“You look like you lost your best friend. Want me to buy you a beer to cry in?”
“Fuck you,” I tell him, not looking up from my whiskey. “You’re traveling late, Marcum.”
“I got a call from this bastard in Miami. Sounded serious, so I thought I’d come see him.”
“Dangerous, in your line of work.”
“Life’s fucking boring without a little danger,” Marcum says. I turn to look at him. He hasn’t changed much. A little gray around the edges, a few more scars, He’s got long hair that he has pulled back in a clasp at the back of his neck right now. He’s wearing jeans, his leather club cut, and cowboy boots. I respect the man. We might be different as night and day on the outside, but on the inside where it counts, we could be fucking twins.
“How’s the fifteen kids?” I ask him, and he gives me the one finger salute. If you can say anything about Marcum, it’s that he’s a fertile son of a bitch. He has so many kids, he could populate a small country with nothing but his offspring.
“Eight, asshole. And not bad. Even got a grandkid now. Max’s woman Tess had a little girl. Prettiest little thing you’ve ever seen.”
“Hard to picture you as a grandfather,” I tell him honestly.
“I’m fucking awesome at it. Hell, should have tried it sooner. Lot easier than your own kids, that’s for fuck sure.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I tell him, taking a drink of my whiskey.
“That job you wanted, that’s not going to be easy, asshole. That fucker has connections,” Marcum says, switching to business quickly, which is just as well since I’m not really in the fucking mood for small talk.
“I’m not paying for easy. While we’re on the subject, I have another problem that needs to be dealt with.”
“Jesus, you’re a needy fucker all at once. What brought on all this shit?”
“A woman,” I growl, pouring more whiskey into my glass.
“Say no more. Jesus, brother. Shouldn’t you have learned from my mistakes?”
“She’s a good one, Marcum. She just comes with a fucking load of baggage.”
“Don’t they all,” he sighs.
“Trouble with Cherry?” I ask him, mentioning his latest squeeze. He’s kept this one the longest and she seems to care about him, but then what the fuck do I know about anything.
“Cherry left.”
“What the fuck for?”
“Now that’s the question. Unfortunately, it’s a question I have no fucking answer for.”
“Life would be fucking simpler if you could just keep them tied to the bed all the time,” I growl, draining the last of my drink.
Marcum stands up and slaps me on the back with a laugh. “Amen, brother. Amen. I got your order in. Get Bruno to send me the particulars on your add-on.”
“Will do. Where you headed?”
“Anywhere my dick takes me, brother. Anywhere my dick takes me.”
I shake my head and let him go. I’d like to think he’s a miserable fuck, but the truth is, I’m being led by my dick too, and at least Marcum’s will have a warm place to spend the night. Thoughts of Ana in our room covering her body from me with tears running down her face flash through my head.
Fuck.
I pull myself out of bed. I think I’m still in shock and I didn’t sleep at all last night. Mostly, I lay in bed reliving the confrontation with Roman. I thought I was prepared. I mean the DEA doesn’t send you undercover for nothing. I knew all along there was a chance that Roman did in fact have Allen, but after meeting him and the way we became with each other, it just didn’t seem to fit. How can someone be so good to you, be sweet and loving, and all the while be holding your brother to use against you—or worse, holding him to kill him? What does it say about me that I slept with this man?
God, what does it say about me that I miss him even now?
My emotions are all over the place and I can’t seem to get them in order. My mind keeps going back to the hostility between Paul and Roman. There’s more there than I know, much more than Paul will ever tell me. The man he makes Roman out to be, the man in the file the DEA has is not the man I’ve come to love—sorry, to care about.
Roman has always treated me like I mattered. Then again, how well do I know him? I jumped in head first, led by a quest to learn more about my brother—and by hormones. Definitely by hormones. I need to see Allen. If I can see him, then maybe things will seem clearer.
It takes me a few minutes to get dressed, brush my teeth, and look like I haven’t lain awake all night crying. I’m not sure I fully succeed. By the time I’ve finished, Roman still hasn’t shown. For all I know, he could still be gone. The thought of him spending the night somewhere else hurts me. Not because I think he went to another woman, it’s just… I want him with me. Even now. God, I am messed up.