Marcus Free Rein Novels & Stories

“This.” Aiden’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t expect to care enough to come. But here we are.” Marcus looked down at his hands still bruised, still trembling slightly. “I spent five years telling myself I was free. New name, new city, new life. But every time I looked in the mirror I saw the same bastard who sold his little brother to a man who hated him. Who tried to kill that man. Who kept pulling strings because letting go felt like dying.” Aiden’s throat worked. “You almost did die. Again.”

"Whoever has the ability, come at me." Arrogant, reckless... It carried a certain aura of a dark Emperor's majesty and dominance. "Hmph, people don't cry until they see the coffin." "Mr. Marcus, do you know what your current expression makes people want to do?" Saxon approached Mr. Marcus inch by inch. "It makes people want to... conquer you." Mr. Marcus sneered. "Perverted and twisted taste." He turned around, got into his car, revved the engine, and sped down the mountain.

“What are you doing here? Get out!” Marcus stepped into the room, calm and unhurried. He was tall and muscular, his shirt stretched tight across his broad chest. A cold smile played on his lips as he stopped at the foot of the bed. He turned his phone screen toward her. The video he had just recorded played clearly: Rebecca with her legs wide open, fingers pumping into her soaked cunt, moaning at the domination scene. “Look at this,” he said, voice deep and steady. “So clear. Your face is unmistakable. Your pussy too.”

I left them on Marcus's desk with a single sentence: "I want nothing from you. Not your money. Not your name. Just my freedom." What's the worst that could happen?

Not even for himself. “Okay,” Santino mutters flatly. “What did you ‘get,’ Marcus?” Marcus clasps his hands together dramatically. “We need to change the strategy.” Santino lifts one brow in silent judgment. Marcus continues anyway. “You’re trying to win her forgiveness by being… nice.” “That’s the normal human method,” Santino responds dryly. “Yes, but you’re not a normal human,” Marcus shoots back instantly, then narrows his eyes in regret. “I mean you’re not… accustomed… to gentle emotional approaches.”

Three years later, Vivienne and I were officially married, and she was pregnant with my child. On the day our baby was born, I waited outside the delivery room, consumed by anxiety. I had a feeling something big was about to happen that day. Everything clicked when I stumbled upon Marcus' post on X. He had been released from prison. His post read, "At last, I'm free! It's time to settle the score!" Given his petty nature and his inability to distinguish right from wrong, he was bound to seek revenge.

Not to mention that even if my life was spared, what about Marcus and the others? “Crimes?” Marcus asked, this time with a sarcastic smile. “Oh, you mean my little speech the other day? Hardly a crime, wouldn’t you say?” “You spoke against the king!” “I will always speak out for the rights of any free man,” Marcus answered as they stood face to face. My heart sank. The rights of any free man? They were fighting for their freedom? I suddenly started to shiver. Back home, we too were prisoners of our own homes and land. Sold, because someone else had the power to do so. And I suddenly found myself wishing that someone would speak up for us. For my people…

Blake immediately shouted, "Marcus! It's Marcus! He arranged it!" "Uh-huh, go on." Blake said, "Marcus won't let us support the President. He said he wanted revenge for his son. He has sent word to all the newspapers and other media that we are not allowed to publish anything positive about the president." And so it was. I said, "I want you to work on Antoninus ads for us from now on. Can you do that?" "But Marcus is very powerful, I can't offend him..." I pointed to Lucius and said, "He's the president's brother. Decide for yourself whether it's better to offend him or Marcus."

The way he said her name made my stomach twist. “She’s his weakness,” I continued. “And I plan to use that.” He nodded slowly. “You’re ruthless. I like that.” “Good,” I said. “You’ll need it.” A pause. Then, like a cue from fate itself, the door opened — and Marcus Reynolds walked in. The room changed instantly. He was dressed sharp as ever — dark suit, clean shave, the kind of smirk that made you forget for a second that he was poison wrapped in silk.

He stumbled back against the crates, breathing hard. ‎“Stay away from Sarah,” I warned. “Stay away from Alexander. If I hear you’ve made one more move toward either of them, I will make sure you lose everything your freedom, your name, whatever scraps of dignity you have left and don't forget this you heard the 'little' announcement she made right? Now you're fully responsible for the debt l owe me.” ‎Marcus straightened his shirt, trying to regain some composure. ‎“You’re bluffing,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.