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He paused long enough for Angel to get in another blow. Marcus shook himself, turned, and picked her up. He carried her to his car and placed her in the passenger seat. He slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. She looked out the window at Angel who sat in his car, watching her as he wiped blood from his lip. Holy shit.
She stared straight ahead as Marcus drove. The only sound in the car was his harsh breathing. What the fuck was that? What did he care if she hopped in Angel’s bed?
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said.
His voice was back to being cool and emotionless.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You were drugged, and you’re shaking, pale, and bruised. You need to go to the hospital.”
“I don’t have any broken bones.”
“How do you know?”
“Lucifer had someone examine me.”
“He didn’t touch you?”
“Only to admire my bruises,” she said tonelessly. She wanted to believe it was just a bad dream, but it was all frighteningly real. “You shouldn’t have come for me.”
He marched into Hell and now owed Lucifer a fucking favor. Did he know what that meant? Lucifer could make him do anything.
“You think I would wait around after I heard you were in Hell?” His voice began to shred, allowing some emotion to come through, but she just wasn’t sure what.
“You should’ve let Angel handle it.”
The tension in the car was palpable. She turned her face away and shut him out. She was so drained, she could barely think straight. She was riding headlong toward a breakdown, and there was no safe place in sight.
When the car slowed, she opened her eyes as Marcus pulled into his driveway.
“Take me to a hotel,” she said.
“We’re going to talk.”
“What for? We’re done.”
She was relieved to see her Aston in the garage. She shuffled to her car and stopped when Marcus leaned against it.
“Get in the house,” he said.
She stood there for a full minute, gauging how much energy she had before she gave in. She walked into the living room and stopped. Being here reignited the pain that sent her into destruction mode last night. The recycled pieces from her old life taunted her from every corner of the room. She poured her heart and soul into decorating this house in the hopes of recreating what she had with Vinny, and it had been an epic fail. She needed to get out of here. She started for the front door. She looked like an escapee from an asylum but walking down the street and getting help from a stranger was preferable to facing Marcus. She might not survive it.
“Carmen.”
She ignored him and focused on the exit until he blocked her way. She stumbled to a halt. “Get out of my way.”
“We’re going to talk.”
He reached for her, and she backed away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Look at me.”
She couldn’t. The sight of him hurt so fucking bad, she felt nauseous. She could handle being beaten and drugged. She could handle Lyla and her PTSD, her mother grieving her father, and the possibility of being Nora’s guardian when Lyla was in Hell. She could handle anything except being rejected by someone she loved. The pain was unbearable.
“You’re hurt. Let me help you,” he said.
