15. Marcus

"Isee, thank you." I stood at the window in my office, looking down. I stand here every evening around this time, watching her leave while I stay back at the office. But this was the first time I'd seen him approach her. It took everything in me not to run down there and get him away from her.

Her driver had just called to fill me in on what was said. No, he's not there to spy on her; it's his job to protect her, which is his primary occupation before anything else. I only got more annoyed when I saw Melanie move from behind the pillar where she'd stood hidden while he accosted Justine.

My next call was to my personal pilot with instructions to be ready to leave in a couple of hours. Monique and Carl were next, and Justine, who was arguably the one I should've called first and asked if she even wanted to go, was the last person I called.

"Babe, have you and the girls dressed and ready in an hour and a half."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. Be ready." I know a power play when I see one. A weak one, since her ex is a weak bitch, but it's his play all the same.

I'd be damned if my woman was sitting around all weekend waiting for his bitch ass while he leaves her hanging just for kicks. There's just one problem I'm having with all this and it's my lack of patience.

I once studied the hunting practices of tigers in Bengal; those fuckers would put you to sleep with their seeming disinterest in their prey. Sometimes, it doesn't even seem as if they're aware of the prey in their vicinity until they strike, that is. Quick, fast, brutal, and all a blur when least expected.

I've trained myself to be like that, to leave my enemies in the wind, living their lives as if nothing has happened, and they never see me coming because I never show my hand. I've been doing things that way for the better part of ten years, but for the first time since then, I find my patience lacking.

I just don't want him near her. I don't want him to have a reason to talk to her, no excuses. I may not have any control over that for now, not the way I'd like. And I'm certainly not going to be one of those men who stands in the way of another man seeing his own kids out of jealousy, but I'm going to make damn sure that he's worthy of the experience no matter what any judge says.

With that said, this asshole has no control over my woman, and the sooner he learns that, the better. Since she's the primary caregiver to their kids, that extends to them for now until a judge sorts that shit out. Besides, I know for a fact that he hadn't seen his kids all weekend after dropping them off at his mother's place.

His mother, huh, this list of targets keeps growing. Like, I don't have anything better to do than take out assholes.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see once we get there." I laid my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes with a smile. Justine is worse than the kids. Once they'd boarded and climbed all over Carl and I looking for the candy that Monique had lied and told them we were hiding, they had settled down. But their mother hadn't.

Once the kids were settled in their seats for takeoff, she'd started pestering me about where we were going and why I didn't tell her we were getting on a plane until the last minute. "I knew your kids had passports, so there was no problem, was there?"

"Yes, but…. How did you know the girls have passports?"

"Your Dad told me last weekend."

"You spoke to my Dad about this?"

"Not this trip in particular, no, but I like to travel, so my family is going to be doing a lot of it."

"Your family?"

"Baby, you're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Repeating everything, I say. Now, sit back and relax. The flight is going to be about five hours."

She kept looking back at the kids with the two au pairs I'd hired, correction Monique had hired.

She'd culled them from the group that was being interviewed for the daycare and declared them capable, which is high praise from her. I brought them along because I want Justine to enjoy her weekend since it seems she hasn't had the chance to in a long time.

I'd spent last weekend grilling her family for information on her life. Her brothers may not have noticed what I was doing, but I'm certain her father, the military man, did. The fact that he didn't call me out on it, meant that he approved, which is the only approval other than hers that I need. Well, not really, but to appear as part of the rat race I have to pretend these things sometimes.

* * *

JUSTINE

* * *

‘Bitttcccchhhhh,this is a seven-forty-seven; stop the fucking press.' I almost jumped out of my skin at his voice coming out of nowhere. I'd just settled down to take a nap since Marcus had stopped answering my questions and had closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

Justice, not now. We are thousands of feet in the air, and I am not in the mood for your nonsense. ‘Who gives a shit about your mood? This is one of the most elite air mansions; no one knows who owns them. Well, now we do, Daddy.'

Justice, stop hopping around like that. What is wrong with you?

‘I wonder where Daddy is taking moi. It better be a beach where they serve long cocktail glasses with sinful things inside. Eh, listen, get those two heifers to stay with these badass kids all weekend because I got plans that don't include them.'

What plans?

‘Don't you worry about it.'

Justice, don't you dare show your ass this weekend.

‘What good is the beach then? You can stay covered with those stretch marks. Looking like a road map.'

Justice, be nice.

‘Forget all that happy shit. Look-look-look, do that thing I taught you to do at the office this weekend.'

What thing? Don't roll your eyes at me.

‘You know, show him your tits. Bend down, do something. A whole week and we didn't get the dick yet, like where is your game?'

We are not sleeping together until after the divorce is final.

‘That don't mean you can't get a little tickle-tickle. Not that kind of tickle, you moron.' I think Justice smacked me.

I opened my eyes to see Marcus looking at me with a slight smirk on his face. It was only then that I realized I had my hands curled like a cute little kitten about to pounce.

* * *

MARCUS

* * *

"What in theworld are you doing? Your twin again?" She nodded her head and tried to bury her face in the collar of her shirt. I sat up straighter in my seat and held my arm up for her to come under. Her dad had warned me that her ‘twin' shows up when she needs him the most, whatever that means.

He said it only happened when something big was about to happen in her life, but he hadn't been around for a long time, not since she was a kid heading into college. He hadn't even shown up for her wedding.

I figured since a man as serious as he was had accepted this twin of hers that lives in her head then there must be something to it. It wasn't just some cutesy, quirky thing; for her, this was real. I'm sure it's some type of coping mechanism, but those usually work in distress. I don't think I've ever heard of them being around in times of happiness.

She rested her head on my chest, and I wrapped my arm around her before closing my eyes again. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"The West labels everything crazy. Some things are just people's way of dealing. If some people really saw what crazy looked like, they'd crap themselves, let alone sit in an office with it on their couch."

That's one of the things that pissed me off greatly as I traveled around the world and learned the things I did. For a very long time, I was obsessed with my mother's death. I couldn't understand why a person would get to that point. It didn't help that my sperm donor had claimed that this proved that she'd had a mental illness, and so it justified him leaving her.

No one told me back then that all mental illness does not mean crazy. Mental just means of the mind; sometimes, the mind, like the heart, can get broken, and that pain is too unbearable for some.

When you have a pain, you take something for that pain; when your heart and mind are broken, wouldn't you want to take something or do something to make the pain go away?

I still don't fully know what leads some to end things themselves, but I do know that the mind can be broken due to things done by others. And when those things include matters of the heart, it can destroy a person from within.

People gut old, rotten houses and start anew. But there's no way to rip the heart and mind out of you and start over. He'd broken her. The sperm donor and his calculating bitch of a woman.

Now, she's going to suffer a fate which, to her, is worse than hell. I wonder how many people in the US know that there's still such a thing as chain gangs.

"Don't use that word to describe yourself again." When she peeped up at me with her head still resting on my chest, I started to lower my head, my eyes honed in on her lips, and then I caught myself.

This was actually harder than I thought it would be. I'd trained myself not to need sex and not to put too much stock in a woman's physical appearance. I think after my father's affair, something about my sexuality had changed, and I became cold and animalistic even when it came to sex.

I could go months without my body needing that release and had used physical and mental exercise to keep my libido under control. But with her it's become almost next to impossible. I thought having her near me would be a good thing, that it would help tame the feelings that were growing inside me for her.

But it was the opposite. Things had started out fine enough, but I don't know if it was Monique or the stylist, but they started dressing her in these eye-catching colors, like hot pink, but with a warmer undertone, oranges and yellows. Not to mention, her suits were now mostly skirts, and then there were the dresses.

I left the office one day to approach her desk and had to turn around, slam the door to my office, and take a couple of deep breaths. She'd been stooping down to take something up off the floor, but there was a clear shot down the center of her cleavage from my vantage point when I walked through my office door.

After that day, I became more and more aware of her presence just outside the door, just a few short feet away. And I could tell you everything she wore the last week, right down to the jewelry that she still thinks is fake because no one told her that twenty-four-carat gold looks nothing like the rest.

I told Monique and the others not to tell her the truth because I didn't want her stressing over such things. It's true that I have no real interest in high fashion for myself. Though my clothes are overly expensive, they are always understated for a reason.

But for her, I want her to shine. Like a peacock showing off its feathers, I want her to stand out because I know who will be seeing and who will be tormented by her glow-up, as they say.