Page 92 of Marked

He arches an eyebrow. “You went home every weekend?”

I nod. “Of course I did. She didn’t like being alone. She didn’t make me, and she would tell me I didn’t need to, but I could tell she was more comfortable when I did.”

A frown tugs at his mouth.

“I thought my sister died because Mom chose me. Whatever my mom needed, I wanted to be sure she had me.” I curl into his lap, tucking my head into the crook of his neck.

Inhaling the warm spice of him, my nerves calm.

“Tomorrow.” He kisses my head. “We’ll figure out what to do about her tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “What about your parents? You never talk about your family.” I could use the distraction from the decision I’m not ready to make.

“I don’t have a family.” He hugs me tightly to him. “My father….” He pauses as though he’s not sure how to say what he wants to say. “My father killed my mother when I was seven. He was a drunk, and he came home one night drunker than I’d ever seen before.”

I wrap my arms around him. He’s always keeping me in one piece, it’s my turn now.

“He tripped over one of my toys, and he went to hit me. Mom stopped him, yelled at him to just go sleep it off.” His heart beats faster against my chest. “He beat her to death. Right there in the living room.”

“You saw it?” I gasp.

“I was hiding under the kitchen table, but I could see through the legs of the chair. He passed out afterwards. The girl who walked me to school in the mornings found them. I was still under the table. Mom was dead. Dad died in prison a year later. A fight broke out and he got what was coming to him.” His chest puffs out with a laugh.

“Where did you grow up, then?”

“An aunt took care of me until I was in my teens. Then when she died, I was thrown into the foster system until I was old enough to enlist in the military.”

I pull back from him, searching his expression. “I’m sorry your dad did that.”

He runs his fingertips over my cheek bone, then touches the tip of my nose.

“Me too, little bird. She was a good woman.” He smiles.

I twist around to look at the screen again.

Jimmy fully awake, and making every attempt to get out of the binds, but Zack is too good at what he does. Jimmy won’t ever get out.

“Do you want to go play with me?” I whisper.

“Are you ready?” he asks, helping me off his lap and onto the cushion beside him.

I nod.

“Then let’s go play.”

The barn is lit up with the painter’s lights again, but this time instead of Vince, we have Jimmy ready for us.

“Look. I don’t understand what’s happening, but you don’t know who you’re fucking with,” Jimmy yells, as soon as we step inside.

Zack slides the barn doors shut.

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” I step in front of him, bending over to give him a good look at my face.

He searches me, panic growing in his eyes.

“No. Should I?” It’s not surprising. This monster has killed numerous women.

We’re just faceless things to him. I wonder if he even looked at our faces before pulling that trigger.

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