Page 5 of Marked

Chapter 3

Cain

“I told you, I’m not hungry,” Riley greets me as I step inside the room.

She’s sitting on her bed with her legs crossed and an angry expression on her face. Despite her objection, I can see her eyes lingering on the little basket in my hand. It’s not filled with the same alluring contents it held the last time I brought a picnic to her cell. No well-selected deli, no cheese, no wine—just a simple sandwich and a bottle of orange juice.

She didn’t earn anything better today, not with that dismissive behavior she displayed earlier. Her snappy tone still echoes in my ears, and I have not forgotten the rolling eyes and that condescending smirk either.

“You will eat,” I insist again, placing the basket on the mattress directly in front of her.

She studies the contents for a moment before tilting her head back to look up at me. There’s no disdain in her expression now, and no sign of unwarranted superiority. Instead, she looks defeated and surprisingly weak.

What happened since I last saw her a few minutes ago? Did she hope that I would let her out of this cell for good after talking through our plan? Why would she expect that? Why would she act the way she did if she was hoping to gain a little leeway, maybe even her freedom?

“So, that’s how it’s going to work? You tell me what to do and I just go along without question or concern?”

Her question startles me. It’s not only the words themselves, but the way she gives voice to them. The coldness with which she addressed me earlier is almost entirely gone, replaced by a soft, soothing, almost sorrowful tone. A sorrow that is so credible that it births an unwelcome sting in my chest.

“Ideally, yes,” I respond as I lower myself to sit on the bed next to her.

She tenses when I sit down, but she doesn’t move away from me, not even when I place my hand on her upper thigh, a motion that is born more out of curiosity than compassion. Leaving my hand on her thigh, I gauge her reaction, watching as her initial response—a subtle stiffening—evolves into erratic breathing that could be a sign of anything. Repulsion, restraint, desire. At first, it appears like all these rivaling emotions find their place in her heaving chest, but as she breathes through them, one in particular seems to lead the way.

Lust.

That assumption is only solidified when I see her eyelashes flutter nervously as she looks at me.

“You’ll only make things harder on yourself if you resist,” I remind her. “Swallow your pride—and that sandwich.”

Her lips curl up in a short smirk. She reaches for the orange juice first, her eyes still searching mine.

“Are you going to watch me eat?”

I nod. “I need you strong and healthy, not weakened by a stubborn hunger strike.”

She tilts her head to the side as if to say ‘fair point’, but she doesn’t deign to give me a verbal response. I watch while she cautiously unwraps the sandwich. Turkey, cheese, lettuce and tomato—a basic but nutritious combo with a dab of basil pesto. Just like the sandwiches my father used to make me for school.

“Nice twist,” Riley comments while chewing her second bite. “The pesto, I mean.”

She regards me with an acknowledging nod, and I can’t help but smile in response.

“Got the idea from my dad,” I reveal despite myself. “He used to make them like that for me.”

Her eyes widen in concern as her face softens into a sympathetic expression.

“Oh,” she produces in a high-pitched voice. “That’s so nice. Was he a good cook?”

I shake my head. “Not really. That pesto was his secret ingredient that he added to everything.”

“Good choice,” she says approvingly as she takes another bite.

I didn’t really intend on watching her finish her food, but I find myself trapped now that I told her I’d stay. It might be for the best either way because I still can’t quite tell what’s going on inside that beautiful head. Her mood changes are unsettling, to say the least—as is her sudden compliance.

A few days ago, after confirming that Charlie was indeed attending a Meetup group, Riley signed herself up to attend their next meeting. I watched closely as she moved the cursor across the display, making sure she didn’t do anything to endanger our mission. She was visibly annoyed at my constant admonishing, eventually turning the keyboard my way and instructing me from a distance while I took over moving the cursor.

To be honest, I didn’t enjoy it either. Riley is a smart and resourceful girl, and I hate that I can’t trust her. I know I can’t expect anything else after what I’ve done to her, but it would make things so much easier. Fear is a more fragile bond than loyalty, no matter what Machiavelli believed.

“Thank you,” Riley mutters next to me. “I have to admit that was actually quite good.”

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