“You didn’t implicate my sister—” My words are rushed as I scoot closer to the edge of the chair, desperation overwhelming me.

Marcus’s tsk cuts me off. “I’m here to help, little mouse. Be careful, be quiet … and what I’ve set into motion will be good enough.”

“What does it say?” I ask. When he doesn’t immediately answer, I add to clarify, “The note. What did you leave?”

“It’s of no concern to you. It would lead to more questions because you’re missing so much of the story.”

“Tell me then,” I plead with him, my throat going dry.

“More questions for questions?” Marcus asks and the sibilant sound of each S lingers like the hiss of a snake. Goosebumps rake down my body, the memories of the other night more than eager to replace the fear that lays over every inch of me.

“It seems like you have more answers than I do.” The thudding in my chest beats faster, but this time for a different reason. The small room is suddenly suffocating and there’s not enough room to separate us. It’s one sided and so very obvious.

Ignoring my comment completely, Marcus says, “Cody’s a bit hung up but he had a feeling. He’s perceptive like that.”

My eyes close as I sit back, letting the low blow make me feel even lower. I have no words although I wish I could respond. I love him. I love the man and I know I do. But he’s a liar and I don’t trust him.

“He blames himself, if that helps. And he’ll fight for you.” Lifting my eyes to Marcus’s pale blue gaze, I keep my questions to myself.

“Maybe a smoke would help?” he says. He’s toying with me. That’s what this is to him, a cat and mouse game. That must be where he gets that nickname for me from. Anger would normally be my response. It should be. But it’s entirely absent from my reaction to the slight. The wash of sadness is just as unexpected and only adds salt to the wound.

I watch as Marcus opens the drawer to the nightstand and lights a blunt.

With a puff of smoke, he offers it to me, but I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”

He takes his time inhaling deeply before gesturing to the small fridge. “Wine it is then,” he tells me. I’m frozen in the small chair, watching this powerful man let out a cloud of smoke from between his teeth, the white and black playing among the shadows.

“Don’t be shy. I thought you’d need something more … but maybe not.”

“Something more?” I ask and force myself out of the chair, forcing myself to play his game if for no other reason than the fact that I can’t do anything else. And my mother needs him. Fuck, I need him.

The fridge is small and the single bottle of white wine has been placed inside at an angle so that it fits neatly. “Thank you for chilling it …” I tell him and then spot a small plastic black bag on top of the dresser to the left. I recognize it as generic to liquor stores and inside of it I find a corkscrew and two plastic cups.