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“Can we just drop this?” I plead, glancing toward the door. “I’m not a kid anymore, Marcus. If I want some asshole to think I look like a whore, then that’s my choice.”
“I promise, you don’t want guys to think that about you,” he says softly.
Maybe he’s right, or perhaps we both are, but I’m not keen on giving him the upper hand this time. Without girls in slutty outfits, he wouldn’t have a job. So he should be thanking me.
Marcus stands in silence, waiting for a response while I open my messages from Olivia.
She’s already left. Apparently, five fucking minutes is too long for her to wait.
“Okay, well, thanks for holding me up. Now my ride is gone,” I seethe before running over to the window just in time to see Olivia’s white Grand Am pull away.
Marcus’ shoulders drop, and he looks relieved. “Good, now you can spend the night reading a book or drawing like you usually would. This person isn’t you, Cam,” he warns, pointing at my outfit.
His phone rings, and he answers it immediately, turning away from me. “Abram, what’s up?”
I find it ironic that his sleazy boss calls him right after Marcus accuses me of dressing like one of the women that he would be hiring. I grit my teeth while they talk, catching pieces of the conversation while I try to figure out how I’m going to get to the party. I know Marcus won’t drive me.
After about thirty seconds, Marcus hangs up the phone. “My boss is here. He needs to talk to me, and he might need me to go on a run with him. Stay right here or go into your room. I don’t want you around him,” he says as he grabs his pack of cigarettes off the countertop.
He leaves the apartment, locking the door behind him.
He already knows he’s going on a run.
All I have to do is wait until he leaves, and I can walk to the party if I have to.
I walk back into my bedroom, still feeling sheepish about Marcus’s comments about my clothes. When I pass the mirror leaning against my bedroom wall, I adjust my dress nervously, pulling it down a little to cover my mid-thigh.
After trying and failing to feel comfortable in my dress, I give up and walk over to the window, opening it slightly to let the early autumn breeze wash over me. I can hear Marcus and Abram talking down below, and the sound of Abram’s voice strikes me instantly. It’s so raspy and mellow for someone who allegedly has an entire army in the underground business scene.
In a way, the contradiction makes him so much more alluring.
Marcus has told me so little about Abram, only as much as I need to know. Marcus knew he couldn’t lie to me about his mafia affiliation forever, but he still won’t even let me meet Abram or speak with him at all. Why does he think that something so innocent as a conversation would corrupt me?
It doesn’t matter because I realize that if theyareleaving in Marcus’s truck, I could just sneak in the back of the flatbed and ride into town with them. They’d never have to know.
If Marcus had just let me go, I wouldn’t have to do this. It’s basically his fault.
I carefully let down the fire escape, easing it against the outer wall to keep it from creaking. I adjust my dress again, looking down over the wall and feeling my stomach do a backflip. I’ve never snuck out before, and it was already hard enough to get out the door when I had a ride. I feel like I’m doing something unforgivable, even though I just wanted to go to a stupid party.
Fortunately for me, the fire escape leads right to the side of the apartment complex, which gives me a clear shot of Marcus’s truck without giving him the chance to see me.
I sneak over to the truck, tucking myself right behind it in order to get a better idea of where Marcus and Abram are.
When I see Abram for the first time, my heart nearly slows to a stop.
Watching him smoke a cigarette has to be the most entrancing thing I’ve ever experienced. His eyes close halfway as he inhales deeply, glancing around with such a moody, suspicious expression that I’d want to ask him to read the minds of everyone who walks past. His jawline is so sharp that I want to cut my own hair with it, offering it as a gift to him.
I feel warm all over, even as the sun begins to set and the chill of fall takes over the night.
“Better get going before Julien does it himself, I guess,” Marcus says, flicking his cigarette filter off to the side.
At that, I panic, scrambling into the bed of the truck before either of them can see me. I scrape my knee on a loose piece of hard plastic, and I almost cry out in pain until I feel both doors of the truck open.
Abram isso closeto me now.
As soon as I’m laying flat in the back of the truck, I feel a twinge of guilt and panic. I’m just trying to get a ride into town; I’m not actually doing anything morally reprehensible. Just because Marcus thinks I’m dressed like a slut doesn’t mean I’m hurting anyone.
Despite this, I feel a cold sweat form across my forehead as I hear the truck start.
