Freedom. That’s what this feels like.

I’m free. Free to see Lance whenever I want. Free to be who I want to be without worrying about getting the side-eye from my brothers. Free from having my voice smothered by those who were supposed to care about what I have to say.

Freedom feels pretty fucking good.

I left Moira’s with Lance’s kiss on my cheek but the feel of his lips stayed with me all the way to my apartment. It pumped warmth through my face as I walked upstairs and my heart is still pounding as I reach the fifth floor.

Lance and me. Me and Lance. I’m sure the clickbait brigade will have something to say about it but I have just the response for this kind of thing.

No comment.

It’s none of their business anyway.

I step into my apartment and my smile drops.

Marcus sits in an armchair in my living room, one leg crossed loosely over the other. He glares up at me with a small bouquet of flowers sitting in his lap and his phone in his hand.

“Marcus, what are you doing here?” I ask as I close the door behind me.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

I hang my jacket on the hook on the door. “Have you been here all night?”

He stands up, tightly gripping the flowers. “I came here to apologize to you.”

I scoff. “You mean my father ordered you to come here and apologize to me?”

“Partially,” he says. “But I also feel like I made a mistake yesterday.”

“Just yesterday?”

“I acted wrongly. I want to apologize.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“You were with him,” he says. “And that’s okay. I get it.”

I scowl. “Don’t really need your permission to see him in the first place.”

“Christ, Trix, would you please just—” He stops himself and exhales slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay, then. Thanks.” I head toward my room. “I’ll see you around.”

I kick off my shoes, happy to finally get out of the heels I’ve worn since last night.

“That’s it?” Marcus asks behind me.

I glance at him. “Yeah, that about covers it, I think.”

“You don’t want to hear what else I have to say?”

“Not particularly.”

“I waited for you all night.”

“Yeah, breaking and entering. Real romantic, Marcus.”

He frowns. “Trix...”

“I don’t care.” I throw up my hands. “I’ve done everything my father wanted me to do since day one. My whole life I’ve only asked him for one thing and he ripped my heart. So... whatever you want. Whatever you have to say. Whatever you think you can do to suddenly turn all of this around. I don’t care. My father made his choice. I made mine. And you can tell him I said that.”

Marcus doesn’t move. “Your new boyfriend didn’t happen to mention why he took your father’s case, did he?” he asks.

“Didn’t say. Didn’t ask. Don’t care.”

He stares at me with a hidden smirk on his face. “You should ask him,” he says.

“Again... I don’t care.”

“You will.”

“Cool. We done now?”

Marcus steps forward and presents the flowers to me. “These are for you,” he says.

I regard them with suspicion. “From who?”

“From me.”

I take them with a raised brow. “What are you trying to do, Marcus?” He silently walks around me and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Marcus—”

“Do you remember the night I came back from Afghanistan?” he asks, looking up at me.

“Vaguely. Why?”

“I hadn’t spent the night with a woman in months,” he says. “Hadn’t even really had time to think about it over there, you know?”

I say nothing.

“I really thought it’d be you and me eventually,” he says. “Everything else was just filler until then.” He looks at me. “Didn’t you?”

“No,” I answer truthfully. “Marcus, what you want with me isn’t what I want with you.”

“But you want it with him?” he asks.

“I don’t know what I want with him,” I say. “With him, things are just different. Right now, I need different.”

Marcus stands up, his eyes soft on me. “I understand,” he says. “But can we...”

“Can we what?” I ask.

He moves a little closer. “Just one last time, Trix...”

I take a step back. “Marcus...”

“I’ll never bother you again—”

“No.”

He reaches out. “Please.”

“Stop,” I say, enunciating hard. He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him. “Marcus—”

“I need to feel you again.”

I try to push him away but he grips my waist. “Let go of me!”

“One last time, Trix.” He cups my rear, squeezing tight. “That’s all I need.”

“I said, let go of me!”

I dig my nails into his cheek and scratch as hard as I can.

He releases his hold on me and I take the opportunity to shove him away.

“Fuck—!” He touches his face, staining his hand with blood.

I rush toward my bedside and drop to my knees to grab the handgun case I keep hidden beneath my mattress. I’ve never had to use it and I sure as hell never thought I’d have to use it against Marcus. Better to have it and not need it, as my father says.

Blood streams down from the three thick red lines on Marcus’ face.

“You fucking bitch...” he growls.

I balance on one knee and point the gun at him. “Get out, Marcus,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady.

He takes a single step toward me and I flick the safety off with my thumb.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn.

He stops and presents his red hands, breathing hard with thick, angry exhales.

“Fine,” he says, backing up. “He’ll never make you feel the way I do.”

“Yeah.” I hold back tears. “Right now, that’s his best quality.”

Marcus doesn’t turn his back to me. He walks backward, keeping his dark eyes on me the whole time as he crosses the living room to the door.

I don’t move. I tighten up, refusing to drop my weapon until he’s out of sight. Even then, I stay still, counting my breaths until I’m sure he’s gone. Minutes pass before I finally pick myself up and walk to the door to lock it. Blood is smeared on the knob, sticky and cold. I’ll need to clean it before someone passes by and sees it.

I grab a towel and some disinfectant from the bathroom. I scrub the place of any evidence that Marcus was here, searching the floor and the doorframe and the hallway for any trace of him he might have left behind.

Adrenaline starts to leave me, making my hands shake and my knees give out. I lower down onto my bed. My eyes swell with tears and I bend forward, sobbing quietly to myself as I stare at the floor.