Page 5 of Marked

He should have killed her. Goddamn, what was his problem? Her slim, tight little body? Nope. Definitely not that. Not when she carried a badge. Her long dark locks? Also no. Though he would have enjoyed pulling them while he fucked her from behind.

But her eyes. Lord.

Their honey hue accentuated her mocha-colored skin, which was lightly scented with lilacs or something equally tormenting to his senses.

He exhaled and set the glass on the quartz counter. The clank echoed through his industrial-style space. Hopefully he’d thoroughly scared her by getting her name—and address.

His bare feet slapped over the concrete as he made his way toward his bedroom.

Admitting that he hadn’t killed the cop because she was a woman—a smokin’ delicious little thing—was beyond his capability.

He was getting soft. And he had his douchebag brothers with all their partners to thank for that. Sellouts. All of ’em.

Even his twin, Dallas, had sold his man card to Gemma. And while his brothers’ partners were all beautiful, smart broads who were probably nice to come home to, that wasn’t his scene.

His phone vibrated in his back pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the text message. Tara.

Christ.

Any other night and he’d be game for that sweet pussy again, but not now. He was too angry to bang out his stress with a booty call. He moved his thumbs over the screen.

Not tonight.

Not waiting for her reply, he breezed onto the carpet of his bedroom, flicked on the light, and peeled off his shirt. He tossed it into the hamper inside the marble-tiled bathroom. Karen, his maid, had been by earlier, and the scent of lemongrass cleaner clung to the space. Not a smudge dotted the mirror or the glassed-in shower.

“I know who you are.”

Fuck. Why’d she have to say something so goddamn stupid? If she knew who he was, she should have been smarter. Or maybe she had a tough-girl complex.

He cranked the water to hot, stepped under the spray, and began scrubbing a bar of soap over his chest.

Of all the things that’d pissed him off about his encounter with the cop, what irked him the most was that she’d put him between a rock and a hard place. Kill her or risk having her chase him—and she would. He couldn’t freely walk around knowing a detective could identify him.

He squirted shampoo into his hand and worked it into a lather on his head. Steam clouded around him as the woodsy fragrance filled the shower. He tipped back his head. The suds ran down his face and body, not doing a thing to wash away his fury.

If the cop had been a dude, he would’ve killed him. But because she’d had a vagina, he’d gone weak.

He cursed under his breath and snapped off the tap, cutting his shower short. Opening the door, he stepped onto the white mat—another fresh accent from Karen—and swiped a towel from the rack. He burrowed his face in the terrycloth.

Buzz, buzz, buzz

Annoyance perked his flesh, but he lowered the material and wrapped it around his waist then approached the bathroom counter.

Nash’s number lit the screen.

He sighed and picked up the phone. The last thing he needed right now was to talk to family, but usually when one of his brothers called rather than texted, it was for good reason. Though Nash had once worked as a henchman for Lionsgate Kinship—the organization that had killed the family of the woman who became his wife, Lexi—his brother now led a clean life. He’d taken down a child-trafficking ring with Lexi’s help and had realized far too late that the man who’d adopted him with open arms had been the ringleader of it.

“Yeah?” he answered, pressing the device to his ear.

“Hey, got a minute?”

“Only one,” Cole said, as he exited the bathroom and moved into his walk-in closet. The sensor light clicked on, and his neatly pressed clothes greeted him. Damn, he loved his lucrative career.

“You sound edgier than usual.” Concern laced his little brother’s voice, and Cole forced down an ounce of frustration.

He sure as hell didn’t want to rehash the night, so he’d keep the encounter to himself—for now. But for the safety of all his brothers, Cole would have to warn them about the sharp Detective Aldridge.

“Nah, just getting out of the shower. What’s up?”

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