The Marked Men Series Books 1–6: Rule, Jet, Rome, Nash, Rowdy, Asa. Jay Crownover
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the bathroom and unceremoniously grabbed the girl by the elbow and towed her to the front door. I needed to remember to go home with them instead of letting them come home with me; it was so much easier that way.
“Look, I have somewhere I have to be, and I don’t particularly love that I have to go, but you freaking out and making a scene is not going to do anything other than piss me off. I hope you had a good time last night and you can leave your number, but we both know the chances of me calling you are slim to none. If you don’t want to be treated like crap, maybe you should stop going home with drunken dudes you don’t know. Trust me, we’re really after only one thing and the next morning all we really want is for you to go quietly away. I have a headache and I feel like I’m going to hurl, plus I have to spend the next hour in a car with someone who will be silently loathing me and joyously plotting my death, so really, can we just save the histrionics and get a move on it?”
By now I had maneuvered Lucy to the entryway of the building, and I saw my blond tormentor in the BMW idling in the spot next to my truck. She was impatient and would take off if I wasted any more time. I gave Lucy a half grin and shrugged a shoulder—after all it wasn’t her fault I was an asshole, and even I knew she deserved better than such a callous brush-off.
“Look, don’t feel bad. I can be a charming bastard when I put my mind to it. You are far from the first and won’t be the last to see this little show. I’m glad your tat turned out badass, and I’d prefer you remember me for that rather than last night.”
I jogged down the front steps without looking back and yanked open the door to the fancy black BMW. I hated this car and hated that it suited the driver as well as it did. Classy, sleek, and expensive were definitely words that could be used to describe my traveling companion. As we pulled out of the parking lot, Lucy yelled at me and flipped me off. My driver rolled her eyes and muttered, “Classy” under her breath. She was used to the little scenes chicks liked to throw when I bailed on them the morning after. I even had to replace her windshield once when one of them had chucked a rock at me and missed while I was walking away.
I adjusted the seat to accommodate my long legs and settled in to rest my head against the window. It was always a long and achingly silent drive. Sometimes, like today, I was grateful for it; other times it grated on my very last nerve. We had been a fixture in each other’s lives since middle school, and she knew every strength and fault I had. My parents loved her like their own daughter and made no bones about the fact that they more often than not preferred her company over mine. One would think with all the history, both good and bad, between us, that we could make simple small talk for a few hours without it being difficult.
“You’re going to get all that junk that’s in your hair all over my window.” Her voice—all cigarettes and whiskey—didn’t match the rest of her, which was all champagne and silk. I had always liked her voice; when we got along I could listen to her talk for hours.
“I’ll get it detailed.”
She snorted. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. I was all set for a silent ride, but apparently she had things to say today, because as soon as she pulled the car onto the highway she turned the radio down and said my name. “Rule.”
I turned my head slightly to the side and cracked open an eye. “Shaw.” Her name was just as fancy as the rest of her. She was pale, had snowy white-blond hair, and big green eyes that looked like Granny Smith apples. She was tiny, an easy foot shorter than my own six three, but had curves that went on for days. She was the kind of girl that guys looked at, because they just couldn’t help themselves, but as soon as she turned those frosty green eyes in their direction they knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. She exuded unattainability the way some other girls oozed “come and get me.”
She blew out a breath and I watched a strand of hair twirl around her forehead. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I stiffened when I saw how tight her hands were on the steering wheel.
“What is it, Shaw?”
She bit her bottom lip, a sure sign she was nervous. “I don’t suppose you answered any of your mom’s calls this week?”
I wasn’t exactly tight with my folks. In fact, our relationship hovered somewhere around the mutually tolerable area, which is why my mom sent Shaw to drag me home each weekend. We were both from a small town called Brookside, in an affluent part of Colorado. I’d moved to Denver as soon as I had my diploma in hand, and Shaw had moved there a few years later. She was a few years younger than me, and she had wanted nothing more than to get into the University of Denver. Not only did the girl look like a fairy-tale princess, but she was also on track to be a freaking doctor. My mom knew there was no way I would make the two-hour drive there and back to see them on the weekends, but if Shaw came to get me, I would have to go, not only because I would feel guilty that she’d taken time out of her busy schedule, but also because she paid for the gas, waited for me to stumble out of bed, and dragged my sorry ass home every single Sunday and not once in going on two years had she complained about it.
“No, I was busy all week.” I was busy, but I also just didn’t like talking to my mom, so I had ignored her all three times she had called me this week.
Shaw sighed and her hands twisted even tighter on the steering wheel. “She was calling to tell you that Rome got hurt and the army is sending him home for six weeks of R and R. Your dad went down to the base in the Springs yesterday to pick him up.”
I bolted up in the seat so fast that I smacked my head on the roof of the car. I swore and rubbed the spot, which made my head throb even more. “What? What do you mean he got hurt?” Rome was my older brother. He had three years on me and had been overseas for a good portion of the last six. We were still tight and, even though he didn’t like all the distance I’d put between me and my parents over the years, I was sure that if he was injured I would have heard it from him.
“I’m not sure. Margot said something happened to the convoy he was in when they were out on patrol. He was in a pretty bad accident I guess. She said his arm was broken and he had a few cracked ribs. She was pretty upset so I had a hard time understanding her when she called.”
“Rome would have called me.”
“Rome was doped up and spent the last two days being debriefed. He asked your mom to call because you Archer boys are nothing if not persistent. Margot told him that you wouldn’t answer, but he told her to keep trying.”
My brother was hurt and was home, but I hadn’t known about it. I closed my eyes again and let my head drop back against the headrest. “Well, hell, that’s good news I guess. Are you going to go by and see your mom?” I asked her. I didn’t have to look at her to know that she had stiffened even more. I could practically feel the tension rolling off her in icy waves.
“No.” She didn’t say more and I didn’t expect her to. The Archers may not be the closest, warmest bunch, but we didn’t have anything on the Landons. Shaw’s family crapped gold and breathed money. They also cheated and lied, had been divorced and remarried. From what I had seen over the years, they had little need or interest in their biological daughter, who, it seemed, was conceived in order to get a tax deduction rather than time spent in a bedroom. I knew Shaw loved my house and loved my parents, because it was the only semblance of normalcy she had ever experienced. I didn’t begrudge her that; in fact I appreciated that she took most of the heat off me. If Shaw was doing well in school, dating an affluent undergrad, living the life my parents had always wanted for their sons but had been denied, they stayed off my case. Since Rome was usually a continent away, I was the only one they could get to so I took no shame in using Shaw as a buffer.
“Man, I haven’t talked to Rome in three months. It’ll be awesome to see him. I wonder if I can convince him to come spend some time in D-town with me and Nash. He’s probably more than ready for a little bit of fun.”
She sighed again and moved to turn the radio back up a little bit. “You’re twenty-two, Rule. When are you going to stop acting like an indulgent teenager? Did you even ask this one her name? In case you were wondering, you smell like a mix between a distillery