Marcus: The M Series, Book Three Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Ryanne Anthony
he wipes it quick and it flies to the middle of the window.
“Stop,” Matthew demands. He walks over to Parker's laptop, and scrolls through pictures until he sees something that makes him freeze. He turns to the wall. Richards walks over to him as Brown steps to the side of Hunt and holds her hand while they watch Matthew and Richards as they quietly quarrel.
“I’m right, Prick! Look at this, over here.”
“Fuck,” Richards yells. “You are right, he's shorter. He must have big feet! Six-one, maybe. Brown is six-six. Anybody here six-one, six-two?”
“I am,” Matthew says, as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Hunt, try to scratch me, for real. I mean really come at me, all right? My sister-in-law is a hard-ass and I know she fought like the devil himself came after her.”
“Got it,” Hunt nods. “No problem.”
“Parker, you all right with this? I’m going to attempt to get in this asshole’s mindset and set off Stacy.”
“I get it, Matthew; it’s for a purpose. I’d only object if she did.”
Matthew goes out the door and closes it behind him.
“All right, let's try this again... Ready, Stacy,” Parker asks.
“Yes,” she says, and faux dunks again.
“Go, Matthew!”
Matthew enters and freezes then strides over to Stacy, quickly. He gets the rag to her face and her left arm drags over and down and the glass tips over. She brings her arms up and knocks Matthew's arms away and the rag falls to the floor.
Matthew grabs at her upper arms, determined to subdue her, but she frees herself again and scratches at him, landing just above his eye. Matthew brings his hand up to catch the blood before it rolls in his eye and flicks his hand just like Brown did. His blood lands lower, hitting the window sill.
He gets a hold of her again, pins her, grabs the rag and puts it on her face. She continues to struggle, as Parker counts in the background and at count seven, she goes limp.
Matthew lifts her into a bridal carry and swiftly walks toward the door, knocking the chair down in the same position as I found it earlier, when Hunt's feet hits it. As he turns, Hunt's feet hit the jars on the counter, knocking them over. He goes through the door and tosses her to the ground careful to stay close to the house and out of camera range then snakes around the house until he is out of sight.
“Clear,” Matthew shouts from the corner of the house.
“Checking,” Richards calls back, looking through the computer. “Clear!”
Hunt immediately opens her eyes and sits up. Matthew offers her his hand. “Are you okay,” he asks. Hunt nods.
We go back in the kitchen and I stand in front of the sink and grip it, feeling nauseous. Joshua grips my shoulder.
“You shouldn't be in here, Marcus,” he says quietly.
I turn back to the table. “I have to know what happened.”
Hunt goes back to the chair, and Matthew stands to her right, watching the video with Richards and Parker, whispering. Finally, they nod at each other and Matthew turns to me.
“Okay. Brown?” Brown walks over and stands next to Matthew. “Grab her forearms. Now slowly try to free yourself, Hunt. Stop. This is how we knew he was shorter. She can't get to him because of his wingspan; her arms just won't reach. He splattered his sweat on the window, just above where my blood splattered. But when I do it, let me Brown, my span is shorter, she scratches me deep, drawing blood. Techs found blood splatter on the window, too, in almost the same area as mine.”
Matthew joins me, and places his hand on my shoulder.
“We don't believe she got him to the floor, Marcus. There was a fingernail in the spilt milk the table. Mariah broke it fighting him.”
I suddenly feel faint, and slide to the floor and draw my knees up. My elbows land on my knees and my head in my hands, and I sob like a two-year-old, as images of Mariah fighting off some strange man in her own home then of her lying lax on the grass, fly across my mind repeatedly.
A hand
“Stop,” Matthew demands. He walks over to Parker's laptop, and scrolls through pictures until he sees something that makes him freeze. He turns to the wall. Richards walks over to him as Brown steps to the side of Hunt and holds her hand while they watch Matthew and Richards as they quietly quarrel.
“I’m right, Prick! Look at this, over here.”
“Fuck,” Richards yells. “You are right, he's shorter. He must have big feet! Six-one, maybe. Brown is six-six. Anybody here six-one, six-two?”
“I am,” Matthew says, as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Hunt, try to scratch me, for real. I mean really come at me, all right? My sister-in-law is a hard-ass and I know she fought like the devil himself came after her.”
“Got it,” Hunt nods. “No problem.”
“Parker, you all right with this? I’m going to attempt to get in this asshole’s mindset and set off Stacy.”
“I get it, Matthew; it’s for a purpose. I’d only object if she did.”
Matthew goes out the door and closes it behind him.
“All right, let's try this again... Ready, Stacy,” Parker asks.
“Yes,” she says, and faux dunks again.
“Go, Matthew!”
Matthew enters and freezes then strides over to Stacy, quickly. He gets the rag to her face and her left arm drags over and down and the glass tips over. She brings her arms up and knocks Matthew's arms away and the rag falls to the floor.
Matthew grabs at her upper arms, determined to subdue her, but she frees herself again and scratches at him, landing just above his eye. Matthew brings his hand up to catch the blood before it rolls in his eye and flicks his hand just like Brown did. His blood lands lower, hitting the window sill.
He gets a hold of her again, pins her, grabs the rag and puts it on her face. She continues to struggle, as Parker counts in the background and at count seven, she goes limp.
Matthew lifts her into a bridal carry and swiftly walks toward the door, knocking the chair down in the same position as I found it earlier, when Hunt's feet hits it. As he turns, Hunt's feet hit the jars on the counter, knocking them over. He goes through the door and tosses her to the ground careful to stay close to the house and out of camera range then snakes around the house until he is out of sight.
“Clear,” Matthew shouts from the corner of the house.
“Checking,” Richards calls back, looking through the computer. “Clear!”
Hunt immediately opens her eyes and sits up. Matthew offers her his hand. “Are you okay,” he asks. Hunt nods.
We go back in the kitchen and I stand in front of the sink and grip it, feeling nauseous. Joshua grips my shoulder.
“You shouldn't be in here, Marcus,” he says quietly.
I turn back to the table. “I have to know what happened.”
Hunt goes back to the chair, and Matthew stands to her right, watching the video with Richards and Parker, whispering. Finally, they nod at each other and Matthew turns to me.
“Okay. Brown?” Brown walks over and stands next to Matthew. “Grab her forearms. Now slowly try to free yourself, Hunt. Stop. This is how we knew he was shorter. She can't get to him because of his wingspan; her arms just won't reach. He splattered his sweat on the window, just above where my blood splattered. But when I do it, let me Brown, my span is shorter, she scratches me deep, drawing blood. Techs found blood splatter on the window, too, in almost the same area as mine.”
Matthew joins me, and places his hand on my shoulder.
“We don't believe she got him to the floor, Marcus. There was a fingernail in the spilt milk the table. Mariah broke it fighting him.”
I suddenly feel faint, and slide to the floor and draw my knees up. My elbows land on my knees and my head in my hands, and I sob like a two-year-old, as images of Mariah fighting off some strange man in her own home then of her lying lax on the grass, fly across my mind repeatedly.
A hand