Marcus chuckles. “Jazzy boo, I think you haven’t been honest with us.”
“What?” I snap, my voice shaking from fury. “ I don’t have anything for you. Just let my men fucking go and leave my goddamn house, Marcus.”
He laughs—low, guttural. “Still mouthy. Still beautiful. Still think you’ve got choices here.”
Landon groans behind him, coughing hard, and I can’t move. My body’s frozen. Not with fear. With hate. Pure, acidic hate. Because I almost killed this man. I had the shot. And now he’s standing in my living room, bleeding all over the floor I used to cry on, acting like he owns me again.
“Sit,” Marcus says with a lazy flick of his wrist, like I’m a dog he’s already housebroken. I don’t move fast enough, so the guy holding Conner down with his boot shoves me forward until I stumble into one of the couch chairs across from Landon.
Landon’s still bleeding, barely holding his head up. Every breath he takes is rough and uneven, and rage burns through me like wildfire. But I sit. Because if I don’t, I don’t know what the man will do next.
Marcus leans back against the back of the couch, arms spread across out, leaving his bare chest exposed, that knife balancing on his knee.
“I wasn’t gonna do this, you know,” he says finally, voice light, like we’re catching up over fucking coffee. “I was going to letLandon go. Wasn’t even gonna chase you. Could’ve walked away, started fresh.”
My eyes narrow, lips pressed into a tight line. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because, sweetheart,” he says, pushing off the and strolling closer, “I found something. Did a little digging into our star girl. And imagine my surprise when I found out who your mother is.”
My blood runs cold, but I bare my teeth and continue. “The trailer park whore? Not really special, Marcus.”
He leans in, eyes glittering. “Yes, but her name isBettyCollins. Ain’t that interesting, Josh?”
The man holding down Conner, who I am assuming is Josh calls back. “Yeah, so interesting.”
Marcus leans in closer, his nicotine stench breath invades my nostrils and I recoil, but Marcus pinches my cheeks with one hand and drags me back to his wretched breath. “And guess what, baby? Betty was the last woman to fuck my daddy before he ended up dead in a ditch.”
A laugh rasps out of him, humorless and jagged.
“So I went to go ask her some questions, and you know, she didn’t even hold out that long. Just took thirty minutes, one lost pinky toe and a kilo of crack before she spilled every dark little secret.”
I hiss out a growl, because my mother sucks so fucking much, but hey she lasted a fucking pinky toe and had the time to sweeten the deal with a kilo of crack, before giving me over to the fucking Raiders.
“And you know what she told me?” He mocks, spit flying out of his mouth as he searches my eyes with his tar black eyes. “How her little girl got angry. How her little girl stabbed my daddy dead in the middle of the goddamn woods.” His voice drops, venomous. “That’s what happened, right? One night you got pissed and stabbed my daddy down in the dead of the night, right after he feel asleep fucking your whore mother.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, the words barely there. “I was a child, and he--”
The flashes of that night run across my mind. That man’s tar eyes, and calloused touch. The rip of my clothes. The way I screamed. And the knife--fucking hell the knife. Boyfriend number four was the leader of the Raiders.
“But you did it.” Marcus shrugs. “Child or not—you took his life. And do you know what that means, doll?”
Landon tries to move, but the ropes hold him too tight. “Marcus—don’t.”
“Recite it,” Marcus barks at him. “Come on, Romeo. You know it.”
Landon clenches his jaw. His swollen mouth opens anyway. “Raider Law, Section Four,” he grits out. “If you kill a Raider, you give your life to the Raiders… either in blood or in service.”
Marcus claps, slow and mocking. “Very good.”
He looks at me again, that twisted smile back on his face. “So, Jasmine. Here’s your choice. You give me his life,” he nods toward Landon, “or you give me yours. Service. To the Raiders.”
“No,” Landon growls. “You touch her, Marcus, and I swear?—”
“I’m not touching her,” Marcus cuts in smoothly. “I’mofferingher a future. She belongs to me now. Either as a ghost or a soldier. It’s her decision.”
“No,” Conner growls, his voice sharp from where he’s restrained against the wall. “Don’t do this, Jasmine. Don’t give him anything.”
But the room fades. All I can hear is my own heartbeat. Loud. Violent. Thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to get out of me.
