Page 3 of Marked

Chapter 2

Riley

A surge of disappointment swells throughout my chest when he leads me back down to my unwelcoming cell. It was nice to see different walls for a change, to breathe different air, and with it, enjoy a taste of freedom.

I was so close. So close to the world he took me from. So close to normalcy and liberty.

He let me use the internet, for crying out loud! Granted, he was sitting right next to me the whole time, watching every letter I typed and every motion of the cursor as it moved along the screen. He never left my side while I did the research he should have done, asking him for the name of the bar and the time at which the group appears to meet, so I could cross-check it with potential Meetup groups in the area. Just as I suspected, there are quite a few groups centering around IT topics in one way or another. I’ve been to such meet-ups myself, though never in this area. As I go through the various groups, checking their events to see if I can find the one Charlie might be attending, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever be able to join one of those meet-ups in the near future.

Will I live to see them? Will I ever be free again?

I’m also tormented by the agonizing kick of regret, because I can’t help but wonder.

What if Cain hadn’t been sitting next to me while I was browsing the internet? What if, instead of eavesdropping on him, I had tried to gain access to his laptop and called for help? Why did that not occur to me when he left me alone in the room? It was only for a few short minutes, but I’m sure I would have found a way to circumvent his login security and reach out into the world even with that little time.

Yet, I didn’t. Instead, I stood there with my ear pressed against the door, overcome with horror as I listened to him saying things that shook me to my very core.

“She’ll be yours. I’ll get her to you once this is done. Just like we agreed.”

Who is he planning to give me to? What kind of agreement was he talking about?

“You can do whatever you want with her.”

The memory of his words make my flesh crawl so much that I can’t suppress a palpable shudder as they echo through my head. Cain notices and casts me a short look from the side as his grip on my arm tightens. He decided to leave the damn handcuffs behind, only relying on his own hands to keep me restrained as we descend to the basement. His touch repulses me more than ever. I thought there could be something between us, something real—feeling, benevolence. But those emotions seem foreign to me now, like they were part of a different life. It’s interesting what a few simple words can do.

A few simple words of betrayal, that is.

These are the same hands that knew how to give me pleasure and solace when I needed it. The same hands that gave me warmth when everything else was too cold to bear—but now his fingers snaking around my arm feel like icicles pricking through my skin.

Why am I even surprised? Why did it shock me to realize that he lied to me? That, in fact, he has no intention of releasing me back into freedom once my job here is done? He lured me here under false pretenses, kidnapped me, humiliated me, locked me away and threatened me when I resisted his demands. Of course a man like that would lie to his advantage.

Of course a man like that would make promises he doesn’t intend to keep.

But what can I do with this knowledge now? I decided to keep my mouth shut when he came back into the room, but I don’t really know why. Was it because I wasn’t sure of what I heard? Was it because I trust him enough to dismiss it as a simple misunderstanding? That I want to believe that it is somehow a misunderstanding?

No. If it was that easy, there’d be nothing to stop me from calling him out on what I heard. Right?

My steps slow down on instinct as we approach the damn door that will soon stand between me and the balm of freedom again.

He doesn’t seem to notice at first, but once he does, Cain forces me forward with a strong tug.

“Don’t start fighting it now,” he hisses without even bothering to look at me. “I can do this nicely or by force—and trust me, you don’t want the latter.”

Choke on your fucking threats, my furious mind shrieks inwardly. I’m so angry at him that it causes me physical agony, but I don’t want to let it show—and that’s probably the hardest part. My stance hardens when we stop in front of the door, and I keep my eyes to the ground as he unlocks it and pushes me inside. I expect him to leave right away, but he lingers in the door frame, keeping his hand on the knob and his gaze fixed on me.

“You’re probably hungry.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, but I shake my head in response nonetheless.

“Thanks, I’m good.”

I’m anything but good, but I don’t want to admit weakness, even if it’s just a mundane thing such as hunger.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter anyway, because he ignores my response.

“You’ll eat,” he announces, and our eyes meet for a few heated moments. It locks both of us in place as we study each other intently.

Then he takes a sudden step backward before he yanks the door closed, and I’m forced to stay locked in the room alone again, my gaze still glued to the door and my mind running wild.

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