'Til Death: Volume Two
Page 18
I can hear them talking about me as I slide into my bed next to Penny. I reach out, tucking her hand in mine and clench my eyes shut, trying to forget tonight, trying to forget Marcus and how much he damaged me, trying to forget everything in the past twelve months, but most of all, trying to forget how good it felt to be in his arms again.
“Marcus was there,” I hear Landon say. “Something went down.”
He’s not saying what; I love him for that.
“What?” Candy asks. “She . . . I’ve not seen her like that since the day she found that contract.”
I hiccup and begin to sob.
“I don’t know what,” Landon adds. “All I know is she’s devastated.”
“You don’t think she . . . slept with him, do you?”
I clench my eyes closed with shame.
“No,” Wyatt pipes up. “I don’t.”
“Should I go to her?” Candy asks.
“No,” Wyatt adds again. “She needs to be alone. Just let her be.”
Everything goes quiet after that.
I tuck my daughter into my arms.
Then I cry myself to sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARCUS
THEN
“Come on honey,” a feminine voice purrs.
My drunken mind is struggling to process what’s happening. I’m on my back, there’s something heavy over me, but I remember fuck-all else. I try to force my eyes open, but see nothing through the haze. Something cool touches my face, stroking down my cheeks.
“You’re so hot, Marcus.”
Is that a female? On top of me? I blink rapidly, and slowly a figure comes into view. She’s blond, naked, and straddling me. A mixture of anger, humiliation and guilt swarms through my body. I try to lift my arms, but nothing happens. I’m numb.
A hand strokes over my cock.
I’m fucking naked? How the fuck did that happen?
“L . . . l . . . let,” I try, but my voice is slurred and pathetic.
“Shhh, let me help you.”
She’s stroking my flaccid dick. What the fuck? I try to buck my hips, but I’m so fuckin’ smashed nothing is happening. I bellow with rage, jerking my hips up again.
“Hush, let me fuck you, gorgeous.”
No.
No fuckin’ way.
I buck again, and this time she launches off me. “Get the fuck out!” I bellow.
The door swings open and I hear a familiar voice. “Fuck, bro. Shit.”
Mack.
“Get the fuck out,” I bellow, clawing at my chest. “Get the fuck out.”
“What did you give him, bitch?” Mack roars.
“I . . . I just . . .”
“What did you give him?”
“I don’t know,” she cries. “A friend told me it would help me . . .”
“Get him into bed?” Mack hisses. “You better get out of my fuckin’ sight before I come over there and throw you out the damned window.”
I hear the scurrying of feet and then someone has his or her arms around my shoulders, hauling me up. “Fuck, dude,” Mack mutters. “Cover yourself.”
He thrusts a blanket at me and I can just see him through my frantic haze.
“Where is she?” I bellow.
If she sees this . . . if she knows there was a woman near me . . . no.
“Who?”
“Katia? Don’t let her in here.”
“Fuck man,” Mack mutters, sitting beside me. “Dude, she left. Remember?”
Pain rips through my chest as I remember the look on my wife’s face as she walked out on me. No. She can’t be gone.
“No, Mack,” I roar. “Bring her back. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Come on man, you’re fucked up. Let me get you home to sleep it off.”
“Tell her I’m sorry,” I rasp, dropping my head. “Tell her I love her. Tell her.”
“Marcus, bud, you’re not with it.”
I turn, clasping his shirt and shaking him. “Fuckin’ tell her. Tell her, Mack. Tell her I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Make her come back. Make her believe me.”
He shoves me off. “Pull yourself together. She’s gone. She’s fuckin’ gone, and you’re drowning with every fuckin’ minute.”
“Mack?” It’s Jaylah. His woman.
“Jay, not now.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not really.”
“Make her come back, Jaylah,” I rasp, tangling my fingers into my hair. “Somebody please, just make her come back.”
“Jesus,” Jaylah whispers as my world starts going blank again. “Poor man.”
~*~*~*~
NOW
KATIA
The sound of my phone ringing raises me from my sleep. I blink, trying to clear my vision. My head is pounding and my stomach is turning. Memories of last night cause my stomach to twist angrily. I push up and reach over through the fading darkness to find my phone. I see my father’s number and my stomach drops.
Mom.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Katia,” he says, his voice low and broken. “It’s your mom.”
A sharp yet numbing pain shoots right up to my heart. My skin prickles. My ears ring. Everything seems to stop.
“Dad,” I croak. “Please.”
“She had a stroke.”
A pained cry tears from my lips.
“She’s alive, but . . . Katia . . . they don’t think she’ll make it.”
“Marcus was there,” I hear Landon say. “Something went down.”
He’s not saying what; I love him for that.
“What?” Candy asks. “She . . . I’ve not seen her like that since the day she found that contract.”
I hiccup and begin to sob.
“I don’t know what,” Landon adds. “All I know is she’s devastated.”
“You don’t think she . . . slept with him, do you?”
I clench my eyes closed with shame.
“No,” Wyatt pipes up. “I don’t.”
“Should I go to her?” Candy asks.
“No,” Wyatt adds again. “She needs to be alone. Just let her be.”
Everything goes quiet after that.
I tuck my daughter into my arms.
Then I cry myself to sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MARCUS
THEN
“Come on honey,” a feminine voice purrs.
My drunken mind is struggling to process what’s happening. I’m on my back, there’s something heavy over me, but I remember fuck-all else. I try to force my eyes open, but see nothing through the haze. Something cool touches my face, stroking down my cheeks.
“You’re so hot, Marcus.”
Is that a female? On top of me? I blink rapidly, and slowly a figure comes into view. She’s blond, naked, and straddling me. A mixture of anger, humiliation and guilt swarms through my body. I try to lift my arms, but nothing happens. I’m numb.
A hand strokes over my cock.
I’m fucking naked? How the fuck did that happen?
“L . . . l . . . let,” I try, but my voice is slurred and pathetic.
“Shhh, let me help you.”
She’s stroking my flaccid dick. What the fuck? I try to buck my hips, but I’m so fuckin’ smashed nothing is happening. I bellow with rage, jerking my hips up again.
“Hush, let me fuck you, gorgeous.”
No.
No fuckin’ way.
I buck again, and this time she launches off me. “Get the fuck out!” I bellow.
The door swings open and I hear a familiar voice. “Fuck, bro. Shit.”
Mack.
“Get the fuck out,” I bellow, clawing at my chest. “Get the fuck out.”
“What did you give him, bitch?” Mack roars.
“I . . . I just . . .”
“What did you give him?”
“I don’t know,” she cries. “A friend told me it would help me . . .”
“Get him into bed?” Mack hisses. “You better get out of my fuckin’ sight before I come over there and throw you out the damned window.”
I hear the scurrying of feet and then someone has his or her arms around my shoulders, hauling me up. “Fuck, dude,” Mack mutters. “Cover yourself.”
He thrusts a blanket at me and I can just see him through my frantic haze.
“Where is she?” I bellow.
If she sees this . . . if she knows there was a woman near me . . . no.
“Who?”
“Katia? Don’t let her in here.”
“Fuck man,” Mack mutters, sitting beside me. “Dude, she left. Remember?”
Pain rips through my chest as I remember the look on my wife’s face as she walked out on me. No. She can’t be gone.
“No, Mack,” I roar. “Bring her back. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Come on man, you’re fucked up. Let me get you home to sleep it off.”
“Tell her I’m sorry,” I rasp, dropping my head. “Tell her I love her. Tell her.”
“Marcus, bud, you’re not with it.”
I turn, clasping his shirt and shaking him. “Fuckin’ tell her. Tell her, Mack. Tell her I’m so fuckin’ sorry. Make her come back. Make her believe me.”
He shoves me off. “Pull yourself together. She’s gone. She’s fuckin’ gone, and you’re drowning with every fuckin’ minute.”
“Mack?” It’s Jaylah. His woman.
“Jay, not now.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not really.”
“Make her come back, Jaylah,” I rasp, tangling my fingers into my hair. “Somebody please, just make her come back.”
“Jesus,” Jaylah whispers as my world starts going blank again. “Poor man.”
~*~*~*~
NOW
KATIA
The sound of my phone ringing raises me from my sleep. I blink, trying to clear my vision. My head is pounding and my stomach is turning. Memories of last night cause my stomach to twist angrily. I push up and reach over through the fading darkness to find my phone. I see my father’s number and my stomach drops.
Mom.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Katia,” he says, his voice low and broken. “It’s your mom.”
A sharp yet numbing pain shoots right up to my heart. My skin prickles. My ears ring. Everything seems to stop.
“Dad,” I croak. “Please.”
“She had a stroke.”
A pained cry tears from my lips.
“She’s alive, but . . . Katia . . . they don’t think she’ll make it.”
