Page 24 of Darkness and Duress

“Hate you,” he mumbled, maybe more to himself than me, especially considering his arms tightened around my waist as he said it.

“You keep telling yourself that, Sad Panda.” I tucked my nose against his jaw, just under his earlobe, and inhaled. Cologne and aftershave and a tiny hint of black coffee mingled with the smell of his clothing. I took another greedy inhale as my fingertips toyed with the shorter strands of hair at the nape of his neck, rewarding me with a shiver that ran through his still too-tense body.

“Don’t touch,” he murmured with absolutely zero intention.

“Why not?”

“I don't like it.”

“Sure. If that’s the story you want to go with.”

“Brandon?”

“Mm?”

“Get the fuck off me.” He let his arms fall to his sides with a huff.

“Spoil sport.” I brazenly pressed my lips to the supple skin beneath his ear and pulled away, only far enough to put some room between our chests. I left my hands on his shoulders to maintain the connection, though. It felt important. Necessary,even. The idiotic crush I’d harbored on my best friend's older brother was back in full force, compounded by a strangely intense desire to drag him out of the shadows he hid himself in. Even if I had to do it kicking and screaming.

“We have shit to do.”

“Yup. You good?”

He half heartedly pushed at my chest. It was barely a nudge and his hand lingered there for a beat longer than it needed to. “I'm fine.”

“If denial were an Olympic sport, you'd take home all the medals, baby.”

He was still trembling, his eyes were still wild and filled with too much strain, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth gave me hope. I considered this a major win and finally stepped outside the perimeter of his very large bubble of personal space. The mystery of Marco was no clearer, but I wasn't prepared to stop trying to figure him out yet.

The small progress I had made was erased completely over the course of the day. Even I was at the end of my tether dealing with Moretti’s assholes. We had the whole crew with us, much to Marco’s audible disgust and my own chagrin. I'd been avoiding Poncho, Gramps, Molly, and Big Red for well over a week and they made sure I knew how much of a little bitch I was for it. Jericho had nearly set his dog on them all within ten minutes of us meeting up in the garage, which set the atmosphere for the rest of the day. Every time we stopped somewhere to exert our influence or ask for the money we were owed, the tensions rose even higher.

We could barely function as a unit, let alone get the wild cards under control, so it was no surprise at all to me when Marco lost his cool at the last location. My adrenaline was still pumping twenty minutes later as I navigated the midtown traffic at quitting time. The chilling sound of a safety disengaging as Marco whipped out a gun I didn't know he was packing still echoed in my ears. My reckless disregard for my own life as I intervened and placed myself between him and his intended target only added more anxiety to the mix.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man. That was close. What the fuck were you thinking?” I glanced toward the passenger seat as we idled at a stop light, speaking for the first time since the incident.

“Mn,” grunted my scowling boss.

“Nah, you gotta give me more than that.” I kneaded the steering wheel.

“Fuck you.” Marco barely shifted in his seat, still staring out the passenger window with vacant eyes.

“Not good enough. You could have gotten us all killed back there. Killed or tossed in prison. What the fuck?”

He answered with a shrug that just pissed me off even more. I eased the car forward in the slow crawl of traffic and swore under my breath as we caught the same stop light for a second time in the near gridlock of the evening. Jericho’s vehicle and the second car carrying the rest of the crew disappeared further down the street as more cars filled the road between us.

“This is fucking bullshit. Absolute fucking bullshit. Fuck you, fuck those guys, fuck all of it!” I slammed my palm on the horn in frustration.

A weighty sigh parted Marco’s lips and before I could figure out what he was doing, the locks disengaged, and the passenger seat was empty, the door left ajar. I scoffed and spluttered before my brain kicked back into gear.

“Marco! Marc! Get the fuck—god fucking damn him!” In full temper tantrum mode, I kicked and smacked and flailed uselessly in the driver's seat as the light turned green and Marco’s imposing frame disappeared into the tangle of stop and go traffic. I made a mental note of the cross streets and unclicked my belt to reach over and close the door before any more drivers laid on their horns. More colorful swearing left my lips as I continued with the flow of traffic and searched for the nearest parking garage.

It took a full fifteen minutes to finally find a garage with a vacancy two blocks down the road. It took another ten to actually park the car underground and make my way back to street level. We were nowhere near Marco’s building, so when I finally reached the corner where I lost him, I stumbled to a stop and stepped out of the flow of pedestrians to figure out where the fuck to go from here. Thankfully, or not so much, I didn't have to search far for my target. He was hand-delivered to me courtesy of two waiters at a restaurant not even two doors down the street from where I stood gawking like a lost tourist.

“Don't fucking touch me!” Marco’s bellow was loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the traffic around me.

“Jesus—”

“I'll fucking kill you!”

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