Pick us back

chapter 9

Marcus

The roar of the bikes was the only sound echoing through the dense line of trees as the pavement turned into a private, winding gravel road. The air out here was cooler, smelling of pine and damp earth, but all Marcus could focus on was the scent of cherry blossoms clinging to Nova's skin—a sweet, delicate contrast to the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder that hung over the rest of them.

Every time the bike hit a dip in the road, her body pressed tighter against his back, and Marcus had to grit his teeth to keep his focus on the path. His pulse was a frantic rhythm, driven by a mix of protective fury and a hunger he was trying like hell to suppress

The property loomed out of the darkness—a modern, fortress-like structure hidden deep in the Maryland woods. This wasn't a home; it was a sanctuary built for men who lived on the edge of the law.

As the massive iron gates hummed shut behind them, Marcus finally felt the tension in his shoulders give way, just a fraction. He pulled the bike into the oversized garage, the tires crunching on the pristine concrete before he finally killed the engine.

The silence that followed was heavy.

"We're here," Marcus whispered, his voice thick. He didn't move yet, savoring the feeling of her arms around him for one more second. "You're home, Nova. The real home."

He felt her tremble against him, her strength finally starting to fail as the adrenaline began its slow, painful crash. Ezra was off his bike in a heartbeat, his boots echoing as he moved toward them, his eyes locked on the blood matting Nova's red hair.

Julian hopped off his bike and headed straight for the security console, his fingers flying across a tablet to verify the lockdown.

"She needs a medic," Ezra rasped, reaching out to help Nova slide off the back of Marcus's bike.

"No medics," Marcus snapped, finally standing up and stretching his bruised limbs. "We do it ourselves. No one outside this circle knows she's here." He turned to Nova, his eyes softening as he looked at her pale, tear-streaked face. "Can you walk, or am I carrying you?"

The pride that had carried Nova through the day finally buckled under the weight of the trauma. As her boots hit the concrete, the world seemed to tilt and spin, the high-tech garage blurring into a smear of grey and steel. She tried to be the boss, the artist, the girl who could handle anything—but the "demon" at the house had taken too much.

Marcus didn't hesitate. He was there before her knees could even graze the floor, his large hands steadying her waist. When she looked up at him, her face tear-streaked and pale, the admission broke the last of his iron restraint.

Marcus lowered me onto the soft leather of the couch, but he stayed on his knees in front of her, trapped in her space. He reached out with a hand that was still stained with the blood of her attackers, gently brushing a matted red curl away from the cut on her cheek.

"You've never seen this place because we built it to be a ghost," Marcus said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "It's yours now. As much as it is ours."

Julian stepped forward, kneeling on her other side with the first aid kit. He looked at the glass shards still glinting in her hair and then at the $13,670 she was still clutching like a lifeline.

"The money is safe, Nova," Julian said, his voice tight with an emotion he usually hid. "But we need to clean these wounds. Ezra, hold her hand."