It was maybe the first thing I had truly learned I like to do, being the only thing I had really been able to explore doing.
Where did that leave me with career options if I wanted to go that route?
I wasn't sure. Maybe I could be a florist. Maybe I could get a job at a farm. Maybe, some day, I could have my own little farm and sell my goods to make ends meet.
Or maybe I would just have a backyard garden and backyard chickens that I could piddle around with in my free time.
At least it was something.
At least it gave me something outside of robbery and family to be passionate about.
"I have a headache from all this perfume," I insisted. They knew how I was about scents and it didn't fall on their ears as lies, though one look at Kingston said he knew it was just an excuse, even if it was halfway true. "But just drop me off, and you guys go yuck it up. You deserve it. This has been a busy month."
"We were thinking of crashing there," Nixon hedged, feeling me out.
I was really never left alone. Sure, some nights one or two of the guys would find a girl and go home with her, but someone was always back at the crash pad with me.
But in this case, the crash pad was in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't a bar for almost forty-five minutes, in the closest town. And they all wanted to let off some steam, so none of them would be able to drive.
"That's fine," I insisted, shrugging. "I'm perfectly safe in this house. And don't worry," I said, giving them a teasing smile for thinking I was so helpless that I couldn't spend one night on my own, "I will make sure I lock the doors and check the windows before I go to bed."
"If you're sure," Atlas hedged.
"Oh my God, I'm twenty-seven years old, guys. Stop treating me like a seventeen-year-old. Actually, if I remember correctly, at seventeen, I put myself to sleep many-a-nights since you guys were all out hamming it up and Mom was working."
"Fair enough," Nixon agreed. "Need us to bring anything back tomorrow?"
I don't know what possessed me to say it, but I did. "Yeah, can you pick me up a pot and rooting hormone."
"Ah... what?" King asked as we pulled up to the house. "A pot for planting something in and a little container of a rooting hormone. Any brand. Stop looking at me like I cracked," I said, rolling my eyes. "I really like this place. I've found some... peace here. And I am going to take a clipping from here and root it to keep with me. So get me a pot and rooting hormone. Geez." I grabbed the bag they passed at me, knowing part of my job for the night would be to burn everything we used in the robbery, then climbed out. "Have a good time, guys," I said, and I truly meant it.
I wanted them to have a good time.
And I was going to enjoy my solitude while it lasted.
Maybe I would download a language app on my phone and try my hand at Russian and Chinese, see which one was easier for me to pick up.
I was determined to keep my mind toward the future, to not dwell on the past, to stop thinking about all the things I might have missed out on or left behind. It was better for myself and everyone around me if I started pinning my hopes on the possibilities of the future instead of the memories of the past.
So I watched my brothers pull away. I got a fire roaring. I slowly loaded in all the clothes and wigs and even the bags themselves. Then I took myself to the bathroom, took a shower that went on forever because no one started slamming on the door telling me to hurry the fuck up because they needed to get in. I dressed in one of King's tees that swam on me and a pair of pajama shorts, then curled up on the couch with a gardening book I found on a shelf in the living room.
A quiet night at home.
I wondered if my future had more of those in store for me.
Just when the words started to swim on the page, I heard a tap tap tapping noise coming from the front door.
And all those assurances I fed my brothers about being able to be home alone, that I wasn't scared of anything, that I could handle myself, kind of flew out of my mind momentarily as panic flooded my system.
I pulled myself quietly off the couch, moving toward the kitchen where one of the guns were situated, loaded with rubber bullets. They might not kill someone, but they would hurt them enough for me to get the chance to beat the ever-loving-shit out of them.
And then... I don't know.
I would figure that out as I went.
I made my way to the front door, forcing myself to take a slow, deep breath before reaching for the handle, completely at a loss for what could be causing that sound.
Then I yanked the door open.
And I nearly emptied the gun into him in pure and utter shock.
Mark Mallick was on my doorstep.
With my little silky black chicken in his hands.
And I realized that was the source of the tapping- his little beak on the wood.
Before I could effectively choke on my own damn tongue, his head dipped to the side slightly, his light eyes intense.
"When the fuck is enough going to be enough for you, baby?"
TEN
Scotti
Okay.
Alright.
Yeah.
Mark Mallick was at my doorstep.
Holding my chicken buddy.
And he was mad at me.
Truly, I never thought I would see his face again. I never thought I would hear his voice after the last voicemail I listened to fifteen times before I finally had to destroy the burner like we always did.
Of course, of freaking course he would show up just when I was okay again, when I was done pining over someone I knew I could never have for more than the one blissful night I got with him.
"What?" I hissed, realizing the gun was still raised when his eyes went there, brow raised. My hand dropped numbly to my side. "They're rubber bullets," I felt the need to explain. "We would never use live rounds."
"Can't say that doesn't make me feel better," he agreed. "Is this little nugget allowed inside the house? He seems to think he is. He was knocking when I walked up."
"I think he might have, um, like imprinted on me or something," I explained, putting the gun down and reaching for the chick, careful to not let our fingers brush as I did so. I knew physical contact would not be a good thing. Namely, because I would want more and more of it and that would only complicate things further.
I forced myself to turn away from him, big-eyeing the room as I took the chicken to the kitchen where I grabbed a handful of the rice I had made the night before and gave it to him.
I could literally feel him behind me, even though he wasn't standing close. I could feel the way his eyes were raking over me. I could hear the unasked questions.
Feeling uncomfortable, I looked out the back window out into the dark. "What are you doing here, Mark?"
"You couldn't even say you were heading out of town, Scotti?"
"For what?" I asked, feeling him move in behind me, but refusing to turn. His hands planted wide on the counter to my sides, bringing back the bright, vivid memory of him doing the exact same thing in his kitchen. "You had to have known what we had was temporary." God, those words were hard to force out. The truth often was.
"Maybe you saw it that way, Scotti. I didn't. I wanted more."
Those last three words were said right beside my ear, his warm breath making a shiver course its way through my system.
And they also sliced right through me.
The feeling was immediate and overwhelming.
"I wanted more too," I admitted, swallowing hard, using every bit of strength I possessed to not lean back into him. I needed to stand my ground. I needed to keep my wits about me.
"And yet..."
"And yet, I had to go. You knew I would. I knew I would. There was no way for me to ever stay in Navesink Bank. Hell, there's no way for me to even stay in this country."
"Since the fuck when?" Mark asked, sounding exasperated, moving away from me.
Feeling safe turning when he was a few feet aw
ay, I did. "What?"
"Honey, this country is full of criminals. Most of them far fucking worse than you and your brothers. Murderers. Rapists. Kingpins. People who get a leg up in life by stepping on the necks of others. They don't feel the need to go to fucking Russia. They grease the right palms. They stay smart. They trust few with the truth. But they stay."
"I don't see how it's worth the risk."
"The risk of what? Prison? Scotti, I saw the news report of this robbery. The descriptions sounded fucking nothing like you or your brothers for that matter. I couldn't even tell you which one did the job with you and I know what they all look like. You guys have covered your tracks really well. I bet if I looked back to the older ones, they would be just as diverse and different from daily appearance. Actually," he said, suddenly looking serious. "If you guys wear disguises, why weren't you on the day we met?"
"I wasn't technically in on that job. We all take turns on who does what each time, except Rush who is always on wheels. But for those of us who aren't in on the actual job, sometimes we just walk the store to make sure no cops are shopping, or any customers are carrying randomly that could cause a problem. I was just keeping an eye out for trouble."
"Guess you found it, huh?" he asked, a devilish spark in his eye for a second before looking around. "Where are your brothers?"
"They were in a celebrating mood."
"And you weren't?" he asked, moving away from me, an act that seemed to allow me to breathe again as he moved toward the living space, picking up the book I had been reading. "You'd rather sit at home and read books about plants?"
"There's a huge garden here. I found out that I'm kind of into it," I explained, feeling a little weird admitting that. It wasn't like I picked up some cool hobby like Krav Maga or electric guitar. I was into gardening. Like my grandmother used to be. If I remembered correctly, she had an amazing garden. I was maybe hoping that green thumbs ran in the family.
"That's great, baby," he said, making me want to find sarcasm there, but all I heard was sincerity.
"And I just... I am over it," I admitted, not knowing what was possessing me to share that. "I want all of this over so I can move on."
"And start a garden in Russia."
I sighed. "Why are we talking about this? Why are you even here?" I stopped then, my stomach dropping. No, seriously. Why was he here? How was he here? How did he know where to look for me? If he could find us so easily, then anyone else could, right? We were going to have to leave. I was going to need to leave my beloved garden and chicken baby.
"Scotti, relax," his voice reached me, sounding a strange mix of amused and reassuring.
"Relax?" I snapped, moving over to the fire and poking it to make the flames soar higher, warming my face to the point where I almost worried about my eyebrows. But my eyebrows could be damned. The evidence needed to disappear immediately. And I needed to pack. And call my brothers. I just... I couldn't let them come back for me though. That was too risky. I needed to call a cab, see if they were willing to come out this far. Then I needed to pack and clean. Normally it took four or more hours to clean, but I would have to do my best in under one.
"Scotti, fuck, what are you doing?" Mark asked, moving with me as I frantically ran to my room and started stuffing items into my bag.
"I have to pack. We have to go," I snapped, whipping past him to move into the bathroom.
His wide-palmed, work-calloused hand grabbed my arm just below the sleeve of the tee, curling tight, and yanking me to a stop. "Jesus, calm the fuck down. What do you mean you have to go? Five minutes ago, you were reading a gardening book."
"Five minutes ago someone didn't show up out of nowhere, knowing exactly where to find us. I think you don't fully grasp the meaning of a 'safe house.'"
"Scotti, the only reason I found you is because the news report gave the county and I knew that my parents crashed in a cabin up here once back before any of us came along when they were worried about the law sniffing around them. I think the only people who know this place exists are those who have stayed here."
Okay.
Maybe that made me feel mildly better.
But I wasn't convinced either.
"I have never seen a criminal as fucking paranoid as you are. And trust me, honey, I know a lot of damn criminals."
"Yeah, but most criminals operate under the eye of the law, keep a low profile. We have a lot of fanfare involved in our job. Every time we do it, we draw attention."
"I know a guy who is a sniper. His jobs routinely make the news."
"Sure, but the word sniper implies that it is done from far away and that no one sees him."
"Alright then. Well, I know contract muscle, arms-dealing bikers, Italian mob, a lawless military..."
"What point are you trying to make here, Mark?"
"That your only option in the world isn't to run. You could lay low for a while, make sure all blows over, then build a life here. As Scotti, not Angela or whatever other names you go by. I'm assuming your legal record is clear. As are your brothers."
"I was eighteen when we started," I said with a smile. "Before that, I had a mother and four over-protective brothers. I couldn't skip homework without getting someone on my ass. Let alone sneak out or drink underage."
"So, why not give it a thought?" he offered. "Maybe if you sat and hashed it out after all this time, you might see it's possible to stay. Hell, you could even crash here if you wanted until it all blew over. Why not think about it?"
I didn't want to get my hopes up, that was why.
I didn't want to start getting ideas, start making plans, only to realize at some point that I would have to scrap them all and start again.
But then again, he was right.
My brothers and I concocted the plan a decade ago and had just... pursued it since then. The targets were all planned. The towns we stayed in after were all planned. The budget was mapped out. And the end game had always been the same.
Maybe they had doubts as well. Maybe they had wishes to stay. Maybe they knew a way that we could go about doing it.
"Just think about it, yeah?" he asked, ducking his head low, catching my eyes.
"Why are you pushing this so hard?" I asked, needing to know his motives. Well, actually, maybe a part of me was really hoping he was as messed up about the separation as I was, no matter how ridiculous it may have been.
"I dunno, baby. Why the fuck have I been watching the news of every state for the past two weeks waiting for this story? Why did I haul my ass up here, pushing eighty the whole way so I didn't miss you?" His hands moved out, landing at my hips, and pulling, making mine press into his, but keeping our upper bodies separated. "There just... seemed to be something here, don't you think?"
"We only knew each other for like a day."
"And yet here I am," he said, folding his arms across my lower back, pulling me closer. "And yet here you are ready to reevaluate a decade of plans."
"I didn't say anything about that being about being closer to you."
"Admit it's a factor. No matter how ridiculous it may seem given how new this all is. You wanted more of me."
I took a deep breath, knowing there was no way he would believe it even if I lied. "I wanted more of you."
"See? I knew all I had to do to hook a woman was cook her a good meal. And, you know, the orgasms probably didn't hurt either."
"Mm," I agreed, feeling an electric-like current move through me, seeming to rest and strengthen between my thighs where need was becoming a throbbing thing. "The orgasms might have definitely been a factor."
"Maybe I should give you some more. You know, just to make sure. For science."
"Science is the backbone of any logical argument," I agreed, tilting my head to the side as his head ducked to plant a kiss right below my ear. "We really should, um... oh," I groaned as his tongue traced down my neck.
"Should what?" he asked, pulling my shirt to the side to press a kiss beneath my clavicle.
&n
bsp; "Should, um, conduct an experiment on the, yeah, that," I whimpered as his hands slid down my sides and slipped under my shirt, touching the bare skin of my stomach.
My skin felt overheated, more sensitive than it usually was. The very brush of his fingers across my ribs sent an almost painful surge of need through me.
"Been missing me, huh?" he asked, sounding satisfied in himself as I swayed against him. "So if I were to do this..." he trailed off as his fingers suddenly pressed me between my thighs unexpectedly, making me let out a moan. "Yeah, I thought so. I bet all it would take was five minutes of my tongue in that sweet pussy of yours and you'd be screaming my name."
He'd win that bet.
"But I'm not going to do that."
"Why not?" I whimpered as his fingers pressed my clit and then moved away.
"Because I am going to make you beg for it," he informed me, hands going to the hem of my tee again, slowly lifting it upward. "I think I earned the right to torture you after you made me think I would never see you again for a full week."
"Wouldn't it be more fun to rip each others' clothes off and then go at each other until we forget all those other pesky things?" I suggested as my arms went over my head and he discarded my shirt, leaving me bare from the waist up.
There was a rumbling laugh from Mark as he lowered himself down in front of me, hands going to the waistband of my shorts. "Nice try, baby," he said as the material slid down and I stepped out of my shorts and panties. "But you're just going to have to resign yourself to this reality," he told me as his head ducked, and his fingers spread me, and his tongue slid between my folds.
My legs wobbled so hard that I had to slam my hands down on his shoulders to hold myself up as he kept lavishing over me, driving me upward, getting to the point of proving his previous point. But just as my sex started to tighten, just as I was sure the torment was going to end, he pulled back, looking up at me with a wicked grin.
"I hate you," I whined as he got to his feet, hands going to my hips, pulling me back toward the bed then pressing me against it.
Mark (The Mallick Brothers #3) Page 12