Mark (The Mallick Brothers #3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  Well, I couldn't make out any of the words except one.

  "... Scotti..."

  No.

  Fucking.

  Way.

  But even as my brain tried to find any other explanation, it was beyond any of them. Because all you had to do was look at those two. The family resemblance was like that of my family. You saw me and one, or all, of my brothers together and you knew we were related. Same with Pops. There was no mistaking he was our old man.

  And Angela/Scotti and the robber(s) from last week, yeah, they were brothers and sister. There wasn't a doubt in my mind.

  The hot as sin woman I had been hoping to get a look at for weeks was a damn armed robber.

  Of course.

  You know, because the men in my family could never be into easy, normal women. Nope, it was all phone sex operators, ex-bikers, agoraphobic drug dealers.

  And now, apparently, armed robbers of big box stores.

  Yup, that sounded about right.

  I mean, not that I had any plans to get serious with the woman. I was just making a comparison. Apparently, loanshark enforcers were inherently drawn to women who were trouble.

  "What the fuck are you looking..." Shane started, voice getting closer as he hopped off the truck and moved to stand beside me. "Oh, damn. Alright yeah. I get that," he said, whacking me on the back. It was no secret that Shane used to be pretty much the same level of ladies man as I am back before he met Lea and fell hard for her. And while I was pretty equal opportunity with women, everyone had a type they generally preferred. So Shane knew it when he saw it. "And you're still fucking standing here because..."

  Because the chick I had been thinking about in the goddamn shower for a week was standing across the street from me, looking stupidly sexy in simple skinny light wash bluejeans that looked well-loved and soft as they clung to her thighs and hips, a lightweight white long-sleeve tee with some writing across the front that I couldn't make out from the distance, and her combat boots on her feet.

  I did, in fact, get my foot X-rayed at the local emergency center just to make sure. I knew when my hand or fingers or ribs were broken seeing as those were injuries I frequently got over the years, but my feet had always been relatively safe. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't busted before I went and made it worse by going my usual speed with work.

  It was fine.

  Had a nasty bruise though.

  The doctor said my boots were what saved me.

  The girl could do real damage.

  It shouldn't have been, but it was incredibly fucking hot.

  I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts. "I'm in the middle of laying a sidewalk here," I said, not wanting to share the information I had just learned. It wasn't like me; in general, I was a big fucking loudmouth. But this one, this situation, this intriguing woman, I wanted to play that close to my vest.

  "I once saw you get distracted by a woman and get an eight-inch-long gash down your forearm from a fucking table saw. Then you ran over and fucking chatted her up while bleeding fucking everywhere. If you remember, you needed forty-two stitches, a Tetanus shot, and a transfusion."

  He wasn't exactly wrong about that. In fact, he wasn't wrong about that at all. That was one good woman too. Well worth the pain and lightheadedness. I might have actually handed in my manwhore card to date her had she not already had my number and decided she only wanted me for a fling.

  "Alright. Maybe I just don't want a fucking audience, man," I said, shaking my head as Angela/Scotti looked over at Third Street for a moment then disappeared back into her shack. Woman like that in a shack, that made no sense either.

  "When we were twenty-one you once had a woman while I was..."

  "Alright, shove off," I said, chuckling slightly. That was the one problem with small families, they knew all your crap, so you never could bullshit them. "I'll talk to her when I want to talk to her."

  "Just saying, bro, I'm getting worried about you. Not getting any ain't good for you," he went on, smirk downright evil, like he somehow knew I hadn't had a fuck since the day I met the mysterious Angela/Scotti. Knowing him, knowing my family, knowing how we all knew every goddamn little thing, he probably did know that.

  "Gee, you know, if you don't piss off and let me work, I might be tempted to bill you for all this work. You know what I make an hour, man."

  He chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. Pine over your damsel-not-in-distress chick all you want. Don't say I didn't warn you that this period of celibacy is probably going to make you pop off the second you get inside her, 'cause I just fucking did."

  And with that wholly inappropriate, but utterly Shane-like comment, he closed the bed of his truck, waved over his shoulder at me, and took off.

  Me, well, I got back to work. All the while, I was pretending not to be paying attention to the shack. But, of course, I was. As such, I saw three other men walk out, go into the garage, and come out in some nondescript black sedan. They took off in the direction that led out of Navesink Bank.

  And, well, four men down.

  I was pretty fucking sure she was alone in that shack.

  Me, well, I wanted some answers.

  I didn't even bother cleaning up my mess. It might have been a shitty area, but I doubted anyone wanted to steal damn concrete and shovels and basic shit like that.

  I ran across the street, wiping my hands down my jeans, knowing there wasn't shit I could do about them, and not caring overly much. In my experience, women liked a man in day-labor clothes just as much as they liked a man in a suit. And me, not to sound cocky, but I could pull both looks off.

  I moved around the back of the building where I had seen them all emerge from, running up the penny brick steps that were crumbling and jagged.

  My hand was raised to knock on the rotted out door when it suddenly flew open in my face, making me almost stumble backward, the air bringing a swirl of a very distinct lavender and citrus scent with it.

  "What the... oh," she said, eyes rounding almost comically as her mouth fell slightly open.

  I stretched my arm out, touching the side of the house, blocking her in slightly, knowing her first instinct would be to plow into me and take off before I could even get a word in. That seemed her style.

  Even as the shock was draining from her face, it was getting replaced with a veiled sort of annoyance. Like I was a problem she didn't want to deal with right then.

  Somehow, I liked that shit too.

  "Scott, huh?" I asked, my lips twitching as her dark eyes lowered at me, as her arms moved up and crossed over her chest, looking both hostile and defensive. "An armed robber."

  "And you're Mark Mallick, a loanshark enforcer. So what?"

  "I don't really think being an, I repeat, armed robber is a 'so what' kind of situation."

  "Really, because I think being a brutal kneecap-breaking bully totally is a 'so what' kind of situation. And in my case, honey, no one gets hurt. You can't go around saying you don't have blood on your hands. You know, along with... what is that? Concrete?" she asked, squinting at the hand blocking her way.

  "In my case, honey," I said, lips twitching when her eyes lowered at me again, "I don't take from innocent people."

  "I don't take anything from any people. I take from a corporation that has its money insured so, all things said and done, I'm not actually hurting anyone in any way shape or form. The same can not be said for you. Not only do you hurt people physically, but you rake them over the coals in interest charges that no one with a soul would demand of another person who, if they are turning to you, are clearly out of other options."

  I didn't feel bad about my job. In fact, nothing she could say could actually make me feel that way. The fact of the matter was, it wasn't like we loaned money to single mothers with sick kids and beat the shit out of them when they didn't pay. In fact, we didn't do a loanshark thing at all with women because not a single one of us would ever put their hands on a woman. The guys who came to us we
re the shits who lost their shirt at Hex or in AC or when they picked the wrong team in Fantasy Football. We loaned money to people who were careless with it to begin with.

  Did I have the cleanest of jobs? No, of course not.

  But it wasn't as dirty as it sounded either.

  And you got way more slack with the Mallick family than you did anywhere else. Shit happened sometimes; Pops understood that. Pops was forgiving of that if you came to him about it. It was only when you did the chickenshit thing and hid that he got pissed.

  Also, all said and done, enforcing made up only a part of my income these days. With the ever-expanding contracting work and landscaping work, I was, quite frankly, rather rolling in it. As were all my brothers with their various endeavors. The loansharking, that was just, I don't know, tradition. An homage to our father who busted his ass getting that going to provide for our mother and us when we were little. It was the only thing that eventually allowed us all to take on legit business practices.

  There was no shame in my game.

  "How did you find me?" she asked suddenly, voice taking on an edge that gave away some of her uneasiness. I guessed when your freedom depended on not being found or found out, being walked up to in your hideout being addressed by name was not a good thing.

  "You know, I'm thinking in this situation, I get to be the one asking questions. You know, seeing as you almost broke my foot and all."

  "Oh, please," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "The most damage there could have been was a bone-level bruise with those heavy work boots you had on. Don't be such a baby about it."

  It would have been a snotty thing to say had her eyes not been dancing a little when she said it. Like maybe it was something she would tease one of her many brothers about. Actually, the having four what seemed like older brothers explained a lot about her.

  "Regardless, wouldn't maybe good manners dictate you invite me in for a cool or hot refreshment?"

  To that, her lips twitched for a second before she forced them into a straight line. "I know you think you're so slick and charming, but I have your number, Mr. Mark Mallick."

  Something about that phrasing was a bit of a gut-punch. Maybe it was as simple as the 'have your number' phrase, almost identical to what I had been thinking about in regard to another woman just a couple minutes before. But whatever it was, it sparked a challenge inside me, whether that was her intention or not.

  My arm slid from the wall and moved to plant beside the door at her side. Then my other arm went to the other side, caging her in, bringing us closer.

  Because, quite frankly, I knew I was charming. I also knew I had game. And I knew I was a good looking guy. Despite all the fire she kept spitting at me, she wasn't as unaffected as she wanted to pretend to be either.

  I wasn't above using that to my advantage.

  As I was about to prove.

  I watched her as I moved up a step, as I went to take the height advantage away from her, as she needed to crane her neck up to keep eye-contact which she was too stubborn to break. Her breathing went more shallow, but faster. Her eyes went a little heated, a little hooded. And those full lips of hers, yeah, they parted too.

  "Tell you what," I said, keeping my voice low. "If you are able to tell me to fuck off right now, I'll go. I'll go and you won't have to see me again." I let that hang for a second, then leaned a little closer, my head ducking down near her ear, knowing my breath would shiver across the lobe, knowing it was going to turn her belly liquid. It always fucking did. "But I don't think you're going to do that."

  "I.. Why..." she started, then stopped, taking a deeper breath, trying to keep it together. "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Simple. You don't want me to go."

  "That's idiotic. Of course I want you to..." She trailed off as I leaned forward, letting my lips graze her earlobe, feeling it against my body as her own responded, as it heated, as it leaned in, as it worked through her body as a tremble of need.

  "Want me to do what?" I asked, teeth snagging her earlobe for a second. "This?" My tongue moved out to do a little swipe as my cock grew hard at the way she leaned in, her hands falling from her chest to land at my waist, not grabbing, not pulling me closer. Her hands were fisted still, the struggle between her mind and body apparent.

  "That? Yes," she surprised me by admitting, proving she wasn't the type of woman who evaded or played coy or played games. She liked something, she told you, simple as that. "Wait. No. Not that," she said, voice husky, breathing just shy of frantic. She wanted it alright, but maybe not quite as much as she knew she needed to turn me down.

  We could work on that.

  "Which one, sweetheart?" I asked, pulling back slightly, looking down at her face, finding it the slightest bit flushed in her obvious desire. "You want it or you don't want it?"

  "You mean you," she specified, taking a slow, uneven breath. It literally made her chest shake with the effort.

  "Yeah, babe. I mean me. You want me, or you don't."

  "That's a loaded question."

  "It has only one of two answers," I countered.

  "Boys," she said, rolling her eyes. "Sure, there might be two answers, but there are a multitude of factors."

  "Such as?" I asked, willing to play along, maybe just liking her company more than I should have for a practical stranger. I was standing my ground though, refusing to move back, to give her space. If she wanted it, she was going to need to take it for herself. She was strong enough to do that if she really wanted to. But also stubborn enough to refuse it.

  "Such as you being a loanshark enforcer who knows I am a wanted armed robber. Such as you know my hideout. Such as that despite that, the cement and fresh-cut grass thing really does it for me for reasons I don't want to explain. And that smirk is distracting. If you could just... stop, like... wipe that off your face. Off," she commanded when her banter just made it curve fuller. Her hand reached out, pressing into my lips for a second. "I get it; you're hot. You don't have to keep giving me that damn grin."

  "Think I'm hot, huh?" I asked, ignoring her request, smiling all I wanted.

  "Oh, please. You know you're hot. You bank on that."

  "I bank on it?" I asked, brows drawing together, feeling maybe the least bit insulted at that.

  "Yeah, you bank on it. Sure, the cocky swagger and the confidence you wear like a second skin will get you a certain amount of what you want, but you and everyone else knows it's the good genes, the strong jaw, the pretty eyes, the nice body, that's all what closes the deal. And don't try to insult me by saying I am somehow misunderstanding how it works. Call it objectification if you want, but it is what it is. You being superior in the looks department is what gets the women tripping over themselves to get to take you home, not you. You as a person, they don't care about. It's the you-package they want. You bank on that because you get to take those women home and have a little fun with them. Nothing wrong with that. But don't go deluding yourself into thinking it is anything more than that."

  Well shit.

  If that wasn't a bonafide kick to the nuts, I didn't know what was. Actually, the words had enough impact to make me push back against the door and straighten, put some space between us, my arms falling numbly by my sides.

  It was one thing to enjoy good times with women, like Scotti said; it was a complete other to be told that no one gave a shit about me beyond that. It wasn't even a thought I had ever entertained before. I had always just accepted that I didn't want anything beyond a fling. I never stopped to consider if the women would even want more if I offered it. And, quite frankly, it was more than a little unsettling to think that all they wanted from me was a good solid fucking.

  Damn.

  I guess that was how a lot of women felt.

  And I guess I was a dick for not seeing it that way before.

  "Yeah, that's a bitter pill to swallow, isn't it?" she asked, giving me a sympathetic look, followed by a shrug. "I choked that one down back in eighth grade, but I guess guys require
a steeper learning curve. Don't worry your pretty little head about it," she said, tapping my temple as she charged forward, powering into my shoulder like I thought she would when I first walked up.

  It was right about then that I realized armed robbery and lying to police weren't her only talents.

  No, Scotti was a goddamn mental ninja. She just got in there with a sword all silent and sneaky and cut you to shreds inside. Just so she could make a clean getaway.

  I'd bet my fucking left nut that if I let her walk away, that if I came back, both she and her brothers would be long gone without so much as a trace.

  And, for once, that was a bet I was sure I would win.

  So while my pride was maybe bruised irreparably from her comment, I whirled around and jumped down the remaining stairs, rushing to cut her off, making her stop short on a quiet yelp, likely thinking she was getting off scot-free, surprised that I could pull it together fast enough to stop her.

  But see, she forgot one thing. She wasn't the only one who grew up with a bunch of brothers. I had been dealing with the worst forms of mental, emotional, and physical torment since I was old enough to understand words. Because, let's face it, no one could hurt you as badly as family could since no one knew you as much as family did. I was TKO to on my feet in seconds thanks to that background.

  She didn't know who she was up against.

  "So what you're saying here is, you want to fuck me, but you don't want to admit that so you're deflecting by trying to hurt my ego."

  "Tenacity is a nice trait in business. Otherwise, it's obnoxious."

  She cut to the side, brushing past me.

  But I wasn't done.

  Because that was twice I asked and twice that she evaded.

  I wanted her to admit it.

  It was practically a compulsion at that point.

  I rushed up, again cutting her off as she was just about to round the side of the building. "You can't deny it, so you are evading. Nice tactic if you can pull it off. But while you might just peg me as a pretty face, sweetheart, I'm actually not dense either. You want me. Admit it."