Page 15 of Darkness and Duress

An aggravated puff of air came through the line. “I suppose it isn't prudent to do that alone.”

“Prolly not.” I smirked to myself over his frustration.

“Fuck you.” His voice grew faded. Shit.

Before he could hang up, I yelled into the phone to get his attention. The sound of his breathing returned to normal volume. Eventually, he acknowledged me. “What?”

“I can be there in twenty.” I jerked my chin toward Jericho and pointed to my phone. He nodded with a slow spreading smirk. “Jer too.”

“Just you two.” His rumbly grumble was surprisingly endearing.

“As you wish, your Highness.”

“Fucking hate you.” The line went dead. When I pulled the phone away to look at the screen, the call had ended. I shook my head with a mutter.

“What wasthatabout?” Jericho held out a hand and hoisted me up from the couch.

“He’s fucking annoying is what.”

“Except you're smiling.”

I pointed my phone at his face and hushed him. The fucker laughed and shook his head. I didn't have time for his bullshit, so I pushed him out of my way, grabbed my keys, and left the apartment. The reprieve was short lived. Of course it was. We were riding together to Marco’s place, after all.

“You’re still smiling,” He goaded as soon as his ass hit the passenger seat.

“No. I'm scowling. Scowling because I'm suddenly having second thoughts about our friendship.”

“Henny, you're nuts. Nuts if you think I'm going to let this go and nuts if you think I don't know what the fuck is up right now.” Jericho leaned back in the seat with a smug smile.

“Fuck. You.” I turned the radio on simply to keep the conversation from continuing.

We found Marco already waiting for us in the underground garage. Maybe I was reading into it because of the bias my illicit knowledge imbued, but he lookedunwell. Not in the physical health sense of the word, but in the mental health department. Yeah, I'd done some research. Sue me. His eyes were dim with dark circles underneath. His jaw was covered in a considerable amount of scruff. There was a general sense of unease to his stance. The faraway, distracted expression was unlike his typical icy demeanor.

I stopped the SUV and lowered the window. He appeared at the driver's side and tried to glower, but the heat was lacking. “Get out.”

“Uh, no. You get in.”

“I'm driving.” Quick as lightning, he reached over the door, pressed the button to unlock it, and hauled it open. “Get out.”

“What the fuck, Marc?!”

“I'm. Driving.” He reached over my waist in an attempt to unlatch the seat belt, but I batted his hand away with an incredulous cry.

“Hen, just—” Jericho tried to intervene, but it was too late. Marco was stronger and faster than I was. The belt released and his hands fisted in my shirt. Microseconds later, I was tumbling out of the car and scrambling to keep myself upright.

All my conflicted thoughts and growing sympathy flew into the ether. Fuck this guy, with his nasty fucking attitude, hotheaded temper, and violent tendencies. Yeah, my so-called friends might be animals. He was just as bad as them, if not worse. I launched myself at him with a shout. Before I could think better of it, my fist connected with his mouth. It was a glancing blow, but carried enough force to crack a satisfying split in his lower lip.

My lack of forethought backfired hard. In the heat of the moment, I forgot two very important things: Marco had held his own for four years in prison and he'd spent the entire time since keeping his bulk up in the gym. Gut, ribs, jaw. The punches landed so fast I couldn't tell you what order they were in, but pain erupted from all three locations almost instantaneously. As if that wasn't enough, I somehow found myself pinned against the back door of the SUV by the mass of his body, held in place with a tight hand squeezing my jaw so hard, I worried he'd break it.

“I’m. Driving.” His hot breath washed over my face in heavy waves. The wild look in his eyes was a complicated mixture of anger, fear, and… holy fuck. Maybe my addled brain was reading it all wrong, but hidden amongst the turmoil of his mixed emotions, there was a noticeable hunger that explained the firmness of his dick where it pressed against my hip. Holy. Fuck.

My eyes darted all over his face as I panted to catch my breath. The trickle of blood running from the split in his lip caught and held my attention. His tongue darting out to lick it away fueled the flames of need. I silently swore as my own dick swelled behind the zipper of my jeans.Do not grind against him. Do not. Don't do it.

“Yeah, fine. You drive.” I swallowed, as difficult as it was with his grip on my throat, forcing myself to stay still. His eyes dilated further and dipped toward my chin, my lips, my throat, and back toward my eyes. He was everywhere, invading all my senses all at once with the overpowering intensity of his presence. And then, he was gone. Recoiling as if he’d been burnt, he turned on a dime and climbed into the driver’s seat before slamming the door so violently, the vehicle rocked.

I hurried to climb into the backseat before he could put the car in gear. He'd either drive away or drive over me. Both were plausible. Especially given the feral, panicked look in his eyes as he kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Knowing that Mr. I’m-Not-Gay d’Ambrosio just had a come to Jesus moment with his dick during a fist fight, I decided to play it safe and keep my mouth shut. He had enough to battle inside his head without me mouthing off and making it worse.

The interior of the car was eerily devoid of all sound except for the engine and the sounds of our breathing. Even shifting in my seat was too loud in the vacuum of silence. Jericho turned in his seat, his gaze darting from me to Marco’s profile and back again, over and over like a neurotic tic. I fluttered my fingers subtly toshoo his attention back toward the windshield. Begrudgingly, he resituated himself to face forward.

---