Free Marked as His by Em Petrova Page A

not going to the club.”
    He pushed out a sigh. “I gathered that when I came out of my house and you’d disappeared.”
    She opened her mouth to say more, but he just took her hand and silently led her down to the water. He was dressed in clean clothes—dark jeans and a fresh black T-shirt. He wore his cut like a badass, along with a cross dangling from a chain around his tanned neck.
    Once they reached the water, he let go of her hand and crouched. When he stuck a finger into the water, ripples formed around it. Without looking at her, he said, “You don’t trust me.”
    “Why should I?” She set her hands on her hips and her voice escalated.
    He threw her a look that singed her panties to ash. “You trusted me with your pleasure.”
    She felt too hot and dipped a hand into the water, bringing the drops to her mouth regardless of chemical impurities. She didn’t get much but ran her damp hand around her neck to cool off a degree.
    “Santana. What do you think’s going to happen when you get to the club? We lock you up and you’re trapped in a pit of Hell with Lucifer controlling your every move?”
    Now that he said it like that, she realized how silly she was acting. She sank to a rock and stared across the meandering water. “I’m not ready.”
    “That’s all you needed to say. You didn’t need to sprint half a mile in ninety-degree weather to get away.”
    She sank her face into her hands and let the quiet babble of nature soothe her scattered soul. “I’m not myself.”
    “I know.” He duck-walked closer and hitched half of an ass cheek onto the rock. She scooted over for him and they settled shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, staring at the water.
    “I’ve been thinking a lot about why I stay at the welding shop. I mean, it’s great pay, but I shouldn’t have to put up with the harassment.”
    “No.” His voice was hard. “Want me to go down there and break a few legs?”
    She laughed. “There have been plenty of times I would have taken you up on that.”
    His dark eyes were dead serious. “I would, Santana.”
    A shiver snaked down her spine. “This is exactly what I want to stay away from. The dark dealings of the club.”
    He waved a hand as if illegal alcohol and blowing up rival clubs was as sweet as a summer’s day. “What about the good we do? Leukemia rides to raise money and sponsoring homeless shelters?”
    She lifted a shoulder. “It seems small compared to the bad.”
    “Ah…just as ten compliments will never outweigh one insult.”
    “I guess.”
    “Let’s just entertain the idea that Tommy is a real bad guy. The worst. He drowns babies and murders old men in their beds. Do his actions outweigh all the good of the rest of us?”
    “No,” she said quietly, staring at her fingers.
    He rested his big hand over hers, the nails bright pink in the summer sunshine. It didn’t take away a hint of his manliness. “You’re never going to be truly happy until you close this chapter in your life. Or open the door and let it inside. Either way, you have a bridge to cross, Santana.”
    Before his words sank in, his cell buzzed. He fished it from the pocket of his cut and brought it to his ear. Through the speaker she heard a man’s low tones. Her father?
    “Right. I’ll be there. I’m about ten minutes’ ride away.” He repocketed the phone and stared at Santana. “I’ve gotta ride.”
    Her alarms were going off. “A body to bury?”
    “No. I need to run distraction. Fly through a couple red lights, maybe crash into some garbage cans or a mailbox.”
    “Jesus. Are you serious?”
    He looked more than a little happy to do this. “Yeah, I am. Look, you’re right. You don’t need mixed up in this shit. But some of our guys are in a jam, and it’s what a brother does. We help out. Now I can take you as far as Vista Road and you can grab a cab home. Or you can come with me.” He stood and extended a hand.
    She thought of that bridge he’d mentioned. Somehow