Page 2 of Marked By Blaze

Did I hear something about a kidnapping? God, maybe I should focus on that instead of getting lost in these gorgeous olive green eyes. The former should be more interesting…and concerning.It should.

“Uh, hi.” I clear my throat when it comes out a little shaky. “I’m here to see Jade. My name is Ingrid, and I’m her makeup artist here for her, um, engagement photoshoot.”

I wait for the man to point out that I am in the wrong place, but his eyes stray briefly to my case before lifting them back to mine. “What’s in the bag?”

“My kit.” I follow his eyes down to the pink suitcase I always carry with me when clients request mobile services. “Beauty stuff,” I add lamely.

“Do you have any weapons in there?”

“You mean like scissors and hairspray?” I chuckle nervously, but he doesn’t find my poor attempt at a joke funny as his face remains stoic. “No weapons. Just make up stuff.”

“I’ll have to see what you have in there.” He’s not asking, I realize.

What kind of a place is this? My boss Tiffany and I attended a fashion event with high profile celebrities, but even they were less strict than these people. So, who are these people? Who the heck did Tiffany take as a client? I’ve texted a bit with Jade, but I had no idea I would be met by such strict security. Hot security at that, but security nonetheless.

“Y-yeah, I guess you can look,” I finally say, hoping he doesn’t ask me to open it where we stand. “But please be gentle with it. There are hair and makeup products that could be damaged if mishandled.”

The man nods once. “Come with me.”

He disappears inside, and I follow him. As I step through the heavy door of the building, the atmosphere shifts dramatically. The air is thick with the scent of leather and mildly of gasoline. There is music and a low hum of conversation thatimmediately dies when we walk in. I glance around, taking in the dimly lit interior with dark wood walls adorned with vintage motorcycles and the flickering glow of neon signs. The walls are lined with photographs of men in leather perched bikes, but I don’t let my gaze linger anywhere long. I also try not to let the weight of the men’s stares bother me as I follow the giant further inside, my case rolling loudly behind me.

The giant leads me through the tables in the room to a bar, and when he turns to me, our eyes briefly lock. I feel a storm of butterflies flutter in my stomach, so I quickly drop my gaze to his chiseled jaw and that firm mouth set in a hard line. “Sit,” he says in a deep voice, and I quickly move to a stool if only to offer my weak legs some reprieve.

The man reaches for my case and lifts it onto the counter with ease, nodding for me to open it. I swiftly unlock it before moving back, ignoring the tension of the moment. Without a word, he begins to inspect the contents, carefully examining the scissors, combs, and brushes before moving to the section on the kit where I keep the makeup supplies and the nail care tools. He’s almost done with his inspection when I catch a flurry of pink from the corner of my eyes, and my attention shifts completely.

A young woman bursts onto the scene; long wavy chestnut hair blowing around her pretty face as she hurries toward us. I watch her in awe, struck by her beauty and the joy that radiates from her. I find myself patting my hair in place in an attempt to hide the left side of my face.

I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to be so pretty. To always draw attention for the right reason and not because you look like a freak. I bet it must feel great not having to worry about people looking at you with horror or pity.

The truth is, I got into the makeup industry in an attempt to fix my flaws. I’ve had the dark crescent moon birthmark on the left side of my face since birth, but I’ve never gotten used to people staring. Maybe I could look past it if that was the only flaw on my face. But my mismatched eyes, one a deep blue and the other a warm brown, also always seem to unnerve people.

Freak.

I’ve been called all sorts of names over the years, and I would be lying if I said it doesn’t get to me. The stares, the disgusted looks…

So I tried to fix them—my flaws. I caked my face with powder, but couldn’t hide the birthmark on my face. It was like a beacon, calling for everyone to see despite my best efforts. I stuck with the art to make others feel great about themselves in a way I couldn’t do for myself.

“Hey, what going on here?” the woman exclaims, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. The giant pauses, his brows furrowing slightly as he turns to her, and I would have missed the slight impatience that crosses his eyes if mine weren’t on him. She strides forward, hands on her hips, and looks between me and the man. “You don’t need to check her bag. Come on guys, this is crazy. You can’t shake down everyone who comes to see me. Not everyone is Natalie!”

Jade Purdy.

I realize she is the client I was coming to see. I begin connecting the dots. The services I’m offering today are for her engagement shoot. She and I have been chatting the past few days about the kind of look she wants. I’m surprised that I didn’t immediately recognize her from the pictures she sent me.

And this man who is so protective over her that he wants to make sure I’m not carrying any weapons must be…my client’s fiancé!

“It’s my job to know who and what comes and goes from here.” the giant says, narrowing his eyes at Jade. “No stranger gets access to the club without getting checked out first.”

Jade rolls her eyes dramatically. “Come on, Blaze, look at her. Does she look like a threat to you?”

I flush when her words shift all the attention to me, and I quickly look down, moving my hair a bit to hide my birthmark. My nerves flare with the urge to run and hide. I could always send someone back to grab my kit for me later. I’ve never once been attracted to a man, and the first time I allow myself to look—allow my gaze to linger—it’s for someone forbidden.

“Fine,” the giant concedes, stepping aside. “But I’m keeping an eye on both of you.”

Jade grins triumphantly before moving forward and hooking an arm around mine, pulling me off the bar stool. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. These guys can be intense sometimes,” she says dragging me away and leading me past a pool table. As all the men in the bar watch us, she leads me into a dimly lit hall. “I’m so freaking happy you are here, Ingrid. We’ve been talking for days, and I’ve been eager to meet you. It’s been ages since I’ve had girl company,” she says excitedly, leading me down the hall. The walls here are adorned with more photos of rugged bikers, and I question if this is a biker-themed bar or something. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the beauty salon in person. My fiancé has been a little protective lately.”

“It’s okay, we provide mobile services,” I assure her as we approach a heavy wooden door marked by years of wear and tear.

“The engagement photoshoot will be happening here at the club, so I thought why not do the makeup here as well? My fiancé graciously offered his office for this. He rarely even uses it.” She pushes open the door, and I step inside. The room is surprisingly cozy with warm lighting casting a gentle glow over the space. It’s filled with a mix of leather furniture and rustic decor, a stark contrast to the rough exterior. I spot the large desk in the corner, cluttered with papers and a few personal items.

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