Page 16 of Marked

Chapter 10

Riley

The sweet blessing of restful sleep cloaked me shortly after I came down from my orgasmic high. I don’t know how long I slept, but I feel rested and energized when I wake up, almost light-hearted. My cell is dark and empty, with no signs of any visitor while I was sleeping, but I am filled with a strange sense of hope. Hope that lifts my mood for no apparent reason.

I take a shower and get dressed, moving at a leisurely pace to keep myself occupied. As long as I’m moving around, the chatter in my head retreats and it’s easier for me to ignore it altogether. Not knowing what lead to yesterday’s punishment is driving me crazy, but there’s a good chance I will never find out, even if I muster the courage to ask Cain.

I’m pacing up and down the room like a caged animal. Even without any way of measuring time down here, I have a feeling that it must be mid-morning by now, maybe even almost noon. I had a good sleep, but my stomach is growling angrily as I move around the room anxiously. I’m starving, and I’m pretty sure that this is the first time I have really craved food since I got here. It’s not just the hunger that drives me in circles, but a growing appetite, too. And a need for warm food. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper meal. Here, it’s always been sandwiches and cold cuts, enough to fill the stomach but not to satisfy me.

My heart jumps with unusual delight when I hear the lock turning behind me. I turn around just in time to see Cain slide through the door. He’s bringing food, but not the kind I was hoping for. In one hand he holds another wrapped-up sandwich and in the other, a bottle of orange juice. The disappointment must show on my face because the first words he utters toward me are an apology.

“This will suffice for now,” he says, handing me the sandwich. “Eat it quickly, we have things to do.”

“Things to do?”

My quizzical gaze trails up to him while I unwrap the food. He nods as he walks toward the bed. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and opens the bottle of orange juice.

“My allies are getting impatient,” he explains before taking a big swig of the juice. “We need to proceed a bit faster than I’d like to.”

I take a bite of the sandwich and occupy myself with greedy chewing while I try to make sense of his words. Who are his allies? And why does he want to take things slower than they do?

“Your allies?” I follow up. “Who are you working with?”

He side-eyes me for a split second, apparently unwilling to give me a response to that question. When the silence between us expands long enough to attest that my inquiry will go unanswered, I opt to try another question.

“And what do you mean by ‘faster than you’d like to’? Why are they pushing you?”

I pause, unsure whether I should stop my investigation here or give voice to all of my questions in hopes that he’ll answer at least one of them.

“And why do they feel the need to push you? What do you need more time for?”

There’s a frightening weight to my question, and I fear I might be digging a bit too close to dangerous territory. What am I hoping for? A confession? As if he would actually tell me what that phone call was about.

“You!” Cain exclaims all of a sudden, making me jump in surprise. “I need more time for you, to get you ready, to make sure you’re… safe.”

I can’t really put my finger on it, but his words don’t seem sincere to me. While he may want to express concern, he comes across more like a child who was caught doing something bad and is now trying to justify their actions to a scolding mother.

“Safe? Really, Cain? If you care so much about my safety, why did you bring me here in the first place? I haven’t been safe since I stepped out the door for that fake job interview you used to lure me into your trap.”

He nods along as I speak, much to my surprise. Does he regret this? Is he second-guessing his plan and my involvement in it? If so, could I fathom a world in which he would just… let me go?

“You can whine about your situation all you want, Riley. The thing is, if you refuse to play along and do as I say, you’re not only putting your own life at risk, but also mine, and most of all that of your—”

“My sister, yes, I remember your dirty blackmail,” I cut him off irritably, concluding my interjection by finishing the sandwich with a final mouthful.

He ignores my comment and merely retorts with a stern look.

“In any case, what we can’t have is you running your own agenda,” he says as he pins me down with that same grave expression. “You understand that?”

I try to hide the surge of fear that rains down my spine. Why would he say something like that? Is he on to me? Was I really that bad at acting? But what could he even suspect from my behavior? I tried to seduce him to have sex with me, and—if you ask me—there was nothing suspicious about my reasoning for wanting to be close to him. Yet, it looks like his punishment had nothing to do with play, but with him growing skeptical of my intentions.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask innocently, trying to appear nonchalant and surprised, even though my heart pumps at full speed. My pulse is so fast and strong that the sound of it throbs violently between my ears.

“No tricks,” he simply says. “No unexpected maneuvers, no surprises coming from your side. I must be able to trust you.”

Our eyes lock in a silent stare, and I hope to God that my face tells as little as his about what is going on behind the closed doors of my mind. His expression is tense and focused, neither angry nor content, but certainly not friendly.

“Why wouldn’t you trust me?” I ask, deliberately speaking in a slightly high-pitched voice that makes me sound young and, well, innocent. “You have me at your mercy. Do you really believe I would try to run away? Why do you think I’d risk my sister’s life to get away from you and all of this when all I have to do to walk away from this unscathed—and with fifty thousand dollars in my bank account—is to finish the job you’re forcing me to do?”

I take a deep breath and lean forward a little, trying to appear confident and devoid of fear, neither of which is true.

He doesn’t say a word, letting ominous silence cloak us as I try to read his face. Not much about his expression has changed from before. There’s still that same seriousness in his expression, and that focus, which could be a similar kind of concentration as mine because he could be trying to read me, as well.

But is there remorse? Is there guilt? Shouldn’t he feel both of those emotions if he’s actually lying to me?

“Right?” I poke in an attempt to force a reaction out of him. “I just have to do this and you’ll let me go and give me the money. That’s the deal.”

I wish I could believe him when he nods. I wish I could feel a sense of relief instead of the terrible sting of betrayal when he replies.

“Correct, that’s the deal,” he confirms, his entire stance loosening as he continues to nod through his disgusting lie.

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