Marcus From Deadly Class Novels & Stories

From a number he'd never seen. *Your father lied about one thing. The sun isn't dying. But something else is coming. Something worse. And only Hope can stop it. Find me. Before they find you. -Marcus* Marcus. Their brother. The one they'd killed. The one who couldn't be killed. He was alive. And he knew something nobody else did. The game wasn't over. It was just beginning.

“Just let him stand next to you and breathe menacingly while crossing his arms.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It slipped out of me, a small, reluctant sound that tasted like exhaustion and sadness. “Where am I supposed to find someone like that? You think they sell those on I*******m now?” “Funny you should ask,” she said, her grin growing wicked. “Marcus has this friend. He’s single. Works private security. Ex-military or something like that. Quiet, serious, very tall, very built. The kind of man you look at and think, yeah, he’s definitely carried bodies before.”

--------------------- VENOM EMPIRE That's where Marcus lives, alone to avoid suspicious eyes. He just returned home from the club with a girl by his side. Yeah, he's a typical playboy, fucking around however he wants and getting any woman with a snap of his fingers due to his handsome face and perfect body with the money he's flowing in. Marcus and the girl walk into the guest room and, before the girl even realizes it, he's already buried himself inside her, banging her like there's no tomorrow.

Or, rather, it was a gun until he broke it into two pieces. Did he just kill someone? I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to know. “What kind of darts were those?” I whisper. “Tranquilizers?” "Worse. Let's keep moving. Stay close to my back," he says. I’m completely disoriented, but I follow him upstairs, to where the first batch of dorms are. We round a corner, and I almost run into Alec, who has stopped dead. I lurch to a stop, and my hand connects with his back.

“Marcus… it is you.” Marcus looked at him, his face twisting into a bitter smile. “Yes, it’s me. I wanted to ruin you.” Declan stared at him in shock. The police burst into the room and took over from the security guards. “You’re under arrest,” one officer said as they cuffed Marcus. “For attempted murder.” As they dragged Marcus away, he looked back at Declan one last time. Declan stood there, stunned, staring at the empty doorway. Octavia was still unconscious on the bed, unaware of everything that had just happened.

“You want someone to blame for your suffering? Then look in a mirror.” Marcus stared at her. Then he laughed—a broken, bitter sound that started softly and grew until it echoed across the entire courtyard. “Afraid?” he rasped, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he met her glowing eyes. “You think I’m afraid of death?” His laughter stopped abruptly. “I died forty years ago.” Silence fell like a shroud. The crowd exchanged confused, uneasy glances. Marcus’s gaze drifted upward toward the moon hanging above the courtyard. For the first time, the hatred drained from his face. Only profound, endless pain remained.

An uneasy stillness wrapped itself around Elena the moment she stepped out of Cross Industries’ glass tower. Traffic roared, reporters shouted, cameras flashed—but none of it touched her. Every piece of noise sounded distant, muffled, as if a thick fog had descended over her senses. Because Marcus Blackwell was alive. And worse— Marcus was coming. A name whispered in Damian’s nightmares. A ghost he once warned her about. A man who vanished years ago after swearing to destroy everything Damian loved.

“Can’t have that. Bad for business.” “So you put a bullet in him.” “Three bullets, actually. But who’s counting?” Marcus’s smile widened. “And now here we are. The Vipers scattered. Your clubhouse ashes. Most of your men are dead or running. And you?” He gestured at me. “Tied to a chair in my warehouse.” I said nothing. “But there’s one loose end.” Marcus stood. “The girl. Elara.” My jaw tightened involuntarily. Marcus saw it.

I really didn’t get to know why he didn’t kill me if he was sent to do so. “Stay down,” Marcus commanded, his voice a low vibration that managed to cut through the screeching noise. The first flash-bang shattered the yellowed curtains and the glass beneath them. The room exploded in white light and a roar that knocked the air out of my lungs. Through the smoke, I saw the silhouettes—black tactical gear, silver-tipped rifles, the cold precision of men who got paid to kill things like me. Marcus moved. He didn't just fight; he was a goddamn meat grinder. He vaulted over the bed, his knife catching the strobe-light flashes. I heard the wet sound of steel meeting throat, the heavy grunt of a man