Page 31 of Marked

Chapter 19

Cain

Hiding is easy when no one expects you to be anywhere nearby, and it’s even easier when it’s been second nature for most of your life.

I know the exact position of every man—my own and the Scivolas’—in and around this bar, but none of them know that I’m here, too. The bar was still rather empty when I first arrived through the kitchen entrance, the door that’s only guarded with one Scivola guy for simple precaution. They didn’t send the brightest bulb for this particular job, so it was easy to take him out with a little distraction and sneak in behind his back.

I never intended to be here up until yesterday, when I saw myself forced to change plans once again. I don’t trust the Scivolas anymore, nor do I feel obligated to dance to their tune.

Something is wrong with tonight’s sudden change of plan, I can feel it. It’s not just a group of idiots changing their minds to apply pressure to an accomplice. Their informant disappears without a legit excuse while I’m being threatened, and when he returns, we’re presented with an unnecessary and reckless alternative plan, including a gun to the chest? This reeks of some outside meddling, and even if that presumption turns out to be false, I wouldn’t hand them their little prize—Riley—after this mess in a million years.

I wish I could convince myself that this is all really about trust and betrayal between me and the Scivolas, but as I sit in the shadows, watching Riley chat and laugh with those people, I can’t ignore the bite of possessiveness that gnaws at my bones. And when her attention is focused on Charlie, I would even go so far as to call it jealousy.

She’s mine.

She should be laughing like that with me. That smile she throws him again and again—sincere or not—should be directed at me.

She shouldn’t be out there, on her own and in imminent danger without me at her side to protect her, to guide her, to make sure she’s going to be okay.

How could I ever think this would work out? How could I ask this of her? Was I really that blinded by my need for vengeance?

I hate this boiling inside my chest, this goddamn fury that makes my hands curl into tight fists and my heart hammer against its bony cage. I want to move, to act, to get Riley out of there before anything can happen to her. I closed my eyes before the reality of my plan for too long, and it seems incomprehensible to me now how I could ever have considered delivering her into the hands of the Scivola family if I can’t even stand it.

I have to restrain myself from running over to the booth and dragging her out of there, far away from all of this. There’s even a part of me that hopes she’ll notice me, even though I’m hiding from her, never leaving the dark corner right next to the door that leads into the kitchen. A curtain separates the area from the rest of the bar, but for some reason, there are two tables here, tucked away in the dark and so uninviting that I’m the only person around. Even the wait staff rarely takes notice of me as they usher in and out of the kitchen.

Despite the revolting agony of watching her chat and laugh with that guy, I can’t wait for Riley to move so I can finally act. She will be as surprised as everyone else when I wait for her outside, behind the bar, because I had to keep my plan a secret even from her. Too many questions would have been triggered and too many obstacles created. This has to go down as quickly as possible.

My heart rate spikes when I see Riley jumping in her seat, her eyes widened in a blend of surprise and fear without any apparent reason. The others at the table study her with quizzical looks, to which she responds with an awkward smile before she flinches again.

Kyle is talking to her. Does that mean something went wrong?

I crane my neck, trying not to draw any attention to myself as I wait to see what happens. Riley looks stiff and frightened, very different from just a few moments ago. Charlie is the only one still focusing on her, and that seems to make it worse. She clears her throat, shifting a bit on her seat before her lips move to speak.

I wish I had connected myself to her microphone so I could at least hear what she’s saying, even if I can’t talk to her. I wish I knew what was going on.

That wanting only increases when Riley jumps up from her seat and leaves the booth. Charlie’s attentive eyes follow her, but he remains seated, showing no intention of following her.

Unlike me.

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