Sweet Retribution (Ruthless Games 2)

His focus switches from my good arm to my damaged one, and I shiver pleasurably as he follows the outline of the red flowers.

“It’s so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just like you are.” His gaze flashes up to mine before returning to my truncated limb, and he lifts it a little so he can examine the full tattoo. “I was there when you got it. Every single session. I could tell some parts hurt more than others, but you never told him to stop.”

I blink at him, my heart skipping a beat in my chest.

Things have changed so radically between us since Marcus and his brothers first exploded back into my life. Sometimes I forget how long they watched me, how many months they spent hovering at the periphery of my life like dark, ruthless angels.

And sometimes I forget that I didn’t know they were there.

When I look back on those times, it’s hard not to feel them watching over me, to feel their presence in my life as if they were a part of it all along. As if I knew them, even before I knew them.

I catch Marcus’s hand as it traces the ink on my damaged arm, and he looks up from his examination of my tattoo. His hand is large and calloused, and I interlace my fingers with his, brushing my thumb over the finger that pulled the trigger.

“Marcus?” I whisper.

“Yeah, angel?”

“Will Luca be pissed?”

“Yes.”

His answer is honest and simple. There’s no fear in his voice though. Not a hint of regret.

“Marcus.” I repeat his name, but it’s not a question this time.

It’s a call.

An invocation.

His gaze flicks up from our joined hands to my face, and he takes a step closer to me. “Yeah, angel?”

“I love you.”

Something shifts in his face, and his smile is fucking breathtaking. It’s like his features have been half in shadow ever since I met him, and now I’m looking at them in full light, seeing every single detail clearly.

Seeing all of him.

I remember thinking once that the word “love” wasn’t enough to contain everything I feel for this man and the two friends he calls his brothers. But it turns out the word can grow to fit the need, because as soon as I say it, I realize it is enough.

I love Marcus Constantine.

The truth is both as simple and as complex as that.

“Angel?” he murmurs, still beaming that heart-stopping smile at me.

“Yeah?”

“I fuckin’ love you too.”

Then his arms slide around my back, hauling me toward him as his lips crash down on mine.

This kiss is everything all at once.

It’s tender.

It’s fierce.

It’s possessive.