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

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “Why? You can’t kill me.”

  “Go. Now.”

  She went, trying furiously to figure out a way out. What could she say, what could she do to convince him that he didn’t have to kill her? Dear gods, how could this be happening? Her own father holding a gun to her? Her own father planning to kill her?

  ‘If you’re going to save me, now would be a great time,’ she thought at Becket, not expecting a response.

  She got one anyway. ‘Holy shit, Marlowe? I ... I can hear you.’

  She stopped. ‘You can hear me?’

  ‘For now at least. I’m coming.’

  And indeed, as soon as he thought it, she heard the roar of a bike over the sound of the river rushing by. They were outside now, her father directing her to a secluded spot between large piles of wood on one side, and scrap on the other.

  “Here’s fine,” he said.

  ‘Hurry! My father has a gun.’

  ‘Gods. Your father? What about Eric?’

  ‘Down. Maybe dead.’

  She felt his satisfaction at that news. Then her father was shoving her toward the river’s edge. “Please don’t do this. Please.”

  “Walk into the river.”

  “How does this solve anything? You can’t kill me.”

  “You’ve given me no choice.”

  “Why? What good am I dead?”

  “They’ll find your poor, broken body. It’ll be ruled an accidental death and the money will be bequeathed to us as you did not have a will.” He paused. “You haven’t made a will, have you?”

  Her laugh was bitter. “Does Mother know you’re here with a gun pointed at me?”

  He didn’t answer her, just gestured to the river. She glanced back over her shoulder in time to see Beckett round a pile of wood. Her father heard the scuff of his biker boots on the gravel and began to turn. She lunged for her father as he swung the gun around. Beckett caught his arm and shoved it up into the air as he pulled the trigger.

  One deafening bang. Another. She kicked the backs of his knees and her father went down to the ground, the gun wrenched free by Beckett. When he tried to push himself up, the crew boss planted a foot on the back of his neck. “Stay down or I’ll shoot you.”

  He stilled.

  “You okay?”

  She couldn’t stop picturing him point the gun at her, couldn’t stop remembering the way he’d looked at her, how he’d sounded. “No.” Her voice wobbled and she almost lost it then.

  He held out a hand to her. “I’m sorry.”

  The words prompted tears that she angrily brushed away. “Thank you.” She took his hand and squeezed it fiercely for a moment before easing up on him. “What are we going to do with him? With them?” The words came with the realization that she may have killed Eric and all the baggage that came with a dead body. “Oh gods. I think he’s dead.”

  “It will be all right. Trust me. Snowy and Zef and the rest of the crew are on the way.”

  Soon enough, Snowy was there, slipping zip ties around her father’s wrists. “You guys okay?” Her gaze landed on Marlowe and stayed there. “I’m sorry.”

  Marlowe nodded, unsure if she could talk without sobbing.

  Snowy glanced at Beckett then back to her. “What ... what should I do with him?”

  Marlowe didn’t know. Jail would be good, but she doubted anyone would convict him. Would they believe her? Or would he pay them off?

  With what money?

  “Take him home. Throw him in the basement lock-up. We’ll figure it out later. Thanks, Snowy. Zef. Tell the crew thank you, too.”

  They took her father away and Eric’s body. A couple of them stayed behind to clean the bloodstain and soon there was no evidence anyone had been there, and in a surprisingly short amount of time. Marlowe stood with Beckett, close but not quite touching as his crew took care of business. The car disappeared too, the one that had held both her and Rhys inside its trunk.

  When they were alone, she pulled the license from her bra. “I found it in the trunk. With that and the video of Eric knocking him out ...”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped and he hung his head for a moment, clearly hurting. When he finally looked at her again, his eyes swam with tears too. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You put yourself in danger to find this.”

  She shrugged as if she hadn’t been afraid she was going to die just moments ago.

  “Don’t put yourself in danger again.”

  Something in his tone made her shiver. “It’s not up to you.”

  “Maybe it should be.” He pulled her close, one hand on the back of her neck, and kissed her. His heat burned into her, his grip on her possessive, persistent. “I want you,” he said, his breath ragged. “Now.”

  FIFTEEN

  Her fingers curled into his jacket, hanging onto him as he gripped her ass, pulling her close. Every bit of her was tuned to him, inside and out. The world fell away until it became only the two of them. Only him.

  She’d never fallen into someone this way before, never kissed someone who consumed her the way he did, asking more from her and more without saying a word. It was crazy and she decided not to care, not right now. Let him kiss her, let him take her here and she’d sort it all out another time.

  She wanted him too.

  She wanted what he represented. Freedom.

  She’d fallen into the river because she’d chosen to let go. And she was here now because he saved her.

  It was exactly right to let him have her here, on the banks of the very same river that had changed both their lives.

  His thumbs brushed over her jaw as he kissed her. Then his hands were at her waist, tugging her shirt over her stomach, exposing her skin to the chilly air. Only it didn’t feel chilly, not anymore, did it? She’d been altered, changed, and she thought she would change even more before this was all done.

  The tease of air on her breasts tightened her nipples, made her want his mouth on them. He pulled her shirt and jacket free, then she was standing on the beach, naked from the waist up, naked before him. His fingers traced the snake that now curled around her torso with a look of wonder. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. So fucking hot.”

  Her breath caught in her throat when he bent his head to curl his tongue around one of her nipples. The smooth metal of his piercing slid along her skin, tightening the skin even more. Her head fell back as he suckled, as he nibbled, as he drove her right up to the edge of what was pleasure and what was pain. His hands were on the small of her back, her rib cage, her stomach, and then he was sliding her pants over her ass, exposing her completely to the world and she didn’t care. She only wanted him to be inside her, inside her now, and instead of pulling her close he stepped back, breath ragged, to look at her.

  “Turn for me,” he said, voice rough.

  She did, not sure why it gave her a thrill to do it. Anyone could have seen her, anyone could come by and there wasn’t anything she could do about it but be seen.

  “Fuck,” he whispered.

  When she got back around, he was there again, and this time it was her turn to tug his shirt up, to undo the buttons on his jeans, to dig her way down to his skin. His tattoos were snakes too. Her eyes flew to his, his dark green with desire. “Why?”

  “We’re meant to be together. It wants us together.”

  Again, she asked, “Why?”

  He answered her with a kiss, her breasts, her nipples brushing up against his chest. He had nipple rings and she wanted to play with them, but later. Now she just wanted—no, needed—him inside her. If he didn’t fuck her, if he didn’t slide his cock inside her soon, she thought she might explode with want.

  His hands gripped her ass again and he lifted her. His cock was warm and hard between them. Between them and not inside her.

  A part of her thought she should care he didn’t have a condom.

  A part of her didn’t give a fuck.

  “Are you wet for me, Marlowe?”

  She felt wet for h
im, she felt as though she should be dripping.

  His hands found her, a finger slipping between her spread lips, dipping into the center of her. She groaned into his mouth, biting down on his lip in need. “Oh, you’re ready. So ready. Tell me what you want.”

  She moaned. He knew what she wanted, he couldn’t not know.

  “Tell me,” he said, the words distorted with his lip between her teeth. “What do you want?”

  She swallowed. It had never been something she was comfortable with—saying what she wanted—but wasn’t she free now? Wasn’t this what it was about? If she couldn’t tell him what she wanted, why was she even here?

  “Your cock,” she whispered, “inside me. Now. Fuck me, Beckett Glass. Fuck me, please.”

  Before the words were even out, he was inside her. Intense pleasure speared through her and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.

  It wasn’t like this. It had never been like this.

  Her back arched, her breasts pressing against him, her fingers gripping his shoulders so tightly he hissed. “Oh gods,” she moaned. “Oh gods.”

  “Move for me.”

  She lowered her head again, shifting, moving her hips. His snarl was savage and then he was moving, then he was pressing her up against something smooth and cold, then he was thrusting hard inside her.

  She was trapped between him and whatever it was behind her, everything concentrated on that hot, wet space between them. Caught on his cock, caught by his mouth and teeth and his will.

  The first orgasm thundered through her, shocking her. She cried out into the white January sky, her legs gripping him, moving with him, her hips circling, circling as he drove into her.

  “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me, oh gods. Yes.”

  “Come for me again, Marlowe. I want to hear you scream my name. I want everyone to know you’re mine, that all this is mine.” His expression was feral, possessive, and a thrill went through her at the sight of it. “Now, Marlowe. Now.”

  She did. Screamed his name and more, losing herself to the sensations, to the intensity of it, of him, of the pressure that kept building, building, building.

  When she floated down from the place he’d driven her to, when she could breathe again without gasping, she found herself wrapped tightly around him, tears on her face.

  His muscles shook and his skin was slicked with sweat. His gaze was fierce and almost worshipful. It made her flush at the intensity of it. “You’re mine,” he said.

  She didn’t even want to disagree. She kissed him again, this time gently, pouring every bit of emotion she held into it. His cock, still inside her, pulsed in response. They could go again, she understood that, but she didn’t want it to be against a piece of metal in a warehouse yard by the river. She wanted to make love in a real bed.

  She wanted to be with him, however, wherever ... but she also wanted a bed. “Can we go somewhere else? Your place? Mine? A hotel?”

  “Bed?” His smile was a revelation.

  “Yes,” she said, laughing.

  The gunshot split the beauty they’d just shared. Beckett staggered a little. His smile faded. Warmth blossomed between them. Blood.

  “No. No!” She gained her feet, now the one holding him up. “No.” She put her arms around him as he fell into her. Looking around desperately, she finally spotted their attacker. Regina?

  “What did you do with my son?” the woman screamed. Another gunshot rang out. This one missed them by inches. “He was supposed to be back by now after getting rid of you!”

  The fear she’d seen in Regina’s eyes, that had been fake? She’d made Marlowe believe she was helping her, but she had just been helping her son kill her. “Come on. Now, Becket. Come on.” She had to get him out of there but he was hurt badly, his face pale as she guided him around a pile of wood. There was nowhere to hide. Regina would keep coming. She would find them. She would kill them both.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. Her eyes went to the river and back to Beckett. Blood was pouring from the wound in his chest. The bullet had entered his shoulder and exited near his right pec. It had torn a hole through the snake that coiled there. His blood spattered her breasts, her neck, her face. She could taste the sharp metallic taste of him on her tongue.

  The river.

  They would have to pray the river would save them again. Both of them. Better the river than the gun. The river might spare them. The crazed mother wanting to avenge her son never would.

  “I will kill you both if you hurt him!” Regina screamed.

  “Come on. Into the water.” Please don’t die. Please. The water was cool, but not bitterly cold. The magic the river had given her was still at work. She didn’t know if it was the same for Beckett, but she suspected it was. Into the water they went, the current tugging hard at her legs, making it harder and harder to walk. As soon as they were thigh-deep, it swept them off their feet.

  Regina screamed at them from the shore and shot at them again. Either she missed or the river saved them, Marlowe didn’t know. She was too busy trying to keep Beckett’s head above the surface to worry about the woman now disappearing in the distance as the Azazel swept them away.

  The first time she went under, she fought her way to the surface but when she did, the river tugged him from her arms. “Beckett!” she managed to scream once, before she went under again.

  Last time she’d welcomed the embrace of the river. This time she fought it. She fought and fought until she could no longer find air, could no longer struggle to the surface to refill her lungs.

  She let go. She tumbled in the detritus carried by the water, her eyes sliding shut.

  This time, the river would take its toll.

  This time, the river would claim her and Beckett wasn’t there to pull her free.

  Beckett had been taken too. Because of her.

  He was gone.

  And she was gone too.

  SIXTEEN

  Beckett groaned. It felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest, though when he managed to pry open his eyes, he saw nothing there. Not even a wound, which was crazy because he remembered being shot, remembered how much it had hurt, remembered his fucking fear for Marlowe.

  “Marlowe?” he rasped, his throat raw. He’d probably gulped down a thousand gallons of the Azazel and didn’t even want to consider what kinds of pathogens were in its dirty water. “Marlowe?”

  “Here.”

  She sounded no better than he did, but she did sound alive and that was what mattered. He managed to push himself to his elbow and then she was there, her hands running over his skin. “Are you okay? Are you still bleeding?”

  He caught her hands. “It’s gone. Not gone. Changed.”

  “What?”

  He touched the skin above her brow. “Freedom.”

  Her fingers joined his. “Freedom?”

  His lips quirked. “Fitting.”

  “Yeah.” She relaxed next to him, looking down at her naked body. “Didn’t change any of these.” She looked at his face. “Yours still says ‘Shattered’.”

  “Azazel doesn’t think I’ve learned my lesson, apparently.”

  “Is that what this was? A lesson? I never thought of myself as damaged.” She sounded offended and he laughed.

  “What would your parents have thought of you if you’d shown up with tattoos? Or had defied them about Eric? Or lived your life the way you wanted to?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again. “You’re probably right. If I hadn’t done what they wanted of me, they would have considered me worthless.” She put her hand on his chest where the bullet wound had been. “She shot you.”

  “Not thoroughly enough.” He won another chuckle from her, though it sounded a bit desperate. He kissed her, her lips tasting like the river. “We’re not meant to die yet. It’s rejected you twice and me three times now.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

  She looked around t
hem then, searching, he supposed, for a landmark to tell her where they were. “I think it carried us all the way out of the city.”

  “No cell phone. No rescue.”

  “No clothes, no money. I’m grateful to be alive but this is a little,” she nibbled on her lip, then grinned at him, “too much freedom.”

  He snorted and they helped each other stand. With their arms wrapped around each other, they walked along the bank until they found a small boat dock with a path that led to a small vacation home boarded up for the winter. He picked up a rock and was about to use it to break the glass in the door when she stilled his hand.

  “Can I?”

  “Be my guest.”

  She slammed it into the glass and shattered it. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “Break a window?”

  “Break and enter.” Her grin was downright evil as they went inside, carefully avoiding the shards that glittered on the floor.

  There were summer clothes in the closet upstairs, clothes for much older folks than they. Marlowe found a wrap skirt and blouse, while he was stuck in over-sized khaki shorts and a gaudy, flowered shirt.

  “That’s hideous,” she said, giggling.

  “Yeah, well, I can tell it turns you on.” He twirled her, then pulled her in for a kiss. “You know, there’s a bed.”

  She laughed. “No. I don’t want to make love to you in a stranger’s bed.” Her smile faded as they both considered what she’d said.

  “You’re right,” he agreed. His kiss was tender and it spun them both out into the stars. When they came back, both a little breathless, he wished they were in his home or hers so they could finish what they’d started. Since that wasn’t possible that moment, he said, “Let’s call Snowy and get home. We can decide what to do about Regina next.”

  “You mean Regina and Elmer, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think Elmer knows anything about what’s going on. I think Regina is drugging him. Regina or Eric.” He gave her a brief rundown of his interaction with Elmer earlier.

  “That’s crazy. I just saw him at the charity event and he seemed fine.” She paused, frowning. “She won’t leave us alone unless she’s in jail or dead.”