Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  Pain ran through the tat on his forehead and rubbed at it. What the hell was that about? He wasn’t fucking Harry Potter.

  “Did you even ask her about Rhys?” Snowy asked.

  “She said she didn’t remember him.”

  Snowy snorted. “And you believed her? No, you know what? She probably doesn’t remember him. Nothing but army candy, that girl.”

  That’s what he thought of her too when he saw her on the news, standing there beside Eric like an animated doll. The woman who’d shoved him in the alley and cursed him hadn’t looked anything like a doll, though. She’d looked ... fierce. A caged panther, pacing the glass. “There’s more to her than that,” he heard himself say.

  Snowy curled her lip. “Never thought I’d see the day when Beckett Glass was taken in by some rich pussy.”

  He tapped his forehead. “The tattoo. Hers matches mine.”

  “Means nothing.”

  “Means something. Azazel doesn’t spit us out lightly.” At her eye roll, he asked, “What’s it mean that I’ve gone in twice now and got out twice too? Who’s done that?”

  “Tony the Tuna,” Snowy shot back.

  “Ha!” Zef slapped the table. “Tony the Tuna would lie to his own mother about the circumstances of his birth!” He paused. “What I’m saying is, he ain’t a good liar and furthermore—”

  The tattoo burned and Beckett shoved away from the table as Zef blabbed on, intending to get a drink. Maybe some liquor would put it to sleep, though he’d have to figure out why it had started acting up in the first place.

  Movement on the street caught his attention.

  Holy fuck.

  The Glass family had owned his part of town since before he was born. They’d bought up all the houses, bought off the cops that patrolled, bought off the cabbies that drove the area. People on this side of New Orion knew this was Glass territory. People knew not to venture in without an invite.

  So how the fuck had she managed to get down here without him being told long before she’d made it to his front door?

  He leaned over the bar and unlocked the window.

  “Boss? What the fuck are you—”

  As soon as the window was open, he could hear her calling his name.

  “Who the hell is that?” Snowy joined him at the window. “How did she not get jumped the second she touched toe on the Northside?”

  He didn’t know and he didn’t like the tug of interest he felt, either, at her appearance in his territory. The woman below was nothing but trouble and he’d do well to remember that. “Find out why the guards let her get through without warning us,” he told Snowy.

  She nodded, already on her cell.

  To Ricky, he said, “Let’s go greet our guest.”

  FOUR

  He had people with him, his crew, she supposed. At least this time she could make out their faces. One was a woman, a gorgeous woman and Marlowe wished she’d done more than throw on clothes and rush out the door. She’d just been so freaked out she hadn’t thought about her appearance.

  More tattoos had shown up, on her arms, her legs, her fucking ass. She thought she could use heavy-duty pan makeup to cover up the one on her face and neck, but she couldn’t cover her whole body and eventually someone would find out. Eric. Her father.

  “What the fuck is happening to me?” she said as he emerged from his home looking entirely too smug for his own good.

  A smirk played on his lips, making the diamond stud in his cheek wink. “What are you doing here, little girl?”

  She yanked down the shirt she wore to show the damned neck tat in all its colorful glory. “Why am I covered in these things? What did you do?”

  His gaze was almost a physical caress. It made her flush with heat and she yanked the shirt back into place to stop the awareness that tingled over her skin.

  He said, “I didn’t do anything but save your life. Remember that? Kept you from drowning? I’d think you’d be more appreciative.” He turned to his crew. “Don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, boss.” The guy that spoke looked like a ferret on two legs. “I wouldn’t be standing on the street cursing you out, that’s for sure.” His eyes raked and dismissed her as if he found her wanting.

  Heat burned in her cheeks. She told herself it didn’t matter what he thought about her. The woman either. That one was glaring, her eyes daggers. The only one who didn’t look hostile was the big man who towered over them all. He just looked bored. “What did you do to me?”

  He shrugged. “The river did it. It has something to tell you.”

  She stalked toward him, slowing when she saw the ferret’s hand go to a knife on his hip. The woman hadn’t moved, but Marlowe had the feeling she would pull a gun from somewhere and shoot her dead if she moved again. She turned back to the smug asshole in the middle and jabbed a finger at the spot above her eyebrow. “Then why does this match yours but for the word?”

  He shrugged and she wished she’d asked the doorman for a gun.

  “How do I get rid of them?”

  “Why would you want to?” Ferret said. “If you ask me, they improve an otherwise bland canvas.”

  “Screw you.” She didn’t know why she’d come except she couldn’t not come. Something inside her had tugged her here, the tat burning and burning until she called the driver and asked him to get the car ready. She’d worn a hat low on her forehead and a turtleneck. At least it was winter. She could cover things for now. “Screw all of you.”

  “Boss, we should move this inside,” the big guy said. He was older and bigger. Why wasn’t he in charge? Why not him instead of the arrogant, handsome man who’d fucked up her life?

  “In a minute. Our guest was just leaving.”

  “I wasn’t. You need to tell me—”

  “I don’t have to tell you shit, little girl. You were on the Red Span to kill yourself. You tried. If the river had wanted to keep you it would have. If it wanted to spit you out, that was its choice. Be glad you’re alive and you have a second chance.”

  Before Marlowe could respond, the woman got in her face. “What happened to Rhys? Where. Is. He?”

  She’d thought about that question all the way over. Who was Rhys? Her father’s driver? Some other man Gavin Montgomery had hired to guard him, drive him around, shine his fucking shoes? “I don’t know.”

  The woman grabbed her and gave her a shake. “You’re worthless!”

  “I’ll find out!”

  The words, once out, couldn’t be taken back, though she dearly wanted to.

  “What?”

  She swallowed and looked up at the woman, into her angry eyes. “I-I’ll find out. If you help me get rid of these.” She gestured vaguely to her face. She had the money to have them removed and had already made an appointment, but it would take time and she didn’t have time. Wedding pictures were scheduled for next week. Fittings. A carefully curated bachelorette party organized and hosted by her mother and designed to garner the right kind of press for Eric.

  The woman turned to Becket. “Are you listening to this bitch? She thinks she can make deals with the Glass crew.”

  “I’m hearing her and not liking what it sounds like,” the ferret said.

  She knew this was posturing; she’d seen the same type of thing happen with her father and his employees, though it sounded more civilized.

  “You’ll find out? You?” Beckett asked, ignoring the ferret and the woman in favor of pinning her with a disbelieving look. “You’ll question your father and ask around about a guy you can’t even remember. You want me to believe that?”

  She swallowed hard, not liking the idea of digging around in her father’s affairs, but knowing it might be the only way she got herself out of this mess. “Yes.”

  The woman stepped between them, turning her back on Marlowe, obviously not worried about her as a threat. “You can’t be thinking about agreeing to this. She won’t do anything. Her daddy got her scared.”

  “You’re right. She is sca
red.” He didn’t look at her like a piece of meat, not the way the ferret had. She had the strangest feeling he was looking into her, into the dark, closed-off spaces of her no one had ever bothered to look.

  He was a thug, she reminded herself. He hated her, hated her family, hated everything they stood for. And though he’d pulled her free of the river, that meant nothing. He wanted her to owe him, that was all. The daughter of Gavin Montgomery owed the Glass crew boss a favor.

  Eric would die if he found out.

  “You got yourself a deal,” he said and held out his hand.

  She stared down at it, wondering what the hell she was getting herself into, then pressed her palm against his.

  Warmth rushed up her arm at his touch, a warmth that pooled and eddied in her belly and tingled along her skin. It wasn’t a normal reaction and he felt it too, she saw it in the widening of his eyes. He covered well enough, sliding his hand back into the pocket of his well-tailored pants.

  She sucked in a shaky breath. Let it out. “Okay. Do you have a picture of him? How do I contact you? What—?”

  “Come on. We’ll fix your phone. Snowy?”

  “It’s not broken.”

  The woman—Snowy—held out her hand. “Give it. I’ll fix it so your daddy won’t know where you were today. Unless you think he’ll be fine with you being on the Northside?”

  She glanced at Beckett and at his nod, reluctantly handed her cell over.

  “Come on,” Glass said and led her into his house.

  It was a lot different than she’d pictured. There was art on the walls. Thick, lush rugs covering sparkling hardwood. Upstairs in what she figured must be their situation room, she saw more of what she’d expected downstairs. A pool table, a bar, but the place still had an expensive feel.

  While the woman did something with her phone—for all Marlowe knew, she was putting on a tracking device—and the ferret slouched in the corner glaring, the man who’d taunted her on the bridge and then saved her life walked her over to a large entertainment center on the far wall. A gigantic TV took up the center and shelves upon shelves of books lined either side. He plucked a framed photo from one of the upper shelves and passed it to her. “You can’t keep that.”

  She bit back a retort and stared at the photo. She recognized him immediately. He’d been hired as an assistant to her father’s regular driver, George. A happy-go-lucky kind of guy, she remembered. A flirt. He’d flirted with her once. It had been lighthearted and had meant nothing, but it had pissed Eric off.

  She was surprised Rhys hadn’t been fired then and there. “When did he disappear?” she asked, mouth dry.

  “You recognize him now, don’t you?”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then passed the frame back to him. “When?”

  “April 18th. What do you know?”

  The night of her engagement party. The night Eric had asked her to marry him for the cameras. He’d already popped the question earlier, done it in the strange, emotionless way he did a lot of things when the cameras weren’t around. It had been a long night, though Eric had left sometime around midnight. She couldn’t remember the driver being around, but she supposed he had been. Both Rhys and George would have been on duty to drive home anyone who’d had too much to drink.

  It had been a party after all, though she couldn’t remember actually enjoying herself.

  “What do you remember?”

  She blinked away the numbness she’d felt that night and focused on the tattoos that danced across his knuckles. “Your brother seemed like a nice kid.”

  “Yeah? Nice enough for someone to kill him and hide his body?”

  She flinched at his anger but pressed on. “I’ll ask around and let you know what I find out.”

  “You’d better not be fucking with us, little girl.”

  Her fingers curled into fists. “Stop calling me that.”

  He tipped his head, then wiggled his fingers. The woman handed him Marlowe’s phone. “Then convince me you aren’t.”

  “Screw you.”

  His gaze raked her, his lip curled as if he wasn’t impressed by what he saw. “Nah, thanks.”

  Her cheeks heated again and she was about to lay into him when she ... when she felt desire lick up her insides. Thick, heavy desire ... and it wasn’t all hers.

  The tattoo burned and she pressed her fingers against it, not noticing at first how his hand jerked upward to his face before he stuffed it back into his pocket.

  Did he feel it too? She thought he did.

  “How did you find me?” he asked, his voice strangely flat as if he didn’t want her to know he cared about her answer. But he did, she could feel that too.

  She tapped the tattoo. “This fucking thing.” And again. “What did you do?”

  She almost had an answer, then he turned on his heel and walked away from her, seating himself in a recliner by the TV. “I’m putting my number in here. Snowy, it’s hidden now, yeah?”

  “Yeah. You’re not using your personal number—”

  “Of course not,” he snapped. Snowy’s lips tightened and when she saw Marlowe watching her, she flipped her off.

  Right. No one here liked her.

  She’d never been in a room where not only did no one like her but actively hated her. Most people did what they could to suck up to her, hoping that would get them in close with her parents or Eric. It was a novel experience to be so despised. Truth be told, it was kind of refreshing.

  Not that she’d admit it.

  “Call me anytime. Text. Whatever. When you find out what happened to my—Rhys, I want to know.”

  She held up her hands, showing him the backs. “And you’ll help me figure out how to get rid of these?”

  “Sure.”

  She wasn’t sure she believed him, but what choice did she have? Now that the damned tattoo above her eye had proven itself to be more than just ink, she knew having it removed wasn’t the answer. A laser could take away the color, but it wouldn’t remove whatever magic had created it, had used it to find Glass.

  “I’ll see myself out,” she said, the words automatic, prissy, and Snowy and the ferret both sneered at her.

  “You do that,” the woman said and once again Marlowe felt the dull flush of embarrassment and anger steal over her face.

  She glanced back once at Beckett to find him staring. The curling desire she’d felt earlier was still there between them and she didn’t like it one bit.

  She wondered if he hated it too and wished she were brave enough to ask.

  FIVE

  Marlowe stared in dismay at her reflection. “Why isn’t it working? I thought you said it would cover up anything.”

  The makeup artist, a young man named Dane, looked flabbergasted. “Well, I don’t know. It’s supposed to. It does. I covered up Alyssa Decoste’s vitiligo so well, no one recognized her at the premiere of Sea Faire 3, okay? And that girl was nothing but tea and cream all over her delightful little body.”

  No matter what he used, no matter how thick he caked it on, the makeup would slide right off as if her skin was superheated underneath, melting it away. As of an hour ago, more tattoos had appeared, and she was pretty sure she was going to have to trek back to Red Span and throw herself off again. This time she’d make sure Beckett Glass and his crew were nowhere around so when she hit the water, she’d stay in the water.

  There was no way she’d be able to explain this away.

  She was dead.

  Her phone chimed. The devil himself smiling at her from the screen. Fucker had put his picture in her phone. The nerve. “What?”

  “That how you always answer your phone?”

  “Only for assholes,” she said sweetly. Dane’s scandalized gaze almost made her laugh.

  “Buzz me up. I have something for you.”

  “You don’t have anything I need.”

  He laughed and she really hated that sound. “Makeup working for you then, huh? Surprising.”

&nbs
p; She moved her phone away from her face and glared at his picture. “What are you talking about?”

  “Last chance.” He clicked off.

  “Fucker.”

  “Marly. I have never heard you talk like that in all my life. What in the world has gotten into you?” Dane paused. “Was it that juicy man on the phone?”

  “I’m engaged,” she said, trying hard not to think about having sex with Beckett Glass. She barely wanted to think about sex with Eric. He was gorgeous, sure, but he looked like his dick would be made of ice. Beckett’s dick wouldn’t be icy, her traitorous brain whispered. It would be all heat and fire.

  She shut her eyes for a moment and told her brain to kindly fuck off, then called down to the front and told them to let Beckett in. What they would make of the tattooed man visiting her? Visiting Marlowe Montgomery, only daughter of Gavin Montgomery and heiress to the vast Montgomery fortune?

  What would they think of the fiancée of Eric Lightbourne entertaining notorious criminals in her penthouse apartment? Surely they’d notice and whisper about it, downstairs. First she showed up looking like she’d been rolling around in garbage with tattoos on her face and now Beckett Glass was strolling in like he owned the place.

  The knock on the door startled her. Dane patted her shoulder. “I’ll get it. Gotta see that slice of apple pie in person.”

  She would have laughed if she wasn’t so nervous. And annoyed.

  Why was he here? At her place?

  Maybe he was paying her back for doing the same thing yesterday, but it wasn’t as if the tattoo had given her a choice.

  She wiped the rest of the wasted makeup off her face and stomped to the living room, telling herself she didn’t care that her hair was up in a messy bun, that her shirt was an old favorite she’d kept despite her mother’s purges, that she wore short shorts and no underwear. It was her house, damn it, and she hadn’t expected him to come over.

  She stopped when she saw him, her jaw dropping. “Holy shit. How?”

  His face was devoid of the tattoos. Nothing showed up on his hands, his neck. His visible skin was smooth and ink-free. He held up a small glass container. “Magical problems require magical solutions.”