Page 32 of Marked

Chapter 20

Riley

I can hear my pulse thumping inside my head. The sound is deafening and so unsettling that I almost stop and turn on the spot. The booth was fun and safe. As long as I was sitting in that delightfully oblivious group of peers, I could at least pretend that none of this was happening. I could forget about the fact that I’ve been missing for the past two weeks, imprisoned by a man who I hate and desire equally.

But once I heard that voice in my head, I realized that this couldn’t go on forever. I was forced back to a reality I tried so hard to ignore. Maybe that’s really what I have been doing for the past fortnight. I was miserable, yes, but it was almost too easy for me to find solace in the arms of my captor.

And I can’t deny that I would feel a whole lot better if he was with me right now. Why the hell was he the one who had to stay at the drop-off where Charlie and I were supposed to end up once the Scivola men had cornered and captured us, making it seem like a random kidnapping rather than an orchestrated scheme including a Venus flytrap, aka, me? Cain said it was because he was concerned about the Covey bodyguard recognizing him, but I have a hard time believing that.

He was lying to me again, and that’s probably what hurt the most. It only hardened my resolve to be reckless tonight and risk everything, including the undeniable bond that may have been forged between me and Cain.

I know what I feel, but I don’t understand it. And I shouldn’t let these confusing feelings guide me as long as Cain sticks to his evident deceit.

I don’t look left or right as I head straight for the bathroom, signaling determination with every step despite my growing insecurity.

What kind of great plan is this? Escape through the bathroom window? What if there is no window? What if I can’t open it? What if Kyle—or worse, Jack—or any of the men from that Scivola group are waiting for me outside? I could never outrun those men.

But I have to at least try.

I feel incredibly stupid and brave at the same time when I push the door to the ladies’ restroom open and slide inside, quickly closing it behind my back as if that could protect me against a potential tail. I’m sure they have guys inside the bar, too, but no one would tell me anything. It seems like they didn’t want me to know how well or from where I was being watched during the rendezvous, and I can’t blame these assholes for that, because I wouldn’t do it differently if I were the criminal mastermind behind this scheme.

The good news is that there is a proper window in the restroom. I almost squeal in delight at the sight of it, but the relief is soon subdued by concerns about opening the window. I’m the only one in here, and I hope to God it stays that way as I step closer to the window to examine the frame and the handle.

An excited gasp escapes me when the window opens on the first try. I can’t believe my luck. I open it up as far as I can, providing more than enough room for me to climb through. It seems almost too easy, as if this was all part of someone else’s plan and I’m the idiot falling for the trap. Maybe I am.

I guess I will find out as soon as I take the next step. I don’t know why, but I find myself hesitating, my eyes trailing back over my shoulder to the closed door behind me. Why is no one following me? Why are they not stopping me?

Why am I waiting for something like that to happen instead of taking this incredible chance?

I move slowly, held back by fearful reluctance as I stick my head through the window to assess my location. It seems that the bathrooms are at the side of the building, leading into a dark and deserted alley. The main entrance appears to be to my left, while the back exit is to my right. The neighboring building is right in front of me, only about ten feet away. There are no doors or open windows that would provide refuge, and no fire escapes I could try to climb up.

I bite my lips as I accept the fact that the only option with a glimpse of hope is to run to the left toward the main entrance where I was dropped off. I know there are still some men waiting over there—not Kyle, because he’s supposed to wait for Charlie and me at the back exit, but Jack could be there, or some Scivola thugs.

“Where the fuck are you?” Kyle’s voice snarls inside my ear.

Fuck. I have to move.

“Go, go, go,” I hiss in a low voice, hushing myself when I realize that I have a tiny microphone attached to my chest.

It has been a while since I’ve spoken to myself like this, which strikes me as amusing, considering how much time I have spent all by myself in that basement.

I lean out of the window and as soon as the fresh air, a promise of freedom, hits my nose, my mind wanders to my sister, Alena. She’s out there, worrying about me like she never had to before. It has been my resolve never to be a burden to her again, not after she sacrificed so much of her own happiness for me. She always said I was the smart one, the one who should go to college and have a career, the one who would have her life together, and thanks to her, I was.

Then Cain happened. Or we happened. I can’t blame him for losing my job back then because I was the one in charge when it happened. I knew what was at risk and I did it anyway. And the truth is: I don’t regret any of it.

I shake my head, contradicting myself because even I can’t listen to this bullshit anymore. I mean, look at me now. I’m climbing through the bathroom window of a shabby bar, possibly watched and followed by a dozen criminals who are using me for their purposes, and I’m swooning over the monster who put me here.

“Such an idiot.”

I have to remind myself again that it might not be the best idea to give voice to my circling thoughts, and I forcefully seal my lips when I get myself to climb through the open window. Unlike my sister, I have never been a very athletic person, and I regret that now. For her, this maneuver would be as easy as walking down the stairs, but I struggle with my uncoordinated limbs, scratching my head on the window frame and earning a fierce splinter in my finger as I tumble out on the street. At least I manage to land on my feet without falling into the muddy puddle right next to me.

I hold my breath for a moment, scanning my pitch-black vicinity. I can’t see anyone, neither to my left nor to my right, and to be honest, that frightens me more than the thought of a male silhouette flitting through the shadows.

Where are they hiding? Could it really be this easy?

I should know better than to relax in this moment, but I’m carried by a strange sense of confidence as I slowly creep to the left, staying very close to the wall of the bar to hide in its shadows. I’m not physically exhausted, but my breath is out of control, inhaling and exhaling in an erratic rhythm, despite my attempt to keep it under control. I’m trying to move like a cat, but feel so visible and loud that my amazement at not being followed or chased grows with every step I take. Hope blossoms within my chest, bringing with it a wave of motivation and endless possibilities as images of a life in freedom pop up before my inner eye.

I see my current apartment—my sister’s old home before she moved in with her husband—the ancient kettle on the kitchen counter that could be as old as me from the looks of it, the comfortable bed that is way too big for only one person, all the little odds and ends that my sister left for me when she moved out. It’s a small home, nothing special, but even during the few months I’ve lived there, it has become special to me. The tiny bedroom faces the east, so that the sun itself wakes me on days that are not shrouded in clouds. And while that sounds more romantic than it often is, it has taken me until now to notice how much I’ve missed the sun’s touch, even when it’s way too early in the morning and—

Fuck, what was that?

A noise, right behind me—and it’s close. Something moved right behind my back.

Someone moved right behind my back.

“Riley.”

My blood freezes at the sound of my name. And because I don’t recognize the voice, I start running before I dare to look back over my shoulder—only to confirm that I am no longer safe. A broad and tall silhouette looms about twenty feet behind me, stopping mid-motion when my gaze falls onto it. It’s a man, a stranger, who begins to run the moment my gaze falls upon him.

And so do I.

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