Page 58 of Marked

I lift a finger to her jawline, tracing the tension there.

“Just because the military couldn’t let me operate officially within their ranks, doesn’t mean I completely walked away.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you telling me that the Marines pay you to hunt down these monsters? And other people, too?”

“Not the Marines.” I drop my hand from her cheek. “There’s no official branch that covers this sort of thing. You won’t find an item line on any budget for us.”

She tilts her a little to the side. “You’re kind of like one of those comic book heroes my dad loved so much, aren’t you?” Her lips, full and pink, kick up to the side. “A dark caped crusader?”

I laugh, and it feels so fucking good. In my kitchen, with her, my mark fresh on her skin, a smile on her pretty lips.

“No, little bird. I don’t think I’m anyone’s hero.”

“You’re mine.” She grabs my hand and squeezes. Hard. “You’re the first person who wanted to get to the truth. Even the doctors always pushed for me to move on, to try and focus on the future, not the past.”

I bring her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“Are you feeling better?” She crashed hard after I put her to bed. When we’d arrived, she declined a tour and wanted only to get to bed.

“I was mean to you. I’m sorry for that.” Her cheeks flush with the sweetest blush.

I shake my head. “You were perfectly you, Harley.”

“I yelled at you.”

“And it was hot.”

“It was hot?” She laughs.

“Yeah, when you lose control like that? Fuck, it’s hot. And it’s even better because I get to be the one that reels you in.” I touch the bandage on her chest. “That’s what this means, little bird. You and me. Together.”

With a featherlike touch, she fingers the edges of the bandage.

“Do you think it will scar?” When she lifts her eyes to mine, I see the hope there. She wants to wear my mark permanently.

Nothing would make me happier.

“I’m not sure. That nail file wasn’t all that sharp, the cuts might not be deep enough to cause a scar. But I hope it does.”

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting a smile. She doesn’t need to hide this part of her from me. It’s what feeds me.

I pluck her lip out.

“If it doesn’t scar, maybe you can do it again, but with your knife. That way it will.” She reaches past me and grabs my bottle of water, takes a sip.

“Fuck, little bird,” I groan, inhaling the sweet scent of my body wash on her skin. “You’re perfect.”

She laughs.

“I think my mother would disagree.” She puts the cap back on the water and hops off the kitchen stool. “I mean, you don’t choose the perfect daughter to be murdered.”

“While you were napping, I did some more digging. Vince hangs at a bar called Cuffs, here in the city. About twenty-five minutes from here.” I veer the topic to finding the clearly guilty, while the jury deliberates on the verdict of Nancy Turner.

“Do you think he’ll know if my mom was involved or not?” The weight of her question pulls her lips down into a frown. “I don’t think I can ask her about it. Not yet.”

“I’m hoping he’ll be able to shed light on a lot of questions we have.” Not too quickly, though. He’s earned himself a lot of punishment, and stringing out the interrogation would be more than welcome. “And no, you shouldn’t ask your mom about it,” I agree. “You shouldn’t talk to her right now. In fact, no talking to anyone. You can’t even call into work,”

“I’m not scheduled to work until Friday, but I don’t want to just not show up.”

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