head automatically. “Do not leave, I’ll answer all your questions, but I need to handle this.”

  “Handle...what?”

  “I promise I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Marty,” I quiver, balling my hands into fists because I think I’m on the verge of having a full-blown anxiety attack.

  “I’m here,” he replies, closing the distance but not stretching for me. “I scared you, I know. I’m sorry.”

  I bow my head, stretching my jaw because I’m attempting to keep the hot tears at bay behind my eyes. I almost just spent my last moment alone, and the person that always had my back came out of nowhere to save me.

  “Can you please hug me?” His voice is strained, almost pained as I flick my gaze back up to his.

  I hesitate, and he sees it, disclosing a heavy exhale like he was expecting it. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stays grounded where he is.

  “No hands. I promise, Tsarina, I would never hurt you or Mama.”

  “Who are you?” It comes without warning, my body obviously not responding like it should, and Marty remains looking like he wants to fucking die right now. “Why did he call you Emric?”

  Secrets—there are always fucking mysteries about people, aren’t there? Some are easier to hide than others. I’ve always prided myself on keeping my emotions private while being able to act like a stone-cold bitch outwardly.

  But others, some might be too dark or deep to be safely exposed.
/>
  “I’m your brother,” he professes confidently and without abandon. “And I will always put you and Mama first. Over anyone.”

  I want to believe his words, but I’m still startled. His arms, I do want them around me, but at what cost? Thinking I know everything about my own family just to be punched in the face with reality.

  Marty and Mama are all I have, and even that doesn’t seem to be genuine anymore. I can see it in every speck of his green eyes that something isn’t normal here. His stance is tense and rigid as though he’s forced to let any demons or clandestines free at this moment.

  “I’ll be in the other room,” he finally continues, giving up on his request. “You won’t be able to go in there, but the men here, now, are mine. They won’t touch you.”

  He leaves the gun, going around the back of the couch to leave the room so that he doesn’t have to brush past me. I stride towards him, but his hand halts me in motion.

  “Stop,” he orders, his tone steel. I see the man’s feet who was just standing in front of me moments ago then the blood that’s begun to pool along the floor.

  Marty closes the distance between us, blocking my view of the man he just shot. “Back up.”

  I do, and he follows me, making sure that I don’t try for a second glance. I won’t, he doesn’t have to worry about that.

  “You’re safe,” he whispers. “And everything will be over soon.” He takes a chance and kisses my forehead before striding past me.

  “Where is Mama?”

  He pivots to face me again. “Grocery shopping.” He gives me a weak smirk. “I wanted peanut butter and jelly, and she knows I hate grape. She’s fine.” He jerks his head to the direction of the library. “Go find something to do for me, I promise I won’t be long.”

  I nod, he leaves, and the same man who was just in the room appears in the doorway. “Would you like some water, Miss Shelton?”

  I shake my head and make my way, mindlessly, to where my brother told me to go.

  What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened.

  The Hulk and I were reunited quickly after I went to the library when I couldn’t ignore the recurring female screams filtering throughout the house.

  They weren’t blood-curdling—far worse.

  It was the most horrifying anguish I have ever heard in my life. To the point where I knew I wouldn’t be forgetting them anytime soon.

  Now Hulk stood in my way to find Marty and the direction of the sounds to see what in the ever living hell was going on.

  “You need to move,” I snap. “I need to see—”

  “You won’t be seeing shit, right now, little Shelton,” he retorts and crosses his arms like that’s going to do something. “I’ll have the volume turned down so that you can focus on whatever it is that you’re doing.”

  “The fuck does that mean?” I slash my brows, my head almost hitting my back because I have to pry it so far to actually look at his face.

  “It means go.” He raises his brow and gives me a dismissive wave with his bulky hand. “I’ll have Em—Marty come get you when he’s available.”

  “Make him available now,” I fume. “Or I’ll find a way to get to him.” Hulk smirks like what I’m saying is cute.

  He doesn’t know me.

  Dick.

  “Are you saying you want to try me, Hulk?” He rolls his hazel eyes and folds his massive-overworked arms. “What are you doing, trying out for the Arnold Schwarzenegger muscle building event or something?”

  “Ha,” he deadpans, clearly unamused.

  “One…” I begin. “Two…”

  “What number are you counting to?”

  “I’ll give you five.” He nods and continues being a wall. “Three…” He yawns. “Four…” He checks his fingernails. “Marty!”

  I scream like I’m about to fall off a fucking cliff and I need him to save me. Like I’m about to be run over by a semi-truck and I needed to be pushed out the way at the last second. Or like I had a gun pointed directly at me just like earlier, although, my scream wouldn’t break through my fear—take your pick.

  “Are you—” I release another scream, keeping my eyes aimed directly at him.

  Yeah, motherfucker, I’m serious.

  I hear the hurried footsteps against hardwood floors, a convulsed exhale as the doorknob behind the Hulk rattles, my brother shoving the “new wall of asshole” and appearings at his side.

  “What the fuck?!” Marty looks like a madman. His uneven breathing is alarming, his eyes widen with fear before they quickly roam down the length of me. “What the hell happened?”

  I nod to his whatever the fuck he is. “He wouldn’t let me through.” Marty’s mouth drops a little before his brows slam together.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.” I popped that “p” with no damn shame. My brother rounds on his dude and straightens his spine.

  “You can’t handle my damn sister?” he snaps.

  “I was until she screamed bloody murder,” he rebuffs “If she’s half as fucking crazy as you, should’ve locked her up. I’m not a babysitter.”

  “No, you’re just a damn brick—stupid as hell.”

  “Fuck you,” the Hulk sneers. “I’m going to handle the rest of your shit.” He marches into the room that Marty just appeared out of, leaving me with a glare from my brother.

  “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that again.”

  “What the hell is that screaming?” I rebuke back, propping a hand on one of my hips. “Who is screaming, Marty, and what are you—” It’s then that I see it. How couldn’t I before, he’s only been standing in front of me for the last two and a half minutes?

  Blood.

  His forearms have splatters of it along with the hair of his arms. There is a small splatter on his neck, and I compel my eyes back to his.

  “What?”

  “What?! Why is there blood on you?” He doesn’t even bother to study himself, fully aware already. “Marty...who is screaming?” His jaw hardens, eyes warning me to stop asking questions that I know I don’t want to know the answers to.

  Thing is, I need to know. I feel as though I’m looking at a stranger, but I know who he is. It’s the boy now turned man who always had my back. Who always had my best interest at heart. He was there, I grew up with him, but the mask of who is in front of me now—I don’t know what to think.

  “We’ll be leaving soon,” he quips then throws his thumb. “Go pack your shit.”

  “Don’t dismiss me,” I snarl, letting my foot take a step. “I’m not fucking leaving if you don’t tell me what is going on.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Marty...I’m serious…”

  “You’re not seeing that bullshit.” His nostrils flare as he grounds his jaw. I’ve made Marty mad plenty of times before, but right now, it looks like he wants to strangle me.

  “What bullshit?” I press.

  He shakes his head. “No, Tsarina. I’m not submitting you to that.”

  “Let me in...are you keeping things from me? Obviously, you are. You’ve been lying to me and—”

  “I haven’t lied.”

  “Then tell me, who is the man in front of me? Who are you?”

  “I’m your brother,” he seizes. “And someone fucked with my family so I’m handling it.”

  “Who?” He throws his hands in the air and pivots away from me. My gaze trails his movements as he begins to make his way towards the back door. “Marty.”

  “I can’t, Tsarina. I cannot right the fuck now.”

  “Marty,” I say softly. “Please. What did you do?” Slowly, ever so slowly and gradually, he comes back to face me. He doesn’t want to hurt me, and I know that. But what he is going to say will.

  “I’m protecting you and Mama...and this country.”

  “From who?” He raises his arm, extending his palm for me to take his hand.

  I do it without thinking, wrapping mine around his to offer some silent comfort to however he�
�s feeling right now.

  “Will you still love me?” he mutters.

  “Of course, I will. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “This will—” His chin lowers into his chest. “—after tonight...everything about you and I will change forever.”

  I force a light scoff. “You’re my brother, the only person who ever protected me when Mama couldn’t. You are the world to me, always have been.”

  “You don’t...there is so much.” He slowly shakes his head. “So, so much, Tsarina.”

  I squeeze his hand. “I’ll be here. I’m not leaving you—ever.”

  “Do you promise?” He pulls his head up. “No matter what because it’s not good. At all.”

  “I promise.”

  ♫ The Broken Hearts Club — Gnash ♫

  He warned me, I just didn’t listen.

  Seems to be a problem of mine as of late.

  Nothing seems to commute properly when I’m told something, I just flatly ignore it or never think it fully through. I should; with my current track record, nothing should surprise me.

  But this does.

  All of this REALLY does.

  Marty won’t let go of me, more than likely afraid I’m going to fall over or throw up. I want to do both, at the same time. It doesn’t compare to any horror movie I have ever seen. Any sick and horrific thing I have ever seen—nothing, and I mean not a damn thing, would ever prepare me for this.

  “This is what I was talking about,” Marty whispers next to me, holding on to my hand for dear life. As though I’m the one that’s going to help him through the mess he just caused. “I didn’t want you to see this part of me, Tsarina.” I let the hand that’s holding my stomach drop to my side so that I can grab his other hand.

  I crush it to keep from throwing up, to remain strong, to stay by his side because I hate the woman in front of me, but I love my brother.

  I will always love my brother.

  My nostrils flare to keep myself as sturdy as I can. The smell of blood fills my lungs and immediately seeps into my gut, making me dry heave once.