chapter 4, the visitor
1047 Words
CHAPTER 4 — The Visitor
Lena dressed slowly, her legs still unsteady, her skin marked in places she didn’t want covered. She found her dress on the floor where it had fallen the night before, slipped it on, and stood in front of the mirror. Her hair was a mess. The bruise on her neck was darkening. Her lips looked swollen.
She looked like someone who had made a bad decision and wasn’t sorry about it.
When she stepped back into the main room, Marcus was at the window, one hand braced against the frame, the other holding his coffee. He didn’t turn when she approached. He was watching the street below with the kind of stillness that wasn’t calm — it was readiness.
“Marcus?”
He glanced at her. “You good?”
She nodded. “You said someone’s coming.”
“Yeah.” He set the mug down. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Who is he?”
“A friend.” His jaw tightened. “Sometimes.”
She crossed her arms. “Is he dangerous?”
Marcus looked at her fully then, eyes steady. “Everyone I know is dangerous.”
She swallowed. “Should I be scared?”
“No.” He stepped closer, his hand brushing her hip, grounding her. “Not while you’re with me.”
The words shouldn’t have comforted her. They did.
A sharp buzz cut through the room — the intercom by the door. Marcus’s body changed instantly, shoulders straightening, eyes sharpening. He pressed the button.
“Yeah.”
A voice crackled through, low and rough. “Open up.”
Marcus hit the release. The metal door downstairs clicked.
He turned to her. “Stay here.”
She didn’t argue. She watched him walk to the apartment door, unlock it, and step into the hallway. The door stayed open just enough for her to hear footsteps climbing the stairs — slow, heavy, deliberate.
Then a second voice.
“You look like shit.”
Marcus’s reply was flat. “Morning to you too.”
The footsteps stopped at the threshold. Lena held her breath.
A man stepped into view behind Marcus — tall, broad, wearing a dark jacket and boots that looked like they’d walked through worse places than this building. His hair was shaved close, his jaw square, his eyes sharp and assessing.
He saw her immediately.
Marcus moved slightly, not blocking her, but making it clear she wasn’t alone.
“This is Lena,” Marcus said.
The man’s gaze didn’t shift. “Didn’t know you had company.”
“Now you do.”
The man nodded once, slow. “I’m Rafe.”
Lena managed a quiet, “Hi.”
Rafe’s eyes flicked over her — not in a way that made her feel exposed, but in a way that made her feel catalogued. Noted. Filed away.
He looked at Marcus. “You sure?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
Rafe stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He didn’t sit. He didn’t relax. He stood in the middle of the room like he was waiting for something.
Marcus crossed his arms. “What do you want?”
“Got a message.” Rafe reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Figured you’d want it sooner rather than later.”
Marcus didn’t take it. “Say it.”
Rafe shrugged. “They want you back.”
Lena felt the air shift — heavy, tense, electric.
Marcus’s voice was low. “I said I’m off.”
“They don’t care.” Rafe held the paper out again. “This is the job.”
Marcus didn’t move.
Rafe sighed. “Look, man. I’m just the messenger.”
Marcus finally took the paper, unfolded it, scanned it. His expression didn’t change, but something in the room did — a tightening, a coiling.
Lena stepped closer. “Marcus?”
He didn’t look at her. “It’s nothing.”
Rafe’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Marcus. “You gonna tell her?”
“No.”
Rafe huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re getting soft.”
Marcus’s head snapped up. “Watch it.”
Rafe lifted his hands. “Just saying.”
Marcus folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll handle it.”
“You better.” Rafe glanced at Lena again. “She’s pretty. Don’t let her get caught in it.”
Marcus’s voice dropped to something cold. “She won’t.”
Rafe nodded once, then headed for the door. “Call me when you decide.”
Marcus didn’t answer.
The door shut behind Rafe with a solid thud.
Silence filled the apartment.
Lena stepped closer. “Marcus… what was that?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, his eyes fixed on the floor like he was trying to keep something inside.
“Marcus.”
He finally looked at her — and the expression on his face wasn’t anger or fear.
It was conflict.
“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he said quietly.
“Too late.”
He exhaled, long and slow. “Lena… you staying here last night was one thing. But this—” He gestured toward the door. “This is my world. And it’s not clean.”
She stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. “I’m not asking for clean.”
His eyes softened — barely. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then tell me.”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Marcus—”
He took her face in his hands, gentle but firm. “I need you to trust me.”
She swallowed. “I do.”
His thumb brushed her cheek. “Then stay close today. Don’t leave the apartment.”
“Are you in danger?”
“No.” His voice was steady. “But I might be needed.”
“And me?”
His eyes locked on hers. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Her heart kicked hard.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her in like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t want you going anywhere.”
- Writer
