Marked (A Dark Serial Killer Romance)
Marked: Chapter 19

Harley stands at the kitchen island with a greeting card in her hand.

She hands the card to me. “Who’re Brian and Abigail?”

I read the thank you note quickly.

Thanks for the use of the place. Happy Hunting!

Love, Abigail and Brian.

“Friends.” I put the card down.

“This place belongs to you? You own it?” She pushes a hip into the island as I walk away to the fridge and grab a bottle of water.

“I do.” I take a long drink of the cool water, while my eyes devour the deliciousness of her in my kitchen. I don’t use the place often. Chicago isn’t my favorite city, but sometimes I need a place to let things cool where no one knows who I am, and I can blend into the craziness.

“This bunch of roses.” She picks up the card again, and points to the black and red roses embossed on the top of the stationary card. “You have the same tattoo on your chest.”

I swallow another gulp of crisp water.

“That’s right. I do.”

“What does it mean?” She eyes the handwriting on the card. Abigail wrote it, I can tell by the elegant script.

“It’s the symbol for the group I work with.” It’s the easiest way to explain it. “Sort of like a hunting club.” I half smile.

“I thought you said you were a Marine before.”

I nod, screwing the cap on the bottle. She’s been given a blow. Everything is going to come into question until she replaces her solid footing again.

“That’s right. I was. Now I work with a different sort of organization.”

“Doing what? I mean, how can you afford a place like this?” She folds her arms over her stomach, propping up her breasts. A bandage covers my artwork. Our initials. Hers plus mine.

There’s no question now.

She and I belong to each other.

“I told you what I do, Harley.” I slide along the island until I’m right in front of her.

“How does that translate into a penthouse on Michigan Avenue?” She’s getting more demanding in her questions.

I lift a finger to her jawline, tracing the tension there.

“Just because the military couldn’t let me operate officially within their ranks, doesn’t mean I completely walked away.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you telling me that the Marines pay you to hunt down these monsters? And other people, too?”

“Not the Marines.” I drop my hand from her cheek. “There’s no official branch that covers this sort of thing. You won’t replace an item line on any budget for us.”

She tilts her a little to the side. “You’re kind of like one of those comic book heroes my dad loved so much, aren’t you?” Her lips, full and pink, kick up to the side. “A dark caped crusader?”

I laugh, and it feels so fucking good. In my kitchen, with her, my mark fresh on her skin, a smile on her pretty lips.

“No, little bird. I don’t think I’m anyone’s hero.”

“You’re mine.” She grabs my hand and squeezes. Hard. “You’re the first person who wanted to get to the truth. Even the doctors always pushed for me to move on, to try and focus on the future, not the past.”

I bring her hand to my mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“Are you feeling better?” She crashed hard after I put her to bed. When we’d arrived, she declined a tour and wanted only to get to bed.

“I was mean to you. I’m sorry for that.” Her cheeks flush with the sweetest blush.

I shake my head. “You were perfectly you, Harley.”

“I yelled at you.”

“And it was hot.”

“It was hot?” She laughs.

“Yeah, when you lose control like that? Fuck, it’s hot. And it’s even better because I get to be the one that reels you in.” I touch the bandage on her chest. “That’s what this means, little bird. You and me. Together.”

With a featherlike touch, she fingers the edges of the bandage.

“Do you think it will scar?” When she lifts her eyes to mine, I see the hope there. She wants to wear my mark permanently.

Nothing would make me happier.

“I’m not sure. That nail file wasn’t all that sharp, the cuts might not be deep enough to cause a scar. But I hope it does.”

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting a smile. She doesn’t need to hide this part of her from me. It’s what feeds me.

I pluck her lip out.

“If it doesn’t scar, maybe you can do it again, but with your knife. That way it will.” She reaches past me and grabs my bottle of water, takes a sip.

“Fuck, little bird,” I groan, inhaling the sweet scent of my body wash on her skin. “You’re perfect.”

She laughs.

“I think my mother would disagree.” She puts the cap back on the water and hops off the kitchen stool. “I mean, you don’t choose the perfect daughter to be murdered.”

“While you were napping, I did some more digging. Vince hangs at a bar called Cuffs, here in the city. About twenty-five minutes from here.” I veer the topic to replaceing the clearly guilty, while the jury deliberates on the verdict of Nancy Turner.

“Do you think he’ll know if my mom was involved or not?” The weight of her question pulls her lips down into a frown. “I don’t think I can ask her about it. Not yet.”

“I’m hoping he’ll be able to shed light on a lot of questions we have.” Not too quickly, though. He’s earned himself a lot of punishment, and stringing out the interrogation would be more than welcome. “And no, you shouldn’t ask your mom about it,” I agree. “You shouldn’t talk to her right now. In fact, no talking to anyone. You can’t even call into work,”

“I’m not scheduled to work until Friday, but I don’t want to just not show up.”

“We have to assume that anyone you talk to is compromised. That agent isn’t going to just let things lie, she’s going to be looking for us. Which means she’s going to be talking to your bosses, your co-workers, friends, landlord. Anyone that might know where you’d go, or if you’ve called them.”

“Do you think she’ll replace Artie?”

“Not unless I want her to. He’s fine where he is.” No one will replace him. It’s one of the perks of working with my crew.

“Mom texted me; she wants to go for lunch tomorrow.” She blows out a breath. “I know she tipped off Laurens, but maybe it was an accident? Mom wouldn’t have told her if she thought it meant I was going to be hurt.” Indecision cracks her voice.

“Did you answer her?” I should have taken her phone while she was asleep. Her location services are turned off, but a message or call might be enough for the Special Agent to get information about her whereabouts.

“No. I just left it. I didn’t know what to say.” Hurt still lingers in her expression. I can’t imagine the betrayal she feels at the realization of what her mother did. Years of believing she was chosen to live, and because of that her sister had died, only to replace out it wasn’t true.

“When you’re ready to talk with her, we’ll see her.” I wish my suspicions had been wrong. Harley deserves better. Quinn did, too. But the situation doesn’t change because of wishes.

“So, you’ve lived in Chicago this whole time?” A change in topic is fine with me. The last thing I want is to see her pick at the wound her mother’s actions have created.

“Not all the time. I have a few places across the country. Chicago isn’t my favorite.” I pick up a lock of her hair, roll it between my fingers. “At least it wasn’t until now.”

Her blush gets darker, and I wonder if I can make her entire body turn red with just my voice.

If not, I’m sure my toys will work.

Fuck. I want her again.

“I was thinking of coloring my hair.” She takes the strands from my grasp. “Maybe red. I’ve always wanted to be a redhead.”

I grin. “I think red would look good on you.”

“If Agent Laurens is looking for us, it might be harder if I don’t look the same, right?” She folds her hair in half and pulls it up. “Maybe I should cut it, too? Chop it at my chin?”

Turning her head one way then the other, she models the look for me.

“I like it longer.” I pull it from her hands and wrap it around my fist several times then yank her to me. “If it’s short, I can’t do this.” I yank her head backward and overtake her mouth.

Nothing has ever tasted as good as Harley’s submission to my beast. Her hands rest on my shoulders when I deepen the kiss. She hooks one leg over my hip.

When I pull away, her lips are swollen, and her chest is heaving for breath.

“Get your shoes on. There’s a stylist I’ve worked with before who can help with your hair if you really want.”

“And the cut?”

“You’re not cutting this hair.” And that’s that.

She smiles. “All right.”

I slowly untangle my hand from her hair, and gently shove her in the direction of the door.

“Shoes.” I slap her ass hard, propelling her a step.

As she walks through the swinging door, she throws me a smile.

I’ve never considered sharing my life with someone. Not after I chose this path. But Harley has changed all of that.

After I’m done taking out all of her monsters, I’m going to keep my little bird and keep her safe. If anyone tries to take her from me, I’m going to end them, too.