Rome: A Marked Men Novel (45 page)

owe it to Remy to try to make you act right even though lord knows that’s almost a full-time job.”

I sucked in a breath as the blinding pain that always came when someone mentioned Remy’s name

barreled through my chest. My fingers involuntarily opened and closed around the coffee cup and I

whipped my head around to glare at her.

“Remy wouldn’t be all over my ass to try and be something to them I’m not. I was never good enough

for them, and never will be. He understood that better than anyone and worked overtime to try and be

everything to them I never could be.”

She sighed and pulled the car to a stop in the driveway behind my dad’s SUV. “The only difference

between you and Remy is that he let people love him, and you”—she yanked open the driver’s door and

glared at me across the space that separated us—“you have always been determined to make everyone who

cares about you prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. You’ve never wanted to be easy to love, Rule, and

you make damn sure that nobody can ever forget it.” She slammed the door with enough force that it rattled

my back teeth and made my head start to throb again.

It has been three years. Three lonely, three empty, three sorrow-filled years since the Archer brothers

went from a trio to a duo. I am close to Rome—he’s awesome and has always been my role model when it

comes to being a badass—but Remy was my other half, both figuratively and literally. He was my identical

twin, the light to my dark, the easy to my hard, the joy to my angst, the perfect to my oh-so-totally fucked

up, and without him I was only half the person I would ever be. It has been three years since I called him in

the middle of the night to come pick me up from some lame-ass party because I had been too drunk to

drive. Three years since he left the apartment we shared to come get me—zero questions asked—because

that’s just what he did.

It’s been three years since he lost control of his car on a rainy and slick I-25 and slammed into the back

of a semi truck going well over eighty. Three years since we put my twin in the ground and my mother

looked at me with tears in her eyes and stated point-blank, “It should have been you” as they lowered Remy

into the ground.

It’s been three years and his name alone is still enough to drop me to my knees, especially coming from

the one person in the world Remy had loved as much as he loved me.

Remy was everything I wasn’t—clean-cut, well dressed, and interested in getting an education and

building a secure future. The only person on the planet who was good enough and classy enough to match

all the magnificence that he possessed was Shaw Landon. The two of them had been inseparable since the

first time he brought her home when she was fourteen and trying to escape the fortress of the Landon

compound. He insisted they were just friends, that he loved Shaw like a sister, that he just wanted to protect

her from her awful, sterile family, but the way he was with her was full of reverence and care. I knew he

loved her, and since Remy could do no wrong, Shaw had quickly become an honorary member of my

family. As much as it galled me, she was the only one who really, truly understood the depth of my pain

when it came to losing him.

I had to take a few extra minutes to get my feet back under me so I sucked back the rest of the coffee

and shoved open the door. I wasn’t surprised to see a tall figure coming around the SUV as I labored out of

the sports car. My brother was an inch or so taller than me and built more along the lines of a warrior. His

dark-brown hair was buzzed in a typical military cut and his pale-blue eyes, the same icy shade as mine,

looked tired as he forced a smile at me. I let out a whistle because his left arm was in a cast and sling, he

had a walking boot on one foot, and there was a nasty line of black stitches running through one of his

eyebrows and across his forehead. The Weedwacker that had attacked my hair had clearly gotten a good

shot at my big bro, too.

“Looking good, soldier.”

He pulled me to him in a one-armed hug and I winced for him when I felt the taped-up side of his body

clearly indicating some injury beyond the busted ribs. “I look about as good as I feel. You look like a clown

getting out of that car.”

“I look like a clown no matter what when I’m around that girl.” He barked out a laugh and rubbed a

rough hand through my spiky hair.

“You and Shaw are still acting like mortal enemies?”

“More like uneasy acquaintances. She’s just as prissy and judgmental as always. Why didn’t you call or

email me that you were hurt? I had to hear it from Shaw on the way over.”

He swore as we started to slowly make our way toward the house. It upset me to see how deliberate he

was moving and I wondered if the damage was more serious than what was visible.

“I was unconscious after the Hummer flipped. We drove over an IED and it was bad. I was in the

hospital for a week with a scrambled noggin, and when I woke up they had to do surgery on my shoulder

so I was all drugged up. I called Mom and figured she would let you know what the deal was, but I heard

that, as usual, you were unavailable when she called.”

I shrugged a shoulder and reached out a hand to steady him as he faltered a little on the stairs to the

front door. “I was busy.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“Not too stubborn. I’m here aren’t I? I didn’t even know you were home until this morning.”

“The only reason you’re here is because that little girl in there is bound and determined to keep this

family together regardless if we’re her own or not. You go in there and play nice; otherwise, I’ll kick your

ass, broken arm and all.”

I muttered a few choice words and followed my battered sibling into the house. Sundays really were my

least favorite day.

If Rome and Cora rocked your world, get ready for Jet and Ayden’s story …

‘You keep telling me that I don’t know you, but the truth is, we don’t know each other, and I don’t know

that either of us is really ready to handle the other. What I do know is that I want you more than I want to

keep breathing.’

Click
here
to buy now or turn the page for an exclusive extract

SO IT BEGINS

Ayden

It was totally against everything I was supposed to be doing in my new life—to ask a really cute boy in

a band to take me home. There were rules. There were standards. There were simply things I did now to

avoid ever going back to being the way I was—and sticking around to wait for Jet Keller was right on the

top of the no-no list. There was just something about him, watching him wail and engage the crowd while

he was on stage that turned my normally sensible brain to mush.

I knew better than to ask my bestie what was wrong with me.

She was all about boys covered head-to-toe in ink and littered with jewelry in places the Lord never

intended boys to be pierced. She would just say it was the allure of someone so different, someone so

obviously not my type, but I knew that wasn’t it.

He was entrancing. Every single person in the packed bar had their eyes on him and couldn’t look away.

He was making the crowd feel—I mean really feel—whatever it was he was screeching, and that was

amazing.

I hated heavy metal. To me, all it sounded like was yelling and screaming over even louder instruments.

But the show, the intensity, and the undeniable vibe of power he was unleashing with just his voice—there

was just something about it that drove me to drag Shaw to the front of the stage. I couldn’t look away.

Sure, he was good looking. All the guys who Shaw’s boyfriend ran around with were. I wasn’t immune

to a pretty face and a nice body; in fact, at one point those things had proven to be weaknesses that had

gotten me in more trouble than I cared to think about. Now I tended toward guys who I was attracted to on

a more intellectual level.

However, one too many shots of Patrón and whatever crazy pheromone this guy was emitting right now

had me forgetting all about my new and improved standards in men.

His hair looked like he had just shaken off whatever girl had messed it up. At some point during the set

he had peeled off his wife-beater to reveal a lean and tightly muscled torso that was covered, from the base

of his throat to somewhere below his belt buckle, in a giant black and gray tattoo of an angel of death. He

had on the tightest black jeans I had ever seen a guy wear, decorated with a variety of chains hanging from

his belt to his back pocket, and they left little to the imagination.

That might have been why Shaw and I were nowhere near the only female fans at the front of the stage.

I had seen Jet before, of course. He came into the bar where I worked on a pretty regular basis. I knew

that the eyes, now squeezed shut as he bellowed a note that was enough to have the girl to my left

spontaneously orgasm, were a dark, deep brown that gleamed with easygoing humor. I knew of his

penchant for outrageous flirtation. Jet was the charmer of the group and had no qualms about using that,

combined with his heartbreaking grin, to get what he wanted.

I felt a warm hand land on my shoulder and turned to look up at Shaw’s boyfriend, Rule. He towered

over the rest of the crowd and I could tell by the twist of his mouth that he was ready to go. Shaw didn’t

even wait for him to ask, before turning to me with guileless green eyes.

“I’m going with him. Are you ready?”

Shaw and I had a “leave no man behind” policy, but I was far from ready to call it a night. We had to

scream over the blaring guitars and the ear-splitting vocals bombarding us from our prime location, so I

bent down to holler in her ear.

“I’m gonna hang out for a bit. I think I’ll see if Rule’s friend can give me a ride.”

I saw her speculative look, but Shaw had her own boy drama to handle, so I knew she wasn’t about to

try to tell me any differently. She hooked her hand through Rule’s arm and gave me a rueful grin.

“Call me if you need me.”

“You know it.”

I wasn’t the kind of girl who needed a wingman or wing-woman. I was used to flying solo and I had

been taking care of myself for so long it was really second nature. I knew Shaw would swoop in to grab me

if I couldn’t get a ride home or if calling a cab took too long, and knowing she was there was enough.

I watched the rest of the show in rapt fascination, and I was pretty sure that when Jet threw the

microphone down after his final song, he winked at me before slamming back a shot of Jameson. Even

with all of the things I knew I should be doing pounding in my head, that wink sealed the deal.

I hadn’t been on the wild side in too long and Jet was the perfect tour guide for a quick refresher

course.

He disappeared off the stage with the rest of the guys in the band, and I wandered back over toward the

bar where everyone had been posted before the band had started playing. Rule’s roommate, Nash, had

apparently been dragged home by the lovebirds. There was no way he was making it out of the bar under

his own steam. Rowdy, Jet’s BFF, was busy sucking face with some random girl who had been giving

Shaw and me the evil eye all night. I gave him a
you could do better
look when he came up for air, and

then found an empty stool by the bar.

The thing about heavy-metal bars is that there are heavy-metal guys in every corner.

I spent the next hour fending off come-ons and free drink offers from guys who looked like they hadn’t

seen a shower or a razor in years. I was starting to get annoyed and, in turn, nasty when a familiar hand

with a plethora of heavy silver rings landed on my knee. I turned to look up at laughing dark eyes as Jet

ordered me another Patrón, but got water for himself.

“Got ditched, did ya? The way those two were looking at each other, I’m surprised they made it halfway

through the set.”