Page 14 of Savage Mafia King

"Shit, speaking of college," I remark, "I need to go back to my penthouse and grab some stuff for my seminar this afternoon. Rain check on the coffee?"

"You know I'll always have a pot ready for you."

I lean over to give her a quick hug, grateful that I have someone who is able to actually talk to me about all of this without freaking out. So many people would treat this part of my life like something to be scared of, but Martha just takes it all in stride.

"Thanks, babe. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

I leave and drive across town to my penthouse, dashing up the stairs to find the project I've been working on for one of the seminars that leads up to my final dissertation. I'm planning on doing a piece on how abortion rights correlated with the rise of women's suffrage in Europe, and I have a whole timeline made up. I just need to find it and show it to my professor.

Just before I push the key into the lock, my instincts warn me that something is wrong. As I look at the door, it hits me—it's open. A few inches, but still, it's open. Fuck. Did I leave the place unlocked? I'm sure I didn't, I'm always careful with this stuff.

Slowly, as though waiting for someone to spring out of the shadows and leap on me, I nudge the door open with my foot. I don't know what I'm expecting to see on the other side—but it's sure as hell not what actually greets me.

"What the fuck?" I mutter to myself as I step inside and cast my gaze around the mess that used to be my penthouse.

Couches are overturned, the coffee table has been tossed against the wall, and I can see, even from here, that a few cupboards have been thrown open in the kitchen, their contents spilled onto the counters below.

Who the… what the...

I make my way through the penthouse, picking my way through the chaos, so shocked I can't take any of it in. Who would have done something like this? Are they still here?

I grab a knife from the kitchen and call out into the penthouse, warning anyone who might still be in there that I'm armed and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make them pay. I stalk from room to room, waiting to find the perpetrator, but the place is empty and quiet. Whoever did this, they're long gone by now.

Marcus?

It couldn't have been, could it? No way. No way would he have done something like this. Unless he really does believe I might have been the one who stole from him. Or if he's pissed at me for rejecting his kiss.

My stomach twists in my guts at the thought of it, at the thought of him walking through this place and destroying the home that I've made for myself here.

Finally, I spot something on my pillow, a scrap of paper, just like the one that was waiting for me at my door the other night. I've been so busy with everything that's been going on that I've hardly had time to think about it. I thought it was nothingmore than some crank trying to get to me. But this? This is different. This is far, far worse. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified as I picked up the note, put down the knife, and read what was scrawled on it.

This is just the beginning.

I sink down onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling helplessly. What the fuck does that mean? The beginning of what? I don't understand. I flip it over, searching for something else, anything else to make sense of this, but I can't find anything. I don't recognize the handwriting, and the ink seems to be from a pen I keep at my bedside table for journaling in the mornings.

I feel so... violated. Knowing someone has been through my home like this, that they've destroyed the very place I've made my own... The sorority house, that's one thing. I share that with all the other girls, but here? This is different.

This is terrifying.

This tells me that whoever is after me knows where I stay, what I'm up to, where to find me. And I don't like the implications of that. Not one bit.

I crumple the note in my hand and toss it into the trashcan under my desk.No.I'm not going to let them get away with this. I'm not going to let them intimidate me into stopping in my tracks, whoever this is. My plan is in motion now, and I know better than to try to stop when I'm already into something.

Getting to my feet, I head to the living room and survey the damage. It's a mess, but cleaning it up will give me something to do—it'll keep my mind from straying down any dangerous paths about who this might be or what they might want.

I could call my brother for help, but I don't want him to know what's happened. I'm sure he'd have some choicewords for me about how getting involved with Marcus has invited this chaos into my life, and right now, that's the last thing I want to hear.

I can handle this myself. I'm perfectly capable of handling anything that gets thrown in my direction, actually.

And whoever has done this? They don't know who thefuckthey're dealing with. I'm going to make them pay.

Just as soon as I find out who they are.

Chapter Seven—Marcus

I can feel her breath on my skin, the heat of it, her presence so close to me that it electrifies my entire body. As she gazes into my eyes, that sweet, innocent stare, all I want to do is ruin her.

Sliding my hand to her waist, I let my fingers trail down toward her ass and grope her roughly through her blue velvet dress. I half expect her to brush my hands away, but she just gasps, arching her back and pressing herself into me, just like she did when we were dancing.

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