Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(48)

He just held her tighter.

“So let’s get this straight, shall we?” he suggested.

“Okay,” she whispered, her eyes bright and still staring.

Marcus had a feeling with what he’d already said she had it straight.

But he went about making certain.

“I handle you with care. I’ll always handle you with care. I will never, not ever, Daisy, give you reason to leave me. I won’t cheat on you. I won’t beat you. The gambles I take will be in business only, but you’ll always be covered financially regardless. I like to drink but I never drink too much. I’ve never taken drugs in my life. I like control and you can’t be in control inebriated or stoned. To end, you’re safe with me. You’ll get from me only what you deserve, which is everything I can give you doing it handling you with care.”

“Okay, sugar.” She was still whispering.

“Is that completely understood?”

She nodded.

She was staring at him so closely he decided she did understand.

Completely.

Regardless, he kept going.

“If I break any of those promises, you’re free to leave me. If I don’t, you’re not. Not ever. If something isn’t working, we talk it out and make it work. Which means we’ll always work so there will be no reason to leave.”

With that, a different understanding was all over her face when she said softly, “I got stuff twisted in my head, Marcus.”

“That was clear.”

“It’s untwisted now, baby.”

“Good.”

She drew her fingers down his jaw, dropping her face closer to his.

“Never gonna leave you, Marcus.”

“Good,” he grunted.

“God,” she whispered, her gaze moving over his face. “Who woulda thought, givin’ my heart, havin’ it broken, learnin’ to guard it, I’d learn something else one day. That bein’ the best way to keep it safe is to find a man who’d prove he could handle it with care and give it to him.”

That felt good.

Fucking good.

So f*cking good, he’d never felt anything that good in his whole goddamned life.

But Marcus didn’t share that with her because he knew without a single doubt she knew it too.

“I’m glad you got that part, Daisy. It’s important.”

She looked into his eyes.

“Now,” he continued, rolling them to their sides, “we can get to the cuddling, whispering, and groping part.”

She smiled at him, a brilliant flash of teeth added to a dazzling flash of humor in her cornflower-blue eyes.

Then she started giggling, filling their bedroom with the sound of bells.

While doing that, she kissed him.

This meant they skipped the cuddling and whispering parts and got right into groping.

And again, Marcus wasn’t complaining.





His phone rang.

Marcus rolled.

Daisy rolled with him.

She snuggled into his back as he looked at the display.

At what he saw, he kept his body loose as he flipped his phone open.

“Yes?”

“Lee got him. We’re at the warehouse,” Darius said.

Nightingale got him.

Finally.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” he told Darius.

“Right,” Darius replied.

He felt Daisy press into his back.

Marcus flipped his phone shut and turned to her.

“Everything okay?” she asked sleepily, but he heard the concern in her voice.

“Everything’s fine. I just need to go see to something.”

She’d clearly looked at his bedside clock because she asked, “At three in the morning?”

“Yes.”

She got up on a forearm. “Does this happen a lot?”

“No.”

They fell silent as he slid a hand up her hip to her back and moved into her.

“Right. Okay. You’re comin’ right back?” she asked.

He grinned.

Fuck, his Daisy.

“Yes,” he said against her mouth.

She let him take it for a brief, deep kiss then she didn’t let him go, brushing soft, light kisses on his lips before she finally stopped.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

“I will, darling. And I won’t be long.”

He watched her hair nod in the dark.

He kissed her nose.

Then he rolled out of bed and made sure the covers were over her before he moved to his walk-in closet.

He called Ronald from there and spoke to him quietly.

That done, he dressed.





Marcus walked into the warehouse, Brady at his back, Louie at his, Vince at his. Ronald was standing outside by the car.

The space was large. There was a couch in it, a folding table with two chairs, a deck of cards on it arrested in a game. Hiding a corner, there was some ripped, opaque-with-grime plastic sheeting hanging from the ceiling, a good deal of dust on the floor, and not much else.

However, the room was populated.

Darius Tucker was there, standing next to his aunt, Shirleen Jackson.

Darius was a tall, lean black man with twists in his hair and a face that would be handsome if it wasn’t so cold.