Marcus Lopez Novels & Stories

Alonzo’s limousine sped away into the night. “Are you okay?” Markos asked, his tone softer now. I nodded, though my hands were still shaking. The thought that something could have happened was appalling. “Thank you. I don’t know what he was planning, but it didn’t feel right.” Markos’s expression hardened. “Alonzo is a sex trafficker, Hazel. You need to be careful.” I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “How do you know?” He didn’t answer me. Instead, he opened the passenger door for me and gestured for me to enter. The tension between us was palpable, the silence was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

I took it with a limit though and was careful not to get too high. One night, after a fight, I was approached by a guy. He looked like he was in his mid forties. He was huge and looked very scary. He had caramel skin and you could tell just by looking at him that he was a Hispanic. He waved me over to a quieter side of the building. "Hi, I am Horacio Marquéz. I work very closely with Romeo." The man introduced himself. "I'm Tony Caraballo." I said. "Oh, I know who you are. I have seen you fight and I have to say, you are very good."

Chloe's breath hitched. Leo. Marcus's best friend from college, the wildcard, the one who'd always looked at her with a heat that made her cheeks flush. He was the opposite of Marcus, sun-streaked hair, a careless stubble, eyes the color of stormy seas, and a body built from rock climbing and manual labor, not a gym. "Hope I'm not interrupting," Leo said, his voice a low rasp that seemed to vibrate right through Chloe. His gaze didn't go to Marcus; it locked onto her, traveling from her bare feet, up her legs, to where her robe gaped open.

"Not a match. Not a fight. Just reaction. Fast feet, reflexes, positioning. Today you're not watching the movement. You're watching the person." "Who is it?" Lennox asked, suspicion lacing his tone. "Guy from a Madrid club," Marcus answered. "Arrived two days ago with his coach. Offered to jump in if we had a slot. Today, we have one." Lennox asked no more. He stood up.

John Legend all of me blast the speakers while we dance. " you are the most stunning thing I have ever seen "he comments looking me straight in the eyes I mean I am single " Thank you , you look good as well" I am Jacob " I am Amanda " Nice to meet you I definitely want your number seeing you in this dress has had me thinking not so nice things " I smile as I am about to reply Mr Parker slides in "May I have this dance " Ben E king stand by me soothes the crowd as Mr Parker takes my hand he pulls me so close I can smell his cologne he always smelled good.

"Mr. Lopez and Mr...?" "Marcus Castillo." The other investor spoke. 'Castillo? Marcus? Mr. Marcus Castillo?' Lia frowned. At that time, something clicked in Lia's mind. Lia looked at Roxy, but Roxy ignored Lia's suspicious eyes. 'Hmm... Wait. I think I smell something fishy.' Lia smirks while glaring at Roxy's direction.

He screamed out, thrashing against the ropes. "You better shut that fucking mouth." I said calmly standing up and towering over him. My fists were aching to reach out to snap his neck but his wife had given specific instructions to make him suffer. To make him regret ever holding her down and forcing himself on her all those times. "Lola has paid me a lot of money for you to be here. Not that I'll accept it, you know. Killing a rapist is my favourite sport." Isaac froze, his face turning into a look of pure horror.

“I’m hanging up now, Mr. Marcus.” “See you soon, beauty.” I didn’t just hang up. I stabbed the ‘end call’ button with the force of a superhero stopping a meteor. Then, in a fit of panic, I held the power button until the screen went black. I dropped the phone on the bed between us. The silence was profound. Leo was still smiling that unnerving, gorgeous smile. “So,” he said finally, his voice a low, amused rumble. “Marcus is who again?” “I… we… Angela and I went clubbing, and he approached me. He said he watched my ‘Hawaii Love Hunt’ video. He said he relates to me because he used to be plus-sized…”

“I know.” The warehouse loomed like a relic — half-collapsed, salt-eaten metal glinting in the floodlights. Inside, it smelled like rust, oil, and old memories. Marcus Hale was waiting. Lean, confident, dressed in a gray suit that probably cost more than my old apartment. His smile was sharp, predatory — the kind of smile that says I’ve already calculated your next move. “Ocean Velez,” he said. “Or should I say Ocean Ramirez, daughter of the man who almost exposed me.”

A new email. From: Anonymous You’ve made a powerful enemy. But even powerful men fall. Attached was a single image: a photo of Marcus in the courthouse, mid-walk, surrounded by security—his face frozen in a scowl, his eyes lost in a moment of private rage. Beneath it, a line of text: He doesn’t know how to lose. Sophia stared at the screen. “Then it’s time he learned.”