Teller (Tarnished Souls MC Book 4)

by Dusty Lassetter

  “While you are getting ready, I am going to slink around the halls and convince someone to start a commotion.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” I inquire while gathering my hair in both my hands. Leaning over, to make it easier for me to place it exactly where I want, I can’t see the look on her face as she answers.

  “Trevor has been following me around, begging for attention. I could have him running naked down the halls with just a simple wink in his direction.”

  Still bent over, I turn my head just in time to see Zoey’s feet walk through the doorway before disappearing altogether. I know my time is limited, and I’ll need to be all set to go when she returns, so I rush around the room getting ready. It’s nights like this one that I find a genuine smile pulling at my lips instead of the many forced ones I’ve used on my therapist. Zoey’s flamboyant outlook on life is contagious, and I often find myself in a better mood when she is around.

  Finally finished, I gather up the courage to peek across the hall when I hear a commotion that is growing in size, and instantly regret it. Trevor, the boy Zoey claims would do anything for her, is running down the hall in his whity-tighty underwear, twisting his white cotton shirt around his head making helicopter noises. His pace seems a little slow considering he has three nurses running after him, but there is no sign of regret or apprehension in his eyes.

  “Mr. Brown, you need to stop.” One of the night nurses begins to shout in a mediocre attempt to stop her patient from acting like a loon. Trevor’s smile only grows larger, before picking up speed in both his feet and swinging motion.

  “Whop, whop, whop,” Trevor replies, continuing to mimic a helicopter the best way he knows how.

  I find the scene to be very entertaining and embarrassing at the same time. It’s hard to explain why I’m still watching my fellow housemate humiliate himself, but here I am, feet rooted to the floor, my eyes taking in everything that is happening. As Trevor gets closer to the doorway I’m peering around, I notice that more girls have come out of their rooms, most of them are smiling, but a select few have a look of annoyance on their face. I can’t say I blame those who are irritated. We basically live in a mental institute, so peace and quiet doesn’t come easy around here.

  Deciding I’ve seen more than enough of Trevor’s bare skin, I walk back to the window to see if the fireworks have started. I’m a bit disappointed when I don’t see colorful balls of fire exploding across the sky, but it’s short-lived when Zoey comes prancing back into our room.

  “That was almost too easy,” she brags.

  “I don’t know whether to admire you, or to be scared of you,” I honestly reply.

  “I’ll be okay with either,” she jokes, throwing in a wink as further evidence of her playful banter.

  “Is the coast clear?” I question instead of engaging her with more talk of her wickedness.

  “Of course it is, and we won’t get caught as long as you keep that head full of reflecting strands hidden.”

  With that said, I allow her to lead us from the room and down the hall Travis was just using as his personal helicopter pad. We manage to avoid the multiple camera lenses placed strategically throughout the building. Just as we are about to exit out of one of the broken windows in the cafeteria, a shadowed figure on the opposite wall captures my attention. The speed at which it moved has me debating internally on whether I am hallucinating, or actually seeing this familiar shadow man again.

  “Did you see that?” I ask Zoey, hoping I don’t sound like a paranoid freak.

  “The only thing I see is salvation on the other side of this glass. Now help me remove some of these loose bars.”

  I tell myself to shake off the feeling that someone is watching us, and start helping Zoey detach some of the bars that have been loosened by rebels such as ourselves. With three of the metal rods removed, we can strategically fit through the space that is provided.

  Once finished, Zoey takes a step back and gestures for me to go first. Instead of arguing that she was the one that came up with this wonderful plan, and should be the one to go first, I glance toward the wall I had seen the shadow flash by. For whatever reason, I can’t shake this feeling of being watched, and my instincts tell me that my eyes aren’t seeing things. Someone, or something, has been following me for quite some time. This is not the first time I’ve noticed them. I’ve kept their presence a secret because people would just claim it was another side effect to my mental breakdown.

  “What are you staring at?” Zoey inquires, her voice prying me from the memories that were taking root in the forefront of my mind. Shaking my head to clear it of the past I start to wiggle my way through the second-story window that will lead me to a staggered-tiled roof, fresh air, and a night sky that will help me forget, if only for a little while, the nightmare my life has become.

  *Two*

  Ember

  Breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day to ninety percent of the world, yet I am practically dragged to the cafeteria every morning by the institution’s aides. I hate to wake up early, and anything before noon is considered early to me. Don’t these timely people know that a seventeen-year-old girl needs her beauty sleep. As if it’s not difficult enough to wake up and try to reign in all this wild and loose hair. Now, I have to worry about the black as night bags weighing down my eyes, and I hate having to use the same ridiculous amount of eye drops to get rid of the bloodshot lines that make me look stoned.

  “Cheer up buttercup, they made your favorite,” Zoey, the silver lining queen, says as she plops down on an empty bench across the table from mine. I was quietly resting my head on the hard surface of the wood, but now my time for sneaking sleep is over.

  “Pancakes,” I mumble trying to get my brain on the same page as my taste buds. My stomach desperately wants the fluffy goodness that is my favorite food, but my tired body is refusing to give up its post on this uncomfortable bench seat.

  “Here.” Zoey states, sliding me a plate stacked with five of the roundest flapjacks a girl has ever seen.

  “You’re amazing,” I barely get out before tearing into my food like a starved puppy that just got his first taste of a rib. An image of me growling and snapping at anyone brave enough to come between me and my salivation enters my head. The ridiculous impression causes me to smile as I swallow down my first mouthful.

  “Slow down before you choke,” Zoey chastises me.

  I glance over at her to make sure she sees the classic “screw you” look I’ve mastered over the years, when my eyes are immediately seized by an unknown male sitting two tables down. His emerald-green irises shine so bright it’s impossible not to notice the direction they are looking in. This extremely sexy being is watching me like a child would a baby gorilla in the zoo; with a look of excitement.

  “Zoey,” I mumble out of the side of my mouth, trying to get her attention but unable to look away from the stranger.

  “What,” she immediately replies. I opt out of saying anything else. Instead, I give her an expression that tell her to follow my eyes. While my brain knows Mr. Emerald is too far away to hear anything being said, I can’t shake the feeling that he would still somehow know.

  “You may want to wipe the drool off the side of your mouth before that tall, dark, and handsome stranger sees it,” Zoey singsongs.

  “Who is he?” I ask.

  “Not sure,” she responds while waving her hand in front of my face. “But I do know it’s not polite to stare. “

  Her gesture works to break the spell he seemingly has me under, and I’m finally able to focus on something other than his look of delight. When my eyes finally meet hers, I notice that Zoey is more focused on the movement of my hands. During that bizarre stare down, I had dropped my fork to start rubbing across the birthmark that sits on the inside of my left wrist. Now that my concentration is back to normal, I can’t help noticing the warm sensation that has suddenly appeared.

  My parents always told me I should feel speci
al having such a unique birthmark, but the full circle shape with a tiny crescent moon in the middle makes me feel more like a freak. It’s not the pattern. It’s because the mark itself is elevated off my skin. Anyone could easily run their finger over it to feel the outline. Following Zoey’s stare, I quickly cup my hand over the usually white pattern that is now a light shade of red. I force myself not to panic over the fact that my skin is glowing, with heat radiating off it, before looking back toward my new friend.

  “It’s a birthmark,” I find myself explaining to Zoey before she can ask. Usually, people don’t question me because they can tell I don’t want to discuss it with the tone of voice I use, but not my no boundaries friend.

  “So, you were born with it?”

  “That’s typically what birthmark means.” I answer, unintentionally getting snippy with her because I’m a little weirded out that my wrist is turning into a beaming work of art.

  “A full circle with a moon in the middle. That’s an odd birthmark,” she states, but her tone is hinting that what she really wants is a conformation on the shape. Why isn’t she asking about the change of the color. It’s like my skin has a built-in mood ring.

  “Mmm, yeah,” I finally get out, trying to piece together why the design is so important to her. Typically, anyone that would see a birthmark change color before their eyes would be more interested in that, right?

  “Did your parents ever mention anyone in your family having the same mark? Like someone in your immediate family?”

  I get a sense that this conversation has now switched to an interrogation, which makes me feel completely uncomfortable. Moving to stand up, Zoey reaches out, and quickly captures my elbow before I can make my exit. I have no intention on answering het questions so I find it easy to shrug off her touch.

  “I’m going back to bed,” I mumble.

  I can see the apology in her eyes as she nods her head in understanding. Walking away from the table I try to process the events of the morning. A stranger’s stare, who would rank eleven on the hotness wheel that’s scaled from one to ten, turned my amazing breakfast into a nightmare of sorts. I will no longer feel completely comfortable around Zoey because her reaction was almost as bad as his look of worship, and now I’ll not be able to do anything other than obsess over the weirdness of the situation. Separating my fingers just wide enough to see some of my birthmark, most of my anxiety is clamed when I see the strange red tint has disappeared. Maybe I was just seeing things? Perhaps, my crazy mind is starting to plat tricks on me again.

  **********

  Later in the day, I wake up at my usual time seemingly in a better mood than I was earlier in the day. As I’m brushing the tangles from my long hair I start to regret not eating the pancakes from this morning. My stomach starts to protest while growling out its displeasure. Leaving me no choice but to walk down to the cafeteria for lunch. There is a part of me that absolutely doesn’t want to go. Not only did I embarrass myself this morning with the few bites of flapjacks I ate. I also got snippy with the only friend I have within these walls.

  Unsurprisingly, the halls are empty except the few warm bodies that have strayed from the pack and decided not to eat lunch. Usually, the staff will force everyone to be in the cafeteria at meal times, but there are few crazies that like to break the rules. Turning the last corner that will lead me to the oversized cafeteria doors I come to a sudden stop when I see Zoey standing beside the unknown male from breakfast. There is plenty of distance between the two, which for reasons I can’t explain eases my mind, but their conversation seems to be pretty heated for her to have claimed to not have known him earlier. Seconds tick by before his steely emerald eyes shot towards mine. The furrow of his brow, and sudden downward motion of his lips sends a jolt of sadness rushing through my censors. Call me crazy, but the longer I stare at his frown the more upset I become. It’s like my emotions are somehow connected to his in more than just your typical empathy.

  It isn’t until he attempts to take a step toward me, only to stop mid-step, that Zoey turns around. I give her a fleeting look. Not because I’m angry. It’s simply due to the fact that I can’t take my eyes from the stranger before me. Touching the inside of my wrist I notice that my birthmark is once again radiating heat, and even though I can’t force myself to look down I would bet it’s the same shade of red as this morning.

  Zoey looks up toward the sexy newcomer as he leans in to tell her something. Instead of returning his full focus back to my friend he continues to stare at me. It’s in his stare that I start to get a sense of familiarity. There is a deep-rooted feeling in my soul that is telling me this boy means something special to me. It’s crazy, insane, and completely impossible. Yet, it’s there.

  Zoey is still shaking her head in agreeance when she turns around to start walking in my direction, but she wisely stays out of my line of sight. It’s like she somehow knows there is a magical pull happening right now and she doesn’t want to interrupt its process. I can see her form getting closer, and just before she’s standing right at my side the sexy stranger gives me a small smile before turning his back to me.

  “Ember,” Zoey states capturing my attention. “It’s nice to see you awake with the rest of the living. Let’s go get some lunch. I’m starved.”

  “What was that?” I question, hoping she will be able to explain the entire situation to me. I’m not just talking about her conversation with emerald eyes, I’m referring to the pull I feel toward him, and the emotional attachment I seem to share with him.

  “I was just trying to get the low down on the new guy. His name is Madoc by the way. Not much of a talker.”

  Madoc. The name fits him perfectly. He must be at least six-two, two-hundred and ninety pounds of lean muscle, with a distinct jawline and nose. Madoc is a tough name, and the one thing that springs to my mind when I see him is strength.

  “Your conversation seemed a little bit theatrical for you to only have gotten his name.”

  “You know how I get sometimes,” she replies without going into any more detail which is unusual for her. Zoey is anything but brief, and I find that it’s hard not to question whether she is telling me the entire truth. I don’t know why she would see any reason to lie to me about a stranger I’ve never met, but it’s a gut feeling I will have to lock away in the recesses of my mind for right now.

  “What are they serving us today?” I ask the question trying to change the subject because I’m just too hungry to process everything right now. Zoey’s demeanor instantly changes. Intertwining her elbow with mine, she starts to get the prance back in her step back.

  “I think it’s taco salad,” she says with a giant grin on her face. If there is one thing I know for sure about this girl, it’s her love for Mexican food.

  “You’ve already eaten one haven’t you.” It’s not meant to be a question, because there is no doubt in my mind she already has.

  “You know me so well,” Zoey singsongs, stepping across the threshold of the room we were seeking. Gathering up our trays with the taco shell bowls already waiting in them, we continue toward the table her and I always sit at. This place is much like a high school in the sense that people mingle with their clicks, and the tables in the cafeteria are all self-assigned to each group.

  Removing the plastic wrap from my spoon, yes, I said spoon because forks are too dangerous to be trusted to us loonies, I begin to mix the ingredients inside my edible bowl. Frustrated that there is so much more lettuce than meat I grab the extra taco sauce that will surely be needed.

  “So, did you learn anything else about Madoc?” Hearing his name come from my lips is enough to cause a small grin to form on my face. I can sense that Zoey wants to go extreme girl on me right now and tease me about my noticeable interest. Thankfully, she doesn’t, but I can sense that it’s taking everything she has not to.

  “No. Like I said before, trying to get that boy to talk was like pulling teeth from a hungry lion’s mouth. He seemed to be way too serio
us for his age.”

  “How old is he?” I ask, thinking she at least got some type of scope on him.

  “I don’t know, but he can’t be older than eighteen. This is a juvenile facility, remember?”

  I don’t bother replying because I’ve already made myself look pathetic. Had I been thinking about something other than getting intel I would have put two and two together. If I had to guess I would say he was very lucky to get into a juvenile facility because he looks to be right on that line of adulthood. Regardless of his age, there is one thing I can’t deny. Madoc is someone I want to get to know, whether I need to or not.

  *Three*

  Ember

  Two weeks of awkward stares, uncontrollable tingling sensations, and restless nights is all it takes for me to finally come unhinged. Deep in my core, in my being, I want to know everything I can find out about Madoc. For instance, his last name, the reason he is here, why he keeps watching me like I am a lab rat that can’t find the cheese, and why him and Zoey are always talking when they believe I’m not around.

  I’ve been shadowing the only other person I see Madoc talk to and regrettably it happens to be Trevor. Once a day he meets with him just outside what I can only assume is Madoc’s room. They exchange a few words then Trevor takes something from his hand before making his exit.

  “Trevor,” the sound of my voice echoing off the walls brings his forward motion to an immediate stop. I take up a faster pace to catch up to him as he patiently waits for me.

  “Yessss.” he says, making the same noise a talking snake would in some cartoon movie. Trevor is as unusual as they come. I feel sorry for the therapist who has to open up that can of worms.

  “I’ve noticed that you’ve been hanging out with the new guy,” I begin to nonchalantly tangle him into my web. “I’ve also noticed Zoey has been keeping him company as well.”