I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah, okay,” I say, pulling my chin out of his grip. “I get it. I won’t say anything. You’ve got my word, but if you grab me like that again, Marcus DeAngelis, I’m going to perform a reenactment of Levi shooting off Antonio’s tongue, but it’ll be your dick instead. Got it?”
He narrows his gaze, slowly raising his chin, and in the blink of an eye, that harshness fades away almost as though it never existed. “Damn, girl. You’re getting way too comfortable in this castle. I thought you liked it when I grabbed you.”
“I do,” I tell him. “But only when my back is pressed up against the wall and your cock is only inches away from slamming into me. Apart from that, I’m not your ragdoll. I get enough of that shit from Levi and Roman. I don’t need it from you as well.”
“Okay,” he says. “From now on, I’m only rough when you’re begging me for it, but be warned, if you slip up on your word, I’ll slip up on mine.”
I hold out my pinky. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Marcus just stares, having no idea what the fuck I’m doing. So I reach out and curl my pinky finger around his, not bothering to explain the terms of a pinky promise, because honestly, he probably doesn’t give a shit.
“So,” he says, pulling his pinky free and reaching toward the coffee table with a pained grunt before grabbing a packet of painkillers and a bottle of water. “The blood splatter. Tell me all about it. I didn’t get to hear the blood raining down around the room. Tell me it was good. I’m so fucking pissed that those assholes left me behind. I’ve been dreaming of the day that I got to end that backstabber’s life. Antonio and I were closest in age, so apart from my brothers, he was my best friend, the only one outside my immediate family who understood the real me. I didn’t have to hide with him, so that betrayal stung the hardest. But fuck, you made me the happiest motherfucker who ever lived by giving me a front-row seat to the performance of a lifetime.”
I stare up at him, my brows dipped low as he shakes some pills into his hand and divides them up; a pile for him and a pile for me. He passes them over and I pop them straight into my mouth as he hands me the bottle of water. They slide down the hatch with ease and I hand the bottle straight back so he can do the same. “I know I talk a lot of shit, but have I ever told you just how fucked up you guys truly are? I mean, fuck. Your father skipped a few important steps while raising you. Like … you know it’s not normal to dream about murdering people and getting off over the sound of their blood splattering against the tiles? Don’t get me wrong, it’s certainly entertaining, but I’m almost positive that you’re the only fuckers in the world having arguments over which body part you get to keep as trophies.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, leaning back on the couch as his arm drops around my shoulder. “How strange. All these years I’ve been thinking it was completely normal. I’ll be sure to bring up my father’s parenting failures during our next business meeting.”
“Solid plan,” I tell him, unable to keep the smirk from stretching over my face. “Just be sure to keep my name out of your filthy mouth when you do it.”
“Consider it done.”
And just like that, I stretch my leg out and knock the tongue jar right off the table—out of sight, out of mind—giving me just that tiny bit of peace to close my eyes and rest into Marcus’ side, finally giving myself the chance to drift off into a peaceful sleep, only one more question lingers on my mind.
“Marcus?” I question, refusing to glance up at him, too afraid to see what might flash through his eyes. “Earlier tonight in your room when we were talking about what your brothers did to me, you made a comment about how they knew what you felt for me and … what does that mean? What do you feel for me?”
Marcus adjusts himself beneath me and pulls me in a little tighter before dropping his chin and pressing his lips into my hair. He doesn’t move for a long moment and the silence quickly fills the air as he thinks of what to say, making sure he doesn’t mince his words. “I don’t mean for this to hurt you, but I don’t fucking know. I’m not in love with you if that’s what you’re asking, but I know that if you were to have died or gotten away, it would have killed me. I’ve never been in love before, I don’t know how that’s supposed to feel, but just know that you mean a shitload more to me than anyone else who’s ever walked through that door. You mean something to me, Shayne. Something important and I don’t want to let that go.”