Page 70 of Wicked Ends
“So, you were worried,” Marcus repeated doubtfully. “About me?”
I didn’t know what to do with the emotion in his eyes, so I dropped my gaze, folding my arms over my chest like that would protect me from being vulnerable with this man.
“And yet you’re the one keeping my property hostage… pretty hypocritical.”
“I’m only keeping it hostage because you won’t agree to my terms. It should be an easy thing to accept—staying away from me, that’s it. It’s easy.”
Marcus stared at me. “Is it?” He cleared his throat. “Come on. You look fucking freezing, and it’s dinnertime. You’re eating with me tonight, birthday girl.”
“This feels like returning to the scene of the crime,” I muttered.
Marcus pushed through the front doors of The Clutch. “Yeah, well, I guess I know better by now than to take you somewhere nice… where good respectable folks might see us.” He cast me a sideways glance. “Since I’m your dirty little secret and all.”
“Marcus—” I began but stopped when he waved me off.
“Don’t sweat it, Professor. I’m only joking. Didn’t you hear? That’s all I’m good for.”
He gave me a grin like what he’d said was a joke, but it wasn’t funny at all. I’d never met this Marcus. This version of him was hurt, or worried, maybe he was even angry. I didn’t know him well enough to tell, but something was up. Something more than just the back-and-forth about the bag.
I sat in a booth, and Marcus disappeared into the back to give our order to the cook. A waitress bustled by and stopped in front of me.
“Well, I’ll be. I’m guessing that you’re Anna. I’m Polly, and my husband’s Earl, over at the Night Owl.”
“I know Earl! He’s so kind,” I enthused.
Polly nodded. “Oh, that he is. He’s still trucking away at that old place, and I’ve told him enough over the years that it was time to retire, but he feels bad letting the owner down. That said, all the trouble they’ve been having there lately, it’s not a safe place for a man his age to work, or for a young woman like yourself to stay alone. You’re Marcus’ girl?”
She gave me a warm grin.
“No! I mean, we’re not a couple.”
“You don’t have to fool me… Marcus doesn’t bring lady friends to his family’s bar. He doesn’t introduce girlfriends to his brother, Cole. He’s more a father to Marcus than his own daddy was… even though there’s just over a decade between them.”
“Is he?” I found myself asking, curious for any tidbit of information on Marcus, the guy who’d turned my nice new start at a life here upside down.
Polly nodded. “That’s right. Marcus went into a group home when Frank was put away. They didn’t let Cole take over until he’d jumped through all kinds of hoops. He got him out eventually, but… it had a cost. It all has a cost… their mama was long gone. Those two boys have only ever had each other. Cole—well, he did what he had to, to provide for Marcus… and he’s a damn fine pres of the club.” She rested one hand on her hip and the other on the table, like she was settling in to gossip for hours.
I nodded along, but she didn’t need any more encouragement to keep going.
“Marcus, well, he learned that it’s easier to get people to stick around if you don’t expect anything from them, you don’t complain, maybe you can make ‘em laugh… maybe then, they’ll keep you?—”
“Is that right, Polly?” Marcus’ voice sounded behind Polly.
She jumped and fluttered aside, smoothing her hair nervously. “I was telling your girlfriend a little about my history here at The Clutch.” She looked toward me guiltily.
I nodded, keeping my face blank. I didn’t want Polly getting in trouble for her gossiping, not when I’d lapped up every word.
“Is that right? Well, I think the sharing circle is over for tonight. I don’t want to hold the feelings stick, so let us eat in peace,” Marcus said. His tone wasn’t angry but tired. So tired.
Polly nodded and turned away. I looked at Marcus. There were dark circles under his eyes.
“What happened last night?” I asked him.
He set down two tall tumblers of Coke, the ice clinking in the glasses. “You mean after I emptied my balls inside the tightest, most infuriatingly stubborn woman I’ve ever met?” He sipped his drink.
I fought a full-body flush.
“Yes,” I prompted, forcing myself to appear unfazed. He was trying to throw me off my line of questioning, and I wasn’t going to let him.
