“Fuck them,” he says. “I’ve been trapped in that bed for days. I needed to get out. Besides, it’s not as much fun locked in that room when you’re not there hiding beneath my blankets.”
My cheeks flush the brightest shade of red, recalling the way I’d shimmied down under the blankets and took him into my mouth after the second … or maybe the third time I’d fucked him during the night. But what can I say? I simply haven’t been able to get enough of him. Hell, if something clearly wasn’t getting him down right now, I’d probably already be on my knees, my mouth full and my eyes watery as I choked on his thick cock.
“Now, now,” I tease. “Don’t be crass in front of the tongue.”
Marcus rolls his eyes and pulls my hand into his lap before letting out a deep sigh. “Tell me what you remember about the hooded bitch who shot me.”
My brows furrow as I look up at him, taken aback by his question. He’s been studiously avoiding the topic of the hooded bitch, so it was the last thing I expected to hear come out of his mouth. “Oh, umm … I can’t really tell you much. Her head was down and the hood covered most of her face, but she had blonde hair and it was kind of long and matted, like it hadn’t been washed in a while.”
“Height?”
“Short,” I state. “Maybe an inch shorter than me, but I could be wrong. It’s not like we stood back to back with a tape measure and drew little lines over our heads against the drywall.”
“Shayne,” Marcus grunts, clearly not in the mood to deal with my bullshit rambling.
“Sorry,” I murmur, but I’m just not sure any of this is really very helpful. “It was the middle of the night and it was dark. You can’t rely on my memory, especially after what happened following that. I’ve been purposefully trying to forget it all.”
Marcus shakes his head. “Don’t. The raw fear and emotion from those experiences are what fuel you to do better. It’s the greatest kind of catalyst you could know, constantly making you stronger. It’ll empower you to always strive for more, and never fall back into the same kind of circumstances that will tear you down.”
I gape at him, completely baffled by the strange little way he looks at the world. “If that’s your ‘learn from your mistakes’ speech, it needs work.”
Marcus rolls his eyes and gets back on with it, his eyes falling back to the jar. “What did she say? Tell me specifically.”
I try to think back to the moment the hooded McBitch snuck into my room. “She was trying to tell me that I need to run from you all. That she didn’t want you guys to hurt me the way you’d hurt her.”
“Hurt her? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” I fire back at him. “It’s not like the bitch was offering to take me out for a sit-down chat over scones and jam.” Marcus gives me a blank stare and I let out a sigh, continuing with the small bits and pieces that I can remember. “She wanted me to run and I refused because we’d only just gone through the whole ‘I’m safer here with you guys’ bullshit, and she didn’t take kindly to that, but it was clearly her main goal. She said it a few times, each time getting more pissed off that I hadn’t fallen to my knees and thanked her for such a great idea, which is when she told me that if I didn’t comply with what she was asking, she’d force me to run.”
“Which is when she shot me, knowing that my brothers would assume the worst,” Marcus finishes for me.
“Exactly,” I say. “Though there was one moment, I can’t exactly remember what led to her saying it, but she referred to you all as hers, like you’d all meant something to her at one point, maybe still do.”
Marcus’ lips press into a tight line and I stare at him, my heart quickly speeding up. “You know who it is, don’t you?”
He glances my way, regret heavy in his eyes. “Blonde hair, you said?” I nod and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, almost as though he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Shit, I … it can’t be. I saw her die right in front of my eyes, but everything is pointing toward it being Flick.”
I suck in a gasp, my brows furrowing as I watch the confusion marring his face. “Felicity?” I ask, my question coming out as more of a baffled grunt. I look down and point out the tattoo of Felicity covering Marcus’ ribs. “This Felicity? As in Roman’s dead almost-fiancé Felicity.”