Page 66 of Marx

Moving down the steps I pick my way through bullet casings and more broken bodies, coming to a stop behind Marx, my hand resting in the center of his back. Slowly, so very slowly the tension begins to drain, his muscles relaxing under my touch, until he reaches behind him, grasping my hand and tugging me around into his side. His warm arm heavy on my shoulders as he draws me near.

Sasha moves silently as he exits the car, moving to the back passenger side, opening the door for his husband. Roman’s shiny black shoe steps out of the car, the puddle of blood he’s standing in oozing onto his shoe. He ducks out of the car, looking around, but with dark glasses over his eyes it’s hard to read his expression.

He claps slowly, whistling low, as if impressed by the carnage. “Well, I must say, you have been busy,”

“Quit the smart ass remarks, Roman. Care to tell me why the fuck our ambush turned to shit and instead of taking out two cartels on the home turf of their allies, they ambush our women and children instead?” Marx seethes, voice low.

“President, the plan was sound,” Roman placates, hands open in the air as if to appease my big, pissed off man.”There was no indication that the trade wouldn’t go ahead. In fact, the men I had posted reported that two trucks, smaller than we expected, did in fact make the exchange. But rest easy, my men handed the women over to authorities, and in the case of Louisiana, they handed the women over to the Landry contacts.”

“What condition were they in?”

“Comatose. The women were all hooked up to machines, pregnant.”

“What the fuck!?” the men explode.

The thought that innocent women are all kept comatose while they grow babies is horrific. I start to shake, out of anger or shock I’m unsure. Marx pulls me closer to him.

“Breathe, my Lovely,” he whispers into my hair.

I follow his lead, taking a deep breath, then letting it out. My ear is on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart soothing me more than breathing ever could.

“I don’t appreciate being sent on wild goose chases, Roman. If not for Dima our women and children could have been killed,” Marx spits out.

“The women and children, they are safe? You got here in time?” Dima asks, nerves in his voice.

“I have men checking on them, but so far, yes, I believe they are safe.”

Dima deflates, shoulders slumping under the weight that his gift makes him carry. It must be hard to constantly see people who need to be saved, and never know if you got there in time.

“Dima is a good man, and I think you know me well enough to know that I would never double cross you or send you to your death,” Roman says, his voice steady, but his eyes hard.

“Sometimes I don’t believe I know you at all,” Marx mutters.

“It wouldn’t do to underestimate me,” Roman says, pointing a gun directly at Marx.

“No! No, what are you doing?” I croak out in shock and horror, scrambling to move in front of Marx. The MC brothers all move, seemingly at once but in slow motion.

What is happening? This isn’t the man who has sat and eaten meals with us. This isn’t Ana’s best friend that she brags about having a good heart. A whooshing sound pounds in my head, heart fluttering as my stomach drops.

“Looks like you give me no choice.” Roman shrugs.

He squeezes the trigger, the gentle “pop” hitting its target, a cartel member standing directly behind Marx. My knees buckle at the realization, shouts from our family calling Roman a fucking psycho, as Marx slumps slightly next to me, my smaller body taking his weight.

“You’re welcome.” Roman says, returning his gun to his holster in the back of his black trousers. “My men are on their way. Clean up will take an hour, they’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

He turns to walk away, only stopping when Marx barks out his name. Turning to look over his shoulder, he raises a brow, looking in all ways the cold, calculated head of the bratva.

“Thank you. I still don’t trust you though,” Marx grits out.

Roman smirks, letting out a soft laugh. “We’ll overcome that hurdle one daybrat. Thank you for my new drug business. Until next time.”

Sasha moves behind his man, shutting his door securely after Roman climbs in. He rounds the car and instead of moving to the drivers side as per usual, he joins his husband in the backseat, Dima taking his place. He stands staring thoughtfully at us, at Marx’s brothers in arms, all lined up like a human shield in front of the house.

“Can I ask why you said we had to split up?” Tank calls out. “On the phone, you said we split up for a reason. What was it?”

Dima tips his head to the side, his eyes glowing almost white before returning to the piercing blue color he shares with his brother.

“It was easier for you to win the fight if you split up.”

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