Chapter 51 51

Chapter 51 51
  SATURDAY...
    (MARCUS REYNOLDS)
    Marcus sat in his penthouse apartment, lights off, curtains wide, cigarette burning slow between two fingers he didn’t realize were trembling. 
    On the coffee table in front of him sat three phones... two dead burners and one sleek black one with a single number dialed.
    He stared at it.
    His jaw twitched.
    He pressed call.
    It rang twice before her voice came through.
    “...Hello?”
    That voice.
    He closed his eyes and grinned.
    “Well, well. The runaway answers.”
    Silence.
    “Don’t tell me you thought I’d forget you that easily.”
    Still no response. 
    But he could hear it... her breathing, the stiffness in it. 
    Still scared. That made him smile.
    “You’ve been running around like some sweet little trophy girl. But we both know the truth, don’t we, Tess?” His voice dropped. “You weren’t made for people like him.”
    Another pause.
    Then finally, she spoke.
    And her voice wasn’t shaking.
    “I’m not yours, Marcus. I never was. You just made me believe I didn’t have a choice.”
    The grin vanished.
    “Don’t play strong with me. I know what you are under all that glitter. Weak. Scared. Alone. You think that biker trash can protect you forever?”
    Then came another voice.
    A sharper one.
    Unmistakably female.
    And furious.
    “Hi, Marcus.” Debbie’s voice came through. “Quick question... are you always this pathetic, or is today special?”
    “You must be the sister,” he sneered. “The loud one.”
    “Oh honey,” Debbie said, “I’m the one who’ll happily break both your legs if you come near her again.”
    He stood, pacing now. “You think I won’t... ”
    “I think you’re a coward who only feels powerful when he's hurting someone smaller than him. Tessa’s not scared of you anymore. And if you’re still breathing by the time my brother hears this call, consider yourself lucky.”
    Click.
    Dead line.
    Marcus stood in the middle of the dark room, the phone still pressed to his ear, though the line was cold.
    He hurled it across the apartment.
    It shattered against the wall.
    Breathing hard, he ran a hand down his face... knuckles flexing.
    So this was war now.
    He walked to the small table by the liquor cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a manila envelope.
    Inside... photos. Surveillance. Notes. Schedules.
    Tessa at the bike shop. With him.
    Laughing.
    Smiling.
    Acting like she was untouchable.
    He picked up his phone again.
    This time, he didn’t hesitate.
    “Yeah,” he said to the man who answered. “It’s time. I want her. No matter who's with her. No screwups this time.”
    He ended the call.
    Stared out the window again.
    Then whispered to no one...
    “She should’ve stayed mine.”
    ~
    ~TESSA~
    My blood wouldn't stop boiling.
    That jerk... What did he think?
    That... I was still that nerdy girl who couldn't speak up for herself?
    He was all wrong! 
    My biker boy... my Ryder... had made me stronger than ever.
    And not even he... Marcus, or any other fool like him was going to bring me down.
    No... no fucking way!
    ~
    Debbie said she had the perfect antidote to Marcus’s phone call...
    A shopping spree that could bankrupt a small country.
    She didn’t give me a chance to argue.
    “You need retail therapy,” she said, dragging me toward the Bishop family’s favorite designer boutique... one of those glittering, glass-fronted places where the mannequins looked like they had attitude...
    “I don’t think shopping cures trauma,” I mumbled.
    “Of course not,” she replied. “But it does cure the urge to text your ex telling him to choke.”
    Inside, the store gleamed with polished floors and soft jazz.
    A well-dressed woman with a tablet greeted us with the kind of smile that only gets activated when someone walks in holding a black card.
    I didn’t even get a chance to breathe in the overpriced air before I heard it...
    “Well, look who wandered out of the clearance bin.”
    I didn’t even have to turn around.
    Clara.
    She was dressed in a body-hugging champagne gown, fake pearls choking her neck, and that same sneer she always wore when she smelled insecurity.
    “Wow,” she said, eyeing me up and down. “I didn’t think you had the guts to show your face after getting lucky with a sugar daddy.”
    Behind her were her two minions again. Those girls... I just pitied them. How I wish they could go something better with their lives.... They snorted on cue like trained poodles.
    “I’m not doing this,” I muttered, turning away.
    “Oh come on, Tessa,” Clara sang after me. “We’re just surprised. I mean... there’s nothing in this store you could actually afford.”
    Debbie stopped walking.
    And turned.
    “Say that again?” she asked.
    Clara blinked. “Sorry... who are you?”
    “I’m the reason this store hasn’t gone out of business,” Debbie said. “And I don’t remember asking for background noise.”
    The color drained slightly from Clara’s face, but she recovered with a flick of her hair.
    “Oh, I get it. You’re the sidekick.”
    Debbie tilted her head. “And you’re the unpaid intern on your own personality.”
    Clara's smile cracked just enough to show the panic underneath.
    I leaned toward Debbie and whispered, “You’ve got a talent for this.”
    “Oh honey,” she said, looping her arm through mine, “I majored in expensive comebacks.”
    ~
    Debbie and I didn’t just shop.
    We conquered.
    Silks. Heels. Handbags so pretty they made me tear up a little. 
    I didn’t even ask the prices.
    Debbie told me Ryder wanted me spoiled. And apparently, in Bishop family code, “spoiled” translated to... treat her like royalty or you’re dead to us.
    We strolled to the register, arms full of curated elegance. 
    The cashier already recognized Debbie and treated us like we owned the place.
    Clara was still nearby, pretending not to watch, pretending her eye wasn’t twitching every time Debbie waved at a new designer rack.
    As we stepped up to pay, Clara made her move.
    “Oh, sorry,” she said, bumping my shoulder just enough to make it feel intentional. “Mind if I go ahead? I have a date and I really don’t want to wait behind charity cases.”
    Debbie arched an eyebrow.
    “Sure,” she said smoothly. “If watching you swipe a card is the highlight of your date night, be my guest.”
    Clara grinned like she’d won something. Handed the cashier her platinum credit card.
    It slid. Approved?
    Nope.
    Beep. Declined.
    She laughed it off. “Try that again. Sometimes it’s... finicky.”
    Second swipe. Beep. Declined.
    The cashier cleared her throat. “Do you have another method of payment, ma’am?”
    Clara’s smile faltered. “That’s... impossible!”
    She reached into her purse with hands that weren’t quite steady, yanked out another card.
    Third try. Beep. Declined.
    Dead silence.
    Her minions exchanged looks.
    I almost felt bad.
    Almost.
    Clara’s voice rose. “There must be something wrong with your system.”
    “Actually,” the cashier said, gently, “all three accounts reported insufficient funds.”
    Debbie leaned in close to me and stage-whispered, “I told you she spent all her money on diet pills and denial.”
    Clara snapped, “You think this is funny?!”
    I stepped up beside Debbie, calm as ever. “You shoved me. Insulted me. Tried to humiliate me in public. And your card just humiliated you for free.”
    Clara’s nostrils flared. “I want to speak to a manager.”
    “You are speaking to one,” the cashier said, cool as a cucumber.
    Debbie handed over her Bishop black card. “We’ll be paying for our things now.”
    The cashier scanned our items, each beep sounding like a victory bell. 
    Clara stood there, eyes and mouth wide... as though she'd seen ghosts...
    “That’ll be four million,” the cashier said.
    Clara sputtered. “She’s buying what?! How can a nobody like her fund this lifestyle?”
    Debbie turned, draped one arm around my shoulder, and gave Clara a long, pitying look.
    “Sweetheart, she’s not a 'nobody' anymore.”
    We walked out without looking back.
    But I heard Clara hiss under her breath...
    “This isn’t over.”
    I smiled.