Inception (The Marked Book 1)

by Bianca Scardoni

  Her boreal, aquamarine eyes diced into me before she turned her insanity on him, the vein in her forehead bulging as she assaulted him with a barrage of words I couldn’t make out.

  Holy freaking shit.

  The stench of alcohol stung my nostrils as I sat there with my mouth agape, soaked and shell-shocked. Taylor ran to my side and helped me up to my feet while the other girls lingered around in the vicinity looking wholly uncomfortable.

  “Oh my God,” cried Taylor, grabbing napkins off the table and handing them to me. “I can’t believe she just did that.”

  Neither could I. I couldn’t even speak.

  I took the napkins from her and started patting down my wet pants, trying to dry them as fast as I could as though that might erase what just happened. It so wasn’t working.

  “Let me get some more napkins,” she said and ran off in the direction of the bar.

  Still in a state of shock, I looked up around the room and realized how many people had just witnessed that. Half the room was still staring at me with wide eyes, o-shaped mouths, and slanted smiles. It was amusing to them. I was amusing. Suddenly, I knew the pain of a carnival side-show freak.

  My eyes welled up with humiliation, though the idea of crying in front of all these people after what just happened was just too much to take. I threw the wet napkins on the table and bolted for the nearest exit.

  The wind bit at my cheeks as I pushed through the doors and started down the empty street, leaving All Saints and all of its unsaintliness behind me. The crowd from earlier had all but disappeared with most of the people already inside now, probably having just bore witness to one of the worst nights of my life.

  A tear trickled down my cheek as I walked, and then a dozen more fell, and before I knew it my cheeks were soaked with the hurt and frustration of a really bad couple of months. The loss of my father, the hospital, the move, the new school—the new enemies—it was just too much to take. Something had to give.

  I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and crossed over to the other side of the street, desperate to find a main road or boulevard I could call a taxi from. I needed to put this place in a rear-view mirror. Shivering in my damp clothes, I searched up and down the stretch of barren avenue for some kind of street sign or saving grace amidst all the darkened buildings and empty warehouses. And then I saw him again.

  A faceless figure in the distance, leaning against a building with his foot kicked up behind him—nearly unrecognizable if it weren’t for that familiar blond hair and that familiar lean. There was something about him that called to me, something enigmatic, and tempting.

  Before I could work out the equation, my legs were moving themselves toward him, walking with what seemed like a mind of their own. My stride weary but considerable, each small step taking me closer and closer to him. I could feel my heart begin to pound as Trace’s warnings replayed in my head, and yet, I knew none of that mattered now. I had already made the decision to ignore all of it the moment I saw him standing there, without even making the choice.

  What did Trace know anyway? Anyone who could date someone as vile as Nikki Parker—stupid, psycho Nikki Parker—obviously didn’t have the sense of a green apple.

  Screw him. No. Screw them both.

  I walked on undeterred and resolved to meet him when a metallic blue Mustang with two white racer stripes pulled up next to me, decelerating to a steady crawl as it kept pace beside me. The sound of its powerful engine growling obscenely as it sliced through the stillness of the night.

  I stepped away cautiously as the tinted passenger-side window rolled down. His oceanic eyes were the first thing I saw.

  5. THE GOOD SON

  “Need a ride?” asked Trace, leaning over the passenger seat.

  That was the last thing I needed from him. “No thanks,” I said icily and continued walking.

  He released some pressure from the brake and let the car move forward slowly, following alongside me.

  “Come on, it’s late,” he pushed. “It’s not safe out here.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Please, just get in the car.”

  “I said no thanks!” My voice was laced with the frosty bite of a cold December night.

  “Fine. Suit yourself.”

  I walked another dozen or so steps and waited for him to drive away, but he didn’t. When I looked back at him, he was still leaning over the driver seat with his forearm relaxed over the steering wheel—watching me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Driving.”

  “I mean, why are you still here?”

  His dimples pinched, though he wasn’t smiling. “I’m seeing you home.”

  “Okay…could you not?” I said, making a face. “I’d prefer not to get run over by your girlfriend when she happens to drive by and see us.” And with my luck, no doubt that scene will be unfolding any minute now.

  “So get in the car then,” he said impatiently, looking at his watch. “She’ll be walking out of there any second.”

  I looked over my shoulder for any signs of Nikki, and then back up to the building where Dominic had been, but he was already gone. Again. The street suddenly seemed a little colder, and darker, without his luminary presence.

  Apparently, I was out of options.

  “Alright, fine,” I said as I stopped and faced him. His foot came down on the break in perfect sync. “But only because I have no idea where I am, and the thought of running into Nikki again makes me want to dry heave.”

  He nodded, his dimples pressing in as he leaned over to the passenger side and pushed open the door for me. I looked over my shoulder one more time to make sure there weren’t any witnesses, and against my better judgment, climbed in.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

  I rolled my eyes as I grabbed the seat-belt and tried to pull it across my chest. The stupid thing locked with every tug.

  “Let me get it for you,” he offered.

  “I can do it,” I insisted, pulling at it harder.

  He waited a whole three seconds before pulling my hand away. I flopped back into my seat as he slinked his right arm around my headrest and then leaned in over me with his other arm. The smell of his cologne—a sort of spicy, woodsy scent that made my stomach pinch—wrapped itself around me like an intoxicating embrace.

  I pushed back in my seat, fighting off the sudden urge to do something embarrassing, like lean in and inhale him.

  Or worse.

  He pulled the seat-belt out easily, and brought it down across my body in one sweeping motion. “There,” he said upon hearing the click.

  “I didn’t need your help.”

  “Clearly.” His face was still lingering just inches from mine, his gripping blue eyes grazing over the edges of my face—studying me.

  “You probably have it rigged so you can like put the moves on girls or something,” I said, feeling flustered.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “As if I even—” My retort quickly died in the back of my throat as his eyes dropped down to my lips and settled there, making my breath hitch.

  Damn, he was close.

  Too. Close.

  Apparently he thought so too, evidenced by his clenched jaw and hasty return to his own seat. Within seconds, he threw the car in gear and then barreled off down the darkened street, the engine droning as he pushed down harder on the pedal.

  I turned my attention outside the passenger window and worked on steadying my breathing.

  “Sorry about what happened back there,” he said after a few beats of silence. His eyes mapped my body as though he were looking for battle wounds. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh yeah, totally. Best night of my life.”

  I had somehow managed to acquire an enemy and an assault, all in one night—without even trying. One could only imagine what I might accomplish if I put forth the effort.

  On the plus side, at least she only assaulted me with liquids and no
t her fist.

  “I tried to tell you,” he said complacently.

  “Tell me what?” I glared at him. “That your crazy girlfriend was about to attack me out of nowhere for standing beside you? No. I don’t think you tried to tell me that.”

  “I guess not.” It sounded as though he were smiling through the words, but I kept my eyes fixed outside my window out of fear that I might sock him if I caught him laughing.

  “Anyway, she’s my ex,” he corrected. His tone was so low I wasn’t even sure he believed it himself. “We’re not together.”

  “Did anyone tell her that?”

  He didn’t look at me when he answered, “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I grumbled, patting down my whiskey stained jeans, certain that I didn’t want to be a part of it.

  There was no doubt in my mind that there was unfinished business between the two of them. That much I knew. What I didn’t know was how I factored into it. Why had she felt so threatened by something as trivial as a conversation between two people? Surely I wasn’t the first girl to speak to her boyfriend (ex or otherwise). Did she go around assaulting everyone who spoke to him or was that just for my benefit?

  Something felt off about it.

  And now he was driving me home, which probably wasn’t going to go over very well with the ice queen. I could only imagine the various shades of horror on Nikki’s face if she got wind of this. He was taking a major risk by giving me a ride. I couldn’t help but wonder—

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” he asked without looking.

  “After everything that happened tonight, why did you follow me out and offer to drive me home?”

  He hesitated to answer as though he were asking himself the same exact question. “I’m not going to just let you walk home by yourself,” he said finally, almost annoyed by it. “You don’t even know where you are.”

  Fair enough. “But what’s it to you?”

  “It’s nothing to me,” he said icily, his eyes flicking to me as he shifted gears. “I just like having a clear conscience.”

  “And driving me home accomplishes that for you?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “Because…?” I said, pushing for him to elaborate.

  He sighed loudly as though I were grating on his patience. “Because you’d get home in one piece and after what happened tonight, I figure it’s the least I could do, okay?”

  Oh, swell. He felt guilty for what happened at the bar with Nikki so this was his redemption ride (or pity ride), though I refused to entertain the latter thought.

  I turned back to the window. “Whatever helps you sleep.”

  After a few minutes of silence, he turned to me with a strange look in his eyes and said, “You really should try to stay away from all that.”

  “All of what? All Saints?”

  “All Saints, Nikki and them. All of it.”

  Ugh. Not this again. “What is it with you? First you tell me to stay away from that guy and then refuse to give me a reason, and now I’m supposed to stay away from the entire bar and everyone in it? Why don’t you just write me a freaking list and tell me exactly who I can be friends with? I’m sure it’ll be much easier to keep up with.”

  He scoffed. “Believe me, I would have already done it if I thought for one second you’d actually follow it,” he said and then glanced over at me, looking me up and down. “But something tells me you don’t follow orders very well.”

  I felt the heated prickle of anger lick my skin, though I refused to give him the satisfaction of responding.

  On second thought, “Get bent.”

  I went to bed aggravated that night, and didn’t wake up any better the next morning.

  The sun was working overtime trying to break through the morning clouds, giving every indication that today would be a buoyant day, only I didn’t feel that way inside. Inside I felt tired and achy, like my bones had been grating themselves against the rigid concrete all night as I slept unsuspectingly.

  My uncle was already seated in his usual spot at the kitchen table, busying himself with the week-end paper by the time I strolled downstairs. He looked up to examine me as I plopped down into the chair across from him.

  “You look terrible,” he noted, pulling off his reading glasses. His dark hair glossed back in the dull morning light.

  “Thanks,” I said and buried my head deep into the crux of my arm. Alas, my ego was still safe from over-inflation. “I think I’m fighting off a bug or something.”

  “Oh?” he asked thoughtfully. “What sort of bug?”

  “I don’t know, just regular flu stuff, I guess. Tired and achy. It sort of comes and goes.”

  “Interesting.”

  I lifted my eyes to meet his. “I guess?”

  “So, what do you have planned today?” He picked up the newspaper from the table and smoothed it out.

  “Nothing really.”

  He blinked disapprovingly.

  “I don’t know anyone around here,” I defended.

  “What about your school friends from last night?”

  I groaned and buried my head again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Very well.” He continued after a drawn-out pause, “I’ve been thinking that it might be a good idea for you to get a part-time job while you’re here.”

  My head whipped up at the sudden barrage of odious words. “A job?” I squeaked, my eyes wide with repulsion.

  “Yes,” he said, stifling a laugh. “You could use the job experience, I’m sure, and it’s a good way to meet new people and develop some financial independence. What do you say?”

  What I wanted to say was hell no! But what choice did I really have here? I was living under his roof, on his dime. If he wanted me to get a job, I was pretty much getting a job.

  “Sure, I guess so,” I said with all the excitement of a deflated balloon.

  “Wonderful.” He was obviously unfazed by my own lack of enthusiasm. “I already have something lined up for you—a favor from a friend.”

  “A favor?” Was I so unmarketable that he actually had to call in a favor for me? The thought depressed me.

  “Here’s the address,” he said as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it over to me. “Henry will drive you over as soon as you’re ready.”

  Right. Because getting chauffeured to work falls right in with that real-world job experience he was talking about.

  Not even an hour later, I was in the back of the town car, pulling up to a vaguely familiar building. Trails of fog slithered into the car as I rolled down my window to get a better look. All Saints, the scene of last night’s crime. It looked different in the light of day sans the flashing lights and people and the intimidating bouncer out front.

  “This has to be a mistake,” I said, bemused.

  “I don’t believe so,” replied Henry. “Mr. Blackburn gave me the instructions himself,” he said and then exited the vehicle. He walked around the perimeter of the car and opened my door for me. “It’s a fine place to work, Miss Blackburn. I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of here.”

  “Jemma,” I corrected absentmindedly as I stepped out of the car, staring up at the structure. “Thanks, Henry.” It came out like an afterthought.

  “Have a good day, Miss...Jemma.”

  “You too, Henry.”

  I walked in through the unmanned doors, cautious and weary of my surroundings as though I were expecting Nikki to pop out of the shadows and assault me with a coke bottle. I immediately noted how strange the place looked in the light of day. It was freakishly dim inside, hollow of any natural light or souls that might help fill up the palpable void. The place just felt eerie to me, and way too quiet.

  I was about to make a run for it when I noticed some movement over at the bar from my peripheral. Someone was there, bent down, stacking glasses and setting up.

  “Excuse me,” I called out as I wa
lked over.

  “Yeah,” he answered casually before straightening out. “What can I do—”

  My mouth unhinged.

  Trace Macarthur stared back at me, wearing an employee T-shirt and an unmistakable look of shock on his face. One that happened to match my own perfectly.

  6. UNINVITED

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, confused.

  Please don’t say you work here. PLEASE don’t say you work here. PLEASE DON’T—

  “I work here,” he said, wiping his hands on the white dish rag as he came around the bar. “My dad owns the place.”

  “Your dad owns All Saints?

  “Yeah.”

  “As in, your dad’s the boss here?”

  “Yeah.” He furrowed his brow. “What are you doing here?”

  There was only one reasonable thing to do here: lie and get the heck out. And I was just about to do that when—

  “Jemma Blackburn, I presume?”

  I looked up to see a tall, polished man approaching us. He had a full head of dark wavy hair and a pair of striking blue eyes that I immediately recognized. Trace’s father, no doubt.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” His smile had the same appealing shape as Trace’s, minus the dimples. “Your uncle Karl’s told me so much about you,” he informed and then held out his hand to me. “Peter Macarthur. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  I forced a smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  “What is this?” asked Trace, ticking his chin at me as he crossed his arms over his husky chest.

  Peter smiled at him as he placed his hand on the back of his neck—a gesture that Trace promptly shook off. There was definitely something clambering beneath the surface between the two of them. Some sort of unspoken divide. “Meet our new waitress.”

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  Trace’s eyes bounced from his father to me and then back again. “You hired her?” he asked incredulously.

  “I did.”

  “She’s not working here.” A darkness washed through Trace’s eyes—something akin to fury.