Chapter 4

The murders at the Kensington mansion still haunted Mark to this day.

He remembered lying on the couch in his apartment, flipping through the channels idly on the television, when the news caught his eye. He turned the volume up and sat back, wearing just a pair of cut off denim shorts, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. He cracked open another beer and slowly took a sip out of it, waiting for the exclusive news report they were all buzzing about.

"And now, Connie back to you."

"Thanks Sheri, well it appears that this was a violent end to one of the most well-known families of Houston. The Kensington family was brutally murdered earlier this evening around nine o'clock. Authorities are ruling out homicide and suicide because of the evidence, which they are not revealing at this time. According to authorities, the daughter, seventeen year old Nicole Kensington was viciously raped and murdered. She was found in her room bound to her bed while her father was lying face down in his study upstairs on the fourth floor. So far, there have been no witnesses and police are on the hunt for the murderers, so if you know anything, please call this number. 713-288-1928. Any help bringing justice to this family would be appreciated. And now onto Tony with sports…"

The beer can dropped from Mark's hand as his eyes widened, staring at the television, afraid something was going to leap out at him. Had he seriously heard the news reporter right? What had Scott and the others done? Mark felt sick and suddenly ran to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach, hurling violently.

Pulling back, Mark finally finished and closed his eyes tightly shut, pressing his forehead to the cool porcelain, trembling from head to toe. What the hell had happened with the robbery? Was it even the crew who did this? So many questions plagued him and Mark suddenly felt weak, all the energy drained from him, knowing no rest would come.

"That coulda been me…" He whispered, knowing he'd made the right decision and hoped the police didn't come to question him about this.

That was usually the first thing the Houston police did was track down the crew for questioning anytime something terrible happened. Though, they'd never been associated with murder. Mark honestly thought none of the boys could be capable of murder, no matter the circumstances, but he'd been wrong before.

Banging sounded at his front door, causing Mark to jump out of his skin, but he couldn't move from the bathroom floor. He was leaning back against the small tub, his forehead pressed against the porcelain toilet, refusing to move an inch. His frame was glued to the spot and Mark couldn't move, feeling numbness flow through every part of his body.

"Mark, come on man, where the fuck are ya?" Steve's voice was frantic and Mark still couldn't move, knowing him and Kevin hadn't been at the mansion that night. "Mark!"

"Mark, don't do this man, please tell us you didn't go." Kevin sounded worried, looking back at Steve, both of them having walked inside the apartment without waiting. "Damn it…"

"In here." Mark called, causing both Steve and Kevin to rush inside the bathroom, stopping at the sight of their friend. "I didn't go, I told you both I wouldn't."

"We didn't either." Steve said, hoping Mark believed them, the bathroom too damn small for three large men like themselves.

"I wasn't about to destroy my life." Kevin stated, still not believing what he heard and saw on the news. "Did you watch…?"

"Yes."

"Do you think…?"

"I don't know." Mark slowly lifted his head up, not feeling like a weight was on it anymore, though his complexion was incredibly pale.

"Come on man, Scott is an asshole, but he wouldn't stoop to THAT level…" Steve said, blue eyes widening slightly, trying to convince himself as well as the two of them and wondering if the crew had stepped up a dangerous notch too much. "Would he?"

"I don't know."

"Mark, you gotta snap out of this man, and try to help us figure it out!" Kevin didn't like the condition Mark was in, swallowing hard, and looked at Steve worried. "We weren't involved in it and we knew nothing about what they were gonna do."

"Do you honestly think that'll stop the pigs from huntin' us down?" Steve demanded, suddenly needing a beer as he exited the bathroom, groaning. "Damn it, Mark! You wasted a perfectly good beer! What a damn waste!"

Kevin couldn't help chuckling, knowing seeing that spilled can of beer on Mark's carpeted beige floor was like sticking a dagger in the man's heart. "He seriously has a drinking problem."

"Kev, help me up." Mark instructed softly, extending his hand to his friend.

Kevin did as he asked, though they didn't leave the bathroom right away, just in case Mark had to vomit again. "I'm alright, I think." He raked a hand through his long black hair. "We need to figure out what to say to the cops when they track us down." He already knew it was coming, rubbing his temples. "I need a beer."

"You just threw up, man. Are you sure?" Kevin sighed when Mark glared at him, both men walking out of the bathroom, Steve already having a fresh beer in hand. "Did you hear what I said, Austin?"

"Somewhat, I was too busy suckin' down a beer." Steve grunted, leaning back against the couch, trying not to think about what happened at the Kensington mansion.

"We need to figure out what to say to the pigs when they come for us." Kevin reiterated, taking a seat in the nearby chair, allowing Mark to take the other spot on the couch by Steve.

"Why the fuck would they hunt us down?" Steve demanded somewhat irritably, groaning when Mark shot him a knowing look. "We haven't done anythin' THAT bad!"

"That doesn't matter and you know it." Mark cracked open his beer and took a long swig, bending forward with his elbows resting on his knees, sighing. "Chief Layfield isn't gonna go easy on us either."

Kevin and Steve both groaned in unison, wondering what the hell happened in that mansion. "What if we could prove the crew didn't do it?" Kevin suddenly blurted out, causing both Steve and Mark to stare at him skeptically.

"They were planning on going tonight, man. They went there…"

Mark didn't understand why the crew would kill old man Kensington and his daughter when all they were doing was robbing the place. Why would they murder and rape the daughter, a seventeen year old girl, who barely started her life? He felt sick again and stood up, needing to breathe a little.

What if Mark had been wrong about Scott all along?

"Who all went, do you two know?" Mark asked, every headlight outside making him uneasy, every car passing by making him assume it was the police.

"As far as we know, just me and Kev didn't go." Steve said, seeing the haunted look in Mark's eyes, frowning. "That means…"

"Scott, Brad, Nick, Jack and…"

The front door suddenly swung open and John stood there, breathing heavily with slightly widened blue eyes. "Please tell me you three didn't go to the mansion with Scott."

"Cena, shut the damn door." Kevin growled, stalking over and slamming it shut, the man looking like he'd been chased. "What the fuck are you doin' here?"

"I had to talk to Mark, make sure he didn't go along with Scott's asinine plan." John replied, trying to catch his breath. "Goddamn I'm out of shape."

Mark's eyes narrowed and he suddenly shoved John down in the other free chair, shaking his head. "As I was sayin'…Scott, Brad, Nick and Jack went then."

"There's no way that family could've fought off those four either…" Kevin's voice was barely above a whisper, slamming the rest of his beer down. "Damn…"

"Are you three seriously thinking those four are capable of MURDER?" John blinked, wondering if they were all on crack and started laughing nervously. "Come on, guys! They wouldn't do something like that!"

"How the fuck do you know, Cena?" Mark growled in annoyance, his head throbbing. "What if we all assumed wrong about Scott and the others?"

"You're sayin' you think Scott would actually…kill someone and rape a seventeen year old just for the hell of it?" Steve raised an eyebrow when Mark simply nodded, all four men growing considerably quiet.

That was the night Mark decided he would open his own security company to save others from what happened to the Kensington's.

~!~

"So why don't you tell me what you know Calaway? Make my job a little easier." Chief John Layfield coaxed, or at least tried too; sitting on the table with his arms folded in front of his chest, staring down at the man he knew was responsible for the Kensington murders. "Come on, it'll stay between us."

"I don't know anything, sir." Mark stated for the millionth time through gritted teeth, his wrists shackled in handcuffs. "None of us know what the hell happened." He was going to hell for lying, but Mark knew if he mentioned anything about the robbery plans, he would end up taking the fall for it.

There was no way that was happening.

"So you're tellin' me that none of your scumbag friends had anythin' to do with the murders and robbery?" Layfield wasn't buying it and Mark knew he was treading on thin ice.

"No. I was at home sleeping when it happened and found out on the news like everyone else. Kevin, Steve and John were with me. They came over for a get together, had too much to drink, so I wasn't lettin' them leave." Mark explained in a neutral tone, staring straight ahead.

"Why were you all so interested in the murders?" Layfield pressed, his eyes gleaming hungrily. "Surely you've heard of other murders happenin' in town. Why did this one peak your interest?"

"If you didn't notice, sir, those murders were all over the newspapers, television and anywhere else you can think of." Mark replied smoothly, knowing those murders were one of the most talked about in town because of how wealthy the family was. "Who didn't talk about it?"

"I'm asking the questions here, not you!" Layfield growled, turning red in the face, and slammed his fist down on the table. "I will break you, boy! You will tell me what I need to know or I'll break you down piece by fuckin' piece!"

"You can try, but you ain't got nothin' on me and you know it." Mark shot back, his southern accent seeping through his tone, wishing they would remove these damn handcuffs already. "You know I didn't kill those people, Layfield, so why the fuck are ya holdin' me here?"

"Because you know who DID kill them and you're not leavin' until I find out who it is!" Layfield spat, clenching his fists tightly at his sides, grinding his teeth. "I know it was one of you scumbags and I'll find out who it is, I promise."

"But you KNOW it's not me. You have no right keepin' me locked up because I didn't do it!" Mark growled, the handcuffs cutting into his wrists, wanting to kill Layfield at that moment. "For the final time, I don't know who did it and I didn't do it. I'm not the man ya want so you need to let me go."

Layfield scowled darkly and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut with authority. Mark breathed a sigh of relief and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling, hoping Scott didn't commit these murders. If he was trying to frame Mark, the man was going to wind up dead cut into a million pieces, Mark vowed it.

~!~

"Hello?"

"Hey Mark, it's Scott."

Mark blinked, not having heard from Scott in four months, scowling. "What do you want, man?" He demanded, cutting right to the chase.

"Just wanted to call and see how you were." Scott lied, nodding at the whore he currently had in his bed, licking his lips hungrily at her. "Stay put." He ordered softly, standing up from the bed, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.

Mark sighed, really not having time for this because he was busy trying to get his business up and running. He'd saved everything he made, sleeping at Steve's currently, who was going to work for him as soon as the business was ready to go. They were getting there, but had to jump through hoops so to speak, finding the building headquarters a bit of a problem. Neither of them had good credit and apparently that's what one needed to start a business.

"What do you want, Mitchell?" Mark asked again, sipping a cup of coffee, having barely gotten sleep since he started planning opening his business. "You put me and the others through hell while you made a quick escape. What the fuck do you want?"

"Mark, you know I had nothing to do with what happened at the mansion!" Scott hissed quietly, not wanting his whore overhearing the conversation. "I didn't…"

"Bullshit!" Mark shouted, suddenly standing up and walking away from the blueprints, not wanting to damage them in any way, shape or form. "You killed those two Kensington's and one of you raped that poor seventeen year old girl. You're responsible and I TOLD you the robbery was a bad idea, the whole thing was a bad idea, but you didn't listen. I spent over two months trying to clear my name with the cops and finally did when they couldn't find not a drop of evidence that linked to the murders."

"They have no proof?" Scott hadn't heard about that, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Are they still investigating?"

Mark closed his eyes, realizing now why Scott had called him. It was for information on what the cops were up to and he wanted to know if it was safe to come back to Houston. "What did you do, Scott?" He demanded, scrubbing a hand down his face. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, I told you I didn't do it." Scott couldn't believe Mark didn't believe him, knowing they had a falling out before the murders happened. "Look, by the time I got there, someone else beat us to the punch. We pulled back and had no idea what was happening or we would've stopped it. You gotta believe me, man."

"I wish I could." Mark looked out the window, a storm brewing as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky. "I have to go, don't call me again. I don't wanna ever hear from you." He hung up before Scott could get another word out, pressing the cell phone to his forehead. 'I need a new cell phone.' He thought, snapping the cell phone in two pieces and tossed it in the trash.

Grabbing his keys, Mark walked out of the house and headed toward the nearest cell phone store, needing one for his up starting business.