Lie to Me (28 page)

He growls and flexes those arms. I smile, and decide to torture him a little bit. Might as well stretch those legs.

We get home a lot faster than twenty minutes.

He’s out of the car practically before it’s stopped moving, walking around to my side again, even more determined than he was before. I can’t keep the smile off my face. Even with all the heavy stuff I’ve been thinking about today, Marcus Roma can still make me feel positively giddy about the things he’s about to do to me.

He yanks open my door and immediately reaches in to undo my seatbelt, which makes me laugh as he hauls me out of the car.

“Marcus!”

He pays me no mind, dragging me up to the kitchen door and unlocking it in record time. “Stretching your legs out like that? No one rubs their legs together like that when they’re stretching, Lo. That was straight up cruel,” he says. “You’re lucky I didn’t just throw you down on the hood.”

And then to prove the point, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder as he walks inside, kicking the door closed behind him. I kind of squeal, though secretly I love it.

“Pick a room,” he says.

“Oh my God, you’re kidding.”

“Living room it is,” he says, slapping my ass before he sets me down on the arm of the couch. He towers over me as he turns my face up to his, and I love that, too. I love everything about this.

“I made a promise in that parking lot,” he says, his hands starting to work up my bare thighs.

I shiver.

“You did?” I say.

His hands are already under my skirt, toying with the edge of my underwear.

“An implied promise,” he says.

He’s started stroking me along the length of me, through my underwear, where I’m already embarrassingly wet, and I feel my eyelids flutter.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“I’m going to spend the rest of the day making you come,” he says. Then with his free hand he tilts my chin up again, his pale eyes looking seriously into mine.

Oh God.

I have to say something. I can’t not say something. I don’t know where it comes from, and I don’t know what it means, but I’m suddenly assaulted by a wave of guilt.

“Marcus,” I say, and I put my hands on his arms, stopping him. “Marcus, I’m sorry for not understanding why you wanted to go work for Alex Wolfe.”

Marcus stiffens, and for a moment I’m afraid I might have said the wrong thing. There’s something in his face I can’t quite read, and that feels so strange, so alienating and frightening to me. But then his eyes soften and it’s the Marcus I know, the man who loves me, despite the ways he’s hurt me.

“I love you, Lo,” he says.

I’m breathless while he removes my clothes, item by item. I’m trying so hard not to think about how I might not be enough for him, how if I’m not enough for him he might leave again, but it’s this persistent pain in the back of my mind, this worry.

And then, once he has me naked and panting for him, Marcus leans in and says, “Thank you for wanting me to be there today, Lo.”

And it just about kills me.

I want him, even if I’m not enough for him, even if I’ll never be enough for him. I want to believe in him. I want to believe he won’t hurt me again.

“I want you to stay,” I whisper back.

And I want him inside me, to push back the last of my doubts.

chapter 17

MARCUS

I don’t know how I’ve let things get this far, this fast. The fundraiser that Harlow and Shantha dreamed up is scheduled for tomorrow night at Shantha’s bar, and I haven’t done jack shit about any of it yet. Still haven’t talked to Alex. Still haven’t figured out how to protect Harlow while the whole thing plays out.

Instead I’ve let myself get distracted by Lo. By Lo and Dill. I didn’t expect to be that affected, I’ll be honest. I didn’t think that going to see Dill would be such a big deal. You think about those moments in your life, the ones that mark lines in the sand, where everything is fundamentally different afterwards, and some of them you can see coming. Death of a loved one is pretty obvious, I guess, for Lo and me, but there’s also falling in love, having a kid—stuff like that. But some of them are stealth moments. Some of them just sneak up on you when you least expect it and change everything.

That’s what happened to me when we went up to visit Dill.

I knew I was in love with Lo. I’ve known that for a long time. But I didn’t know I had such a limited understanding of what being in love could mean.

That day? Jesus. It was like some giant reality show, This Could Be Your Life. Just a glimpse of what it would be like, and I fell even more in love with Harlow Chase, and I fell in love with the idea of being there for both her and Dill. Of being their family. Because it felt like this was the family I was supposed to have. Maybe the family I would have had, if I hadn’t left.

Except I know it’s not that simple.

That’s what I have to keep reminding myself, when the guilt gets too bad. That I did what I had to do. That I took the only path available to me.

Except if my choice was all about noble sacrifice, I wouldn’t feel this guilty, would I?

This is the kind of thing I’ve got swimming around in my head as I’m walking over to the bar to pick Harlow up after her shift. She’s helping Shantha close a little bit early tonight, so they can get some sleep before they have to set up for the fundraiser tomorrow. Even so, I don’t know how Harlow just pulled a bartending shift. I know I’m bone tired. I kept her in bed all night and then most of the day.

And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, I probably will. I can’t help it. I’m getting worked up all over again just knowing I’m about to see her.

I got to keep it in check, though, because I know she needs to be on her game for this fundraiser. And so do I. Because if they pull this event off tomorrow, if they manage to convince some of the members of the zoning board who’ve said they’d come by, then they become a real problem for Alex. And Alex doesn’t just let problems slide.

That’s the other reason I’m going to pick up Harlow. I don’t like how quiet it’s been.

I don’t like that Alex has stopped calling me, looking for updates.

I don’t like how, when I get in sight of the bar, I can see a few men hanging around outside the bar even though it’s just closed, the tips of their cigarettes glowing in the wet night air, bobbing up and down while they drunkenly pace. Drunks don’t normally pace. They talk, they argue, they laugh, and they do it all a little too much, a little too emphatically, a little too loudly, but they don’t goddamn pace.

 And then the guys disappear around the corner all at once. Together.

I really don’t like that.

That’s when I start jogging. I don’t know, maybe it’s just that instinct again, maybe all the stuff I’ve seen working for Alex. But when I see Brison Wolfe across the street when I hit the corner, I know my instincts were right. I curse and head down the cross street, running now, and see the alley that gives the bar its name, where the back door opens and there’s a dumpster. And I see at least three guys beating the shit out of a woman.

I flash all red for a second.

And then I bring it back down, because I need to keep my head on me. There are three of them. No, four. And Brison. But just one of me.

I will kill them all.

I charge in, my vision narrowed by all that adrenaline, and hit the first one hard, feeling his teeth crack under my fist. The next I pick up and throw against the wall, and by the time he hits the brick I’m already on the third, breaking his nose in three places with three straight rights.

I drop that one and turn, looking for the fourth, and that’s when I see Brison again.

Brison, raining down body blows on the fourth guy, until the woman-beating piece of shit folds over himself and collapses to the floor, crying.

I did not expect that.

But I also don’t have time for it. He’s not on the wrong side, so he’s not my problem. And the scumfuck bastards are already running away, scrambling down the alley, choking on their own blood. It’s done. Only one thing left. I turn my head, looking for the woman they were beating on, more terrified than I’ve ever been or ever will be of what I’m about to see.

It’s Shantha.

***

Shantha picks herself up off the dirty, wet pavement, stumbling only once before Brison steps in and puts a hand under her arm. She’s got a cut lip, an eye that’s already swelling up, and she’s walking with a limp while she holds her ribs.

“You’ve got to go to the hospital,” I say.

She shakes her head no, and Brison looks at me. Shantha just looks pissed.

“They’d call the police,” she says. “I’m not dealing with that.”

“Why the fuck not?” I shout.

Shantha just shakes her head, like there’s something obvious I just don’t get, and pounds on the back door to the bar. It must have closed in the scuffle. They got her while she was taking out the trash.

It’s Harlow who opens the door, and as soon as she does her eyes go wide and she pulls Shantha inside.

“Oh Jesus, what happened?”

“Can you get the first aid kit in the office?” Shantha asks, and limps over to a table, taking a chair down so she can sit. Just steady as all hell. The rest of us are more shaken up than she is.

Harlow moves to go to the office, but I stop her. I have to. I put my arms around her and just feel her warmth against me, feel her heart beat, safe and sound, against mine. Harlow is surprised but lets me hold her, and I can feel her look up at me before she buries her face in my chest. I don’t know if everyone actually goes quiet, but I know I don’t hear anything else for a second or two.

Then I guess Brison goes to get the first aid kit while I keep hold of Lo, unable to let go of her while the adrenaline still flows through me, and things start to move again.

“Marcus,” Lo whispers, and she pushes off my chest gently. I know she wants to go check on her best friend. I don’t want to let her go, but I know I have to.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing my arms to unwind. “Will you tell her to go get checked out?”

I think that’s the first time Harlow gets a really, really good look at her friend without any distractions. Her eyes start to fill up.

“Oh my God,” she says.

“Shantha,” I say again. “You have to go to the hospital.”

Shantha just shakes her head. “Haven’t enjoyed myself when I’ve been there before,” she says, and takes a napkin from where Harlow was rolling up the silverware for the next day to dab at her cut lip.

“This is dumb,” I say. I’m frustrated. I know Shantha was the one to take care of Lo when she needed it. Shantha deserves the same.

“Marcus, leave it alone,” Brison says, and I suddenly remember he’s here.

 And now I want to know why he’s here.

I’m still jacked up from the adrenaline, from thinking that Brison was here with those thugs, that he’d come here to intimidate Harlow. I was going to kill him. I still might. Jesus Christ, he’s my half-brother, and if he’s here for Harlow, I will end him.

I turn on him fully, the roar in my ears blocking out what just happened outside.

“Why are you here?” I say. My voice is calm, low, while I rage inside. Brison knows me well enough to recognize it. He must see the look on my face.

“I was just here to talk, Marcus.”

My half-brother looks at me, not cowed, not trying to lie. I know he was here to talk about the offer. To get Harlow to sell. To talk to her alone. What I don’t know is what kind of conversation that would have been.

I growl. “Get the fuck out.”

“Hey!” Shantha says. “My bar, my rules. That guy just beat the crap out of someone trying to hurt me. He gets a free drink, at least.”

Brison and I stare at each other. It takes me way too long to realize Shantha is cracking a joke.

In fact, it takes Harlow’s hand on my arm.

“You need to calm down,” she whispers.

I look at her, and the worry, the disappointment in her eyes, and that does it. I stand down. She’s right. I’m not going to bring Alex and Brison and what they may or not have planned for tomorrow into what happened tonight if it’s not necessary. I shouldn’t take the focus off of Shantha.

Even though Shantha is still more together than any of us, especially Harlow. Harlow is shaking like a leaf. All I want to do is wrap her up in my arms and not let go, ever, but I know she needs something else right now.

“Honey, what happened?” Lo says, pulling up a chair to her best friend. I’ve never seen Lo like this, like she’s afraid to ask questions.

Shantha sighs, being dramatic on purpose, trying to defuse the tension for her friend, and pats Lo’s hand. “I screwed up,” she says. “I outed that guy.”

Ok, at this point, I will admit, I’m confused. Brison is, too. Both of us are maybe not the most fashionable guys, but I have a head start, knowing that Shantha used to be a guy, and eventually even Brison picks up on what’s going on. Actually, I can pinpoint the exact moment Brison picks up on it. It’s about the same time she’s explaining why those men attacked her.

“He kept telling me he recognized me and asking me where he knew me from, real flirtatious, getting really drunk with his boys,” Shantha says to Harlow, wincing from the antiseptic. “And I knew, you know, but I wasn’t saying anything, because I knew him from a gay bar. You know how I used to wait with my cab outside the gay bars back before I transitioned?”

Now I’m confused again. “What?” I say.

Shantha rolls her eyes. “Before this,” she says, sweeping her hand down to indicate her whole body. Oh.

“I was a cab driver for my family’s company back before they found out about me and kicked me out,” Shantha says. “I used to wait outside gay clubs for the drunk gays and whoever so they had a safe way to get home late at night, right? You know, if I couldn’t be out, I could at least drive people around. Whatever, it made sense at the time. That’s how I knew him. I picked him up outside a club and brought him home to his nice suburban home.”

Shantha’s toying with that napkin now, tearing it up. Maybe she is shaken up.