Page 77 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

“I fuckin’ hope so.” His eyes hold mine a long second, and I see the misery there before he turns away, carrying the last of the booze inside.

I watch him go, knowing there’s no help for him right now. A prospect cannot get caught messing with the president’s daughter. Not if he wants to get the man’s vote and earn a patch on his back—and not if he wants to live to see tomorrow.

I shake it off. I can’t worry about my buddy tonight.

I’ve got a fight to win.

***

Brandy—

I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Harley and Melissa had insisted I come to Harley’s house to get ready for the fight.

“Damn, you look hot,” Harley squeals.

I’m wearing the jumpsuit I bought the other day at the mall. The black lace bodice contrasts against my sun kissed skin, and it hugs my every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“The smokey-eye makeup you did looks amazing,” Melissa adds.

“Marcus is going to flip. I hope you don’t end up being a distraction.” Harley giggles.

“Well, she looks like every man’s wet dream, so I imagine he’ll be at least a little distracted,” Melissa concedes.

“You’re one to talk.” I smirk. “You wouldn’t be wearing that outfit”—I gesture up and down at the minidress with a plunging neckline—“for Billy, now, would you?”

“I’m wearing it for me. If it drives him crazy, that’s just a bonus.” She winks. “And who are you wearing yours for?” Melissa points her mascara wand at Harley.

“Anyone smart enough to notice,” she states with a lift of her chin. “All right, you ready to go watch Marcus kick your ex-douchebag’s ass?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I admit.

“Let’s go then, ladies.” Harley twirls her finger in the air like she’s rounding us up.

I grab the cropped black leather biker jacket I ordered just for tonight.

“Love that jacket. It lets douchebag know which team you’re on.” Harley grins.

Melissa chuckles as we climb into Harley’s car. “She’s one of us now.”

***

Marcus—

The Academy is jam-packed with bikers and Ivy Leaguers. If I wasn’t about to be center stage, I’d find the contrast hilarious. The line in the sand couldn’t be more obvious—polos to the left, leather to the right.

The fight is scheduled to start in about thirty minutes. I scan the crowd, looking for Brandy. At that moment, the door opens, and the sun shines through, making it difficult to see more than the three shapes moving through the entrance. When it shuts, I see her, and she’s sex on a stick. The outfit she wears looks like lingerie on the top and drives my mind to filthy places. Melissa and Harley are both in sexy outfits, too, but my eyes don’t stray from Brandy. I take in every inch of her body, and I can’t help the low whistle that escapes my lips. Damn, my baby looks fine.

The leather jacket brings the corner of my mouth up. Leather to the right. Her message couldn’t be clearer if she put a damn sign around her neck. There should be no doubt in Holt’s mind just who she’s here to see win.

Billy comes up behind me, smacking my back in comradery. “Ready to knock this piece-of-shit down?”

“Yeah.” I barely divert my attention from Brandy.

“What’s got you distracted?” he questions.

“Brandy.” I lift my chin. “Looks like Melissa may be trying to do the same with you.”

Billy twists, glancing over his shoulder.

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