Silver Bullets by TheRoost (read books for money txt) 📕

him. "I had to investigate your father, Laura, it's my job. I assume you know I'm a spy?"

I nodded and added "That's not why. I've had tens of you MI6 prats investigating Daddy. I don't care that your investigating him. I would have helped, to prove him innocent! I don't even give a bloody damn that you lied to me, which we will talk about later. I am pissed to all hell that, after you were done, you would put me through the pain of losing you!"

They both seemed shocked. They looked at one another as though I belonged to the loony bin. "I mean...I suppose it's also part of the job? I mean, I've done it before."

Hale smacked his forehead and groaned, falling on his back on my bed. I could feel the fire burning in my eyes, and Marcus could tell he f**ked up.

Big time.

"Get out, Marcus." I growled, tears flowing down my face. I knew exactly what I had to do, and it broke my heart to. "I never want to see you again."

His heartbreak shown in his eyes. "Laura, love-"

"Don't you dare!" I screamed, backing away from him. "How dare you have the nerve to call me 'love'; you lied to me about everything, you had the nerve to think about shattering my heart by dying

, you have the terribleness to say you've done this to another poor woman,

and not to mention the hateful way that you made me fall in love with you."

His eyes softened. "You love me?"

I glared at him, nearly ready to spit. "I loved

you."

His own heart shattered as my words registered. He fell on his knees, his heart pouring onto the floor, Hale shaking his head slowly, handing me a dress. I snatched it from him, and I spat on his shoes.

"I told you, Marcus, that she couldn't love a lie." Hale said, walking over to the puddle on the floor.

I shook my head, walking to the door. "I fell in love with a lie. I can't love the man who refuses to come out of one."

Marcus looked at me with desperate, heart broken eyes. "Please, Laura, one more chance. I swear, total honestly from here on out."

With a gentle push, I had them both outside the door. "Don't leave me with another lie, Marcus. You know that can't be."

I closed the door and the man left me, heartless and alone.
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How could she? How could I? I loved her, and now she can barely stand me. What have I done to deserve this?

And how can I win her back?

The Passion

It was five years before I saw him again. And it was the worst five years of my life.

Theodore got arrested again, just after he earned parole. This time it was for drug trade, possession, fraud, murder, attempted murder, and blackmail. The poor devil will never see the brilliant hills of York, our childhood love, again, nor shall my father.

He was arrested just before Theodore was caught, after Marcus dug up affiliations with head Mafia members, and my Daddy's old journal, which held all his affairs with Mafia members, account books dealing with illegal drugs, and a murder log

. To think, my Daddy, a murderer. I shook my head, my new black curls dangling in front of me. The line for coffee was ridiculously long.

I tapped my black stiletto, my short black dress hugging me tightly. I was supposed to be at Theodore's engagement party. Only he could get engaged while rotting in prison. To me, though, it was just an excuse to get bloody drunk on a Sunday. Hence, my reason at a coffee shop.

At 10 in the bloody evening. Alone. I really am rather pathetic.

I felt a presence, something warm and hard, behind me. Warm, silky breath tickled my bare shoulder, sending shivers down my back. Damn, I shouldn't have worm this dress, it makes me look enticing in a desperate sort of way. I turned, my ruby red lips a wonderful comparison to my porcelain skin, my eyelashes elongated and my eyes decked in a dark purple eye-shadow.

Goodness, I really am becoming a Yank, aren't I?

"Sir, would you mind backing away a few inches, my skin is getting soaked from your breath." I whispered as the line inched forward. Oh, sweet god, someone ordered a Caramel Macchiato; they just wanted to torture me.

"I would, but you look all the more delicious up close," He whispered, a delicate kiss being placed on my shoulder. I turned completely around to face him, blond hair draping over his face as a smug smile danced on his lips. He extended his hand. "Luke Hemingway, not at all related to the other, but I can if that's what you desire."

"I desire

for you to keep to your own bubble." I turned away from him, my curls not giving me the least bit of protection from his ticklish breath.

"Feisty," He whispered anyway, placing an unwelcome hand on the small of my back. I stiffened. The people here would assume we were a couple and that's not what I wanted. "So, your a Brit?"

"So what if I am?"

"It makes you a challenge; English girls are more...unreceptive. But don't worry, darlin', there hasn't been a girl that hasn't been cracked yet."

"Congratulations," I muttered as I finally stepped up to order. "This is your first. One Caramel Macchiato, please."

He laughed, and the sound was light and bubbly. God, he needs to shut up.

And I wanted him; badly. I don't know why, but I did.

As my coffee was handed to me, I paid and ran out the door. The sounds of Virginia Beach were muted at night, and I missed that, but London was home; minus the perverts in the coffee shops. I walked the familiar streets, my long black coat flying from behind me like wings from a bat, looking at familiar sights. There, at the corner, was the hotel Daddy took us too when we were small country kids visiting London for the first time. Past that was where I signed my first book contract, in that small bookshop I worked in for so long. And there was Phantom's Hotel

, where I spent my honeymoon with Mar-

I froze, tears on the verge of falling. Five bloody years and I'm still not completely over the prat. But, at least, one good thing came of my heart not knowing where it's loyalties lie.

I heard the footsteps behind me.

I picked up my pace, fear slowly prickling at the back of my neck. A dab of sweat ran down my back, a touch of panic settling over my heart. I heard an increase in footsteps, and fear cloaked me. I turned a sharp corner, knowing it was the quickest route to that damn engagement party. I sipped my coffee, trying to calm myself, when a hand clamped on my shoulder.

I was turned to see the same smiling, perverted face of the coffee shop guy.

"Hi, darlin', I thought I lost you for a second." He whispered, forcing me to my knees.

I glared at him, swiping a kick on the back of his knees. As he winced, still applying pressure, I said "We can only dream, can't we?"

He gave me a swift kick in the stomach. I went down, coughing like crazy, as he unzipped his pants. "Mine's about to come true."

He pulled back my head, forcing my neck to be fully exposed. He pressed his lips to my neck and inhaled deeply, his hand roaming up and down my back. I closed my eyes, just wanting the whole world to go away. I felt the muzzle of a gun touch my neck, the coldness spreading through me like fire.

"Leave her alone!

" A new voice growled. I felt the pressure get released, I heard the scuffles near my left, I heard a gun shot ring in the streets, and I heard a dying "Umph" and a crash of a dead body. But I didn't open my eyes, I couldn't open my eyes, until a familiar voice whispered "Laura, love, please look at me."

My eyes flew open and I scanned the street. Coffee Pervert was on the ground, dead, a knife in his chest. I felt a warm, sticky liquid pooling by my right hip, and I turned, half expected to see the face of an old friend, or a kind officer from my past. When I saw those startling green eyes starring back at my, green depths of love and understanding creating endless portals to another, more Utopian world.

"Marcus," I whispered, tears falling on his cheeks. He reached up a hand, I suppose to caress my cheek, but I grasped it, my raft in the midst of an ocean. "Don't you dare leave me."

"I never had, love."

The dams had burst, and I saw myself, in an odd 6th sense, sobbing over his body. The blood was pooling less, probably because my chest was blocking the wound. I heard myself dial 9-1-1, patiently waiting for the ambulance to rescue my savior.

"My name is Marcus Kingsley," He whispered as the minutes ticked on. His breathing was slightly fainter, and he whisper, once full and passionate, was becoming raspy.

"Hush, Marcus, hush, you mustn't talk." I replied, gently touching his cheek with my finger.

"No! Let me finish," I didn't speak, I just kept touching his face. "I lived in York until I was 5, when I moved to London. I spent my youth at a boarding school for gifted students, and I went to the college of Notre Dam."

"Rich too," I muttered. "I'm beginning to regret leaving you."

He gave a faint smile. "I joined MI6 when I had learned my 5th language, Arabic. I was on a mission to hunt down a supposed terrorist cell in Israel when I was told I was reassigned, and I had a degree in Law at that time. I was told to become the best known lawyer in England, as a prosecutor. After reaching that objective, they told me I would be a sleeper agent, waiting for one particular criminal to come to the stands.

"I didn't know I was waiting for your father, to have a chance to investigate him. Golde had told me-"

"Gold?" I whispered, eager for him to continue. The sweet truth at last, and the sirens in the background. I could still have a happy ending; I could still get my king.

"You know him as Hale. His real name is Frederick Golde. He briefed me the first time your brother went to the stands that I was to get as close to the family in anyway possible" He closed