Page 28 of Marked

Chapter 17

Riley

The drive feels excruciatingly long and way too short at the same time. I stopped at the doorstep when the guys led me out of the house, breathing fresh air for the first time in more than two weeks. The soft breeze that kissed my skin as we hurried to the car was warmer than it was on the day I made my way to the interview that would change my life forever, and it made me realize how much I have missed while being locked away in that damn basement. Spring is slowly turning into summer, the days are getting longer and the breeze that greeted us on the way to the car no longer feels like a cold hand but more like a gently breathed kiss.

My heart drops when the car comes to a halt and Cain turns to me, checking the tiny microphone beneath my shirt and the plug in my ear one last time before he gets out of the car, leaving me in the hands of the guy he calls Kyle.

“You’re safe,” he promises. “You can trust me.”

I want to roll my eyes at him, but refrain from it when I notice the look on his face. He pins me in place with such an intense gaze, his expression so earnest that I almost believe his words. Almost.

How can he be such a heartless liar? How could he say such a thing when I know that he’s betraying me?

And why do I almost tear up when I watch him disappear in the distance as we drive away? I know it could be the last time I ever see him—it has to be.

Because I am not going to run back into his arms after tonight. I am not that stupid. I don’t know how exactly I am going to pull this off—I know there will be men watching me inside and outside of the bar, but I will have to try.

No matter what Cain says, I cannot trust him. He had more than enough chances to come clean with me, to tell me about the dirty little detail he kept from me—the fact that he promised me to someone else once he’s done with me.

After all, that’s what that phone call was about, right? It must have been. Who else could he have been talking about?

I wish I’d had the guts to ask him about it. There were many moments when I almost did. Moments when I lay in his arms, watching the droplets of sweat at his temple as we both came down from our climaxes. Or when we shared a warm meal after I successfully asked for it. It was a simple dish, a butter chicken curry brought in by a grouchy henchman who clearly despised being used as a delivery guy. It was nothing special, but it was the best meal I’ve had in two weeks.

And it was just him and me then, eating while having a normal conversation like two people on a date. Still, I didn’t ask or tackle the subject in any way. I didn’t dare to. Maybe it was because I’m afraid of the answer. Maybe it was because I couldn’t bear being lied to again.

Or maybe it was because I was scared of outing myself. I didn’t want him to know that I’d overheard him because it feels like the knowledge about that phone call is all I have in regard to power. As long as I am one step ahead of him, there might still be a chance for me to get out of this.

If he knew, he probably wouldn’t have left my side like this. He probably would have increased security not to protect me, but to keep an eye on me. He probably wouldn’t trust me to follow his orders when Kyle stops the car a while after dropping Cain off and tells me to enter the bar across the street.

“Back exit will be to your left, next to the restrooms,” he informs me in a cold voice. “Don’t fuck this up.”

I throw him a quick frown before jumping out of the car and heading toward the bar. The urge to make a run for it hits me right then and there, my heart speeding as I imagine myself taking a sharp turn to the right, heading for one of the dark alleys that would provide enough protection from the eyes of both Kyle and the Scivola henchmen who are waiting for me inside the bar and right at the back exit.

I could try. I could try to run right now.

My eyes scurry to the right, lingering when I notice the narrow alley that leads off the street right next to the bar’s entrance. But when I notice a man, dressed in a dark hoodie and a leather jacket, walking toward me from that direction, I discard any escape plan and obediently head for the door instead. I don’t know if he’s one of them, but if he is, there’s no chance in hell I could outrun him.

It’s almost eight p.m. on a Saturday evening, but the bar is so scarcely visited that I spot the group—and Charlie—right away. Cain showed me pictures of the guy, but even without those it would have been fairly easy to spot the group at the far end of the room. They are sitting in one of the bigger booths tucked away in a dark corner, already engaged in conversation. There are six people—five guys and one woman who looks to be a few years older than me.

Charlie, a skinny guy with blond hair wearing a t-shirt that looks to be about three sizes too big for him, sits at the left side, close to the edge of the rounded bench, and there’s no one sitting next to him on the right. Perfect.

I swallow dryly as I make my way over to the table, internally rehearsing my introductory lines while trying my best to appear nonchalant. My heart is pounding against my ribcage with such vigor that it is almost painful, but I manage to keep myself together enough to muster a smile when the first person in the group—a black-haired guy with glasses—looks at me.

“Hi,” I say a bit awkwardly. “I’m Theresa. Is this the Meetup group for—”

“Yes, yes, please sit down!” the black-haired guy greets me, hastily gesturing toward the right side of the booth where there’s one seat left next to the girl.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure what to do. There’s more room next to the girl, but the spot next to Charlie is closer to where I’m standing—and it’s where I need to be.

I risk a few confused glances when I sink down on the bench next to Charlie, who scoots over a bit, not looking at me but at the beer in front of him. He is a small guy, presumably not much taller than me, and skinny and pale, which gives him a very anemic look overall.

“Your first time here, right?” the black-haired guy says, smiling at me across the table while all eyes turn to me. “I’m Brian.”

Brian is the guy who organizes this little group, which explains why he is the only one who has spoken to me thus far.

“Yeah, I’m new,” I respond, reciprocating his smile before I make sure to meet the eyes of every person at the table. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“Nice to meet you, Theresa. We were just about to open the discussion about Kubernetes and Docker, pros and cons,” the Brian guy goes on. “But tell us a little about yourself first. We always do a little introduction round when there’s a new face here.”

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