Inception (The Marked Book 1)

by Bianca Scardoni

  Okay. Wow. That was rude.

  “Well, no, not yet,” smiled Peter, unfazed. “But she will be.” Before Trace could object again, Peter quickly cut him off. “This isn’t your call to make, son. It’s done.”

  An angry choke rumbled from Trace’s throat as he chucked the rag onto the table and took off in the other direction, leaving a gust of wind in his absence, and a bitter taste in my mouth.

  What a freaking jerk! I thought as I fought off the urge to run after him and slap him in the back of the head.

  “Please excuse him,” said Peter apologetically. “It’s been a difficult year for him. For all of us. We haven’t been the same since the death of his sister.”

  His sister? “Oh. I didn’t realize…” A familiar, leaden feeling washed over me, diluting the anger I had built up for him into a pool of nothingness. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded curtly. “Well,” he forced a smile, eager to redirect the conversation back to business. “This is All Saints: good food, good drinks, good music.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  He wore his pride like a fine Italian suit. “Have you been here before?”

  “Just once. Last night actually.”

  “And did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Oh my God, yeah. I had an amazing time,” I said, lying through my teeth. I mean, really? What else was I supposed to say? He was my future boss, and my uncle’s friend. And besides, I had grown far too good at telling people what they wanted to hear to stop now.

  After a few more minutes of idle chit-chat, Mr. Macarthur took me on a tour of the place, starting with the employees only area on the other side of the black double doors.

  “This is where all the magic happens,” he smiled, extending his arm around the pristine silver kitchen. “That’s Sawyer, our head cook,” he continued, motioning to a man with brown eyes and matching long brown hair secured under a bandana.

  I waved awkwardly at him. He smiled back.

  “The kitchen’s open from Noon until nine p.m., seven days a week,” he explained. “After that, we only serve sides.”

  He followed up with a brief introduction into the comings and goings of the kitchen, like how to give an order in and where to pick it up once it was ready.

  The tour continued down the adjoining corridor.

  “This is the main office,” he said pointing into the medium-sized room that had a messy desk, filing cabinets and scattered chairs. He introduced me to the red-haired, petite-in-stature Manager, April Demarco, who made a brief appearance before hurrying off to tend to some disaster in the lady’s washroom.

  The last stop in the tour was the employee bathroom and the storeroom. I poked my head into the latter.

  “It’s your standard stock room. It’s got all your napkins, salt, ketchup, and all that other good stuff. Just remember, whatever leaves this room has to be marked here,” he said and pointed to an inventory clipboard hanging on the wall. “They’ll explain all of this once your official training starts.”

  I nodded and smiled even though I wasn’t entirely sure I was looking forward to all these mundane tasks. I’d been on kitchen duty back at the hospital and nearly expired from utter boredom.

  Thirty minutes later, the tour was over and we were back in the main hall, which had now filled up with the lunch crowd. We sat down at one of the corner tables to fill out some forms.

  “You can start right away,” he offered. “A few hours after school, and alternating week-ends.”

  “That works for me.”

  “It’s pretty quiet during the week days so you’re more than welcome to do your school work here in between service. You certainly wouldn’t be the only one.”

  That was a definite plus. I smiled.

  “Looks like we’re all set,” he said rising from the table and holding out his hand again. “It was wonderful meeting you, my dear. I’m glad to have you with us.”

  “Thanks for the opportunity. I’ll try not to disappoint.”

  “We’re all rooting for your success here,” he nodded. “Just leave the forms in the office when you’re done, and you can start training with the assistant manager right away.”

  I nodded once and returned to my form before my head popped up with an afterthought. “Mr. Macarthur,” I called after him as he walked away. “Who would the assistant manager be?”

  He flashed an even row of gleaming teeth. “That would be my son, Trace, of course.”

  Of course. Who else would it be?

  After dropping off the forms in the main office, I asked Sawyer, the twenty-something year old cook, where I could find the assistant manager and was kindly directed to the ladies washroom, where Trace was moonlighting as a plumber.

  I walked in and found him spread out across the floor with his head under the sink and a wrench in his hand. It was a pretty good look for him, though I tried not to notice. He looked up at me and ticked his head once, as if to say, ‘what do you want?’ without actually saying the words.

  “Look, if you don’t want me here, just say the word and I’m gone,” I said, crossing my arms. “I don’t want this stupid job anyway. I’m just trying to keep my uncle off my back.”

  He sat up, wiping the thin veil of sweat from his forehead. I noticed his arms and neck had the same coating and was generously highlighting his muscles. Nice, defined muscles—

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, rising to his feet. He pulled up the edge of his shirt and wiped his face with it, revealing all sorts of hidden things like a ripped stomach and this v-shaped groove that started around his hips and moved all the way down, disappearing below the hem of his jeans. “If it’s not this, they’ll just find something else.”

  It was all I could do to keep from reaching forward and tracing the deep ridges with my finger. I barely managed to tear my eyes away in time when his shirt came back down.

  Now, what the heck was he going on about?

  I looked at him with a blank stare.

  “You can stay,” he said finally, over-pronouncing each word as though I were hard of hearing.

  It wasn’t my ears I was having a hard time controlling.

  “Right,” I nodded rapidly, trying to erase the image of his bare abdomen from my mind like a real-life Etch A Sketch. “So, I guess I’ll need some training?”

  “And a uniform,” he said, as he picked up his toolkit from the counter and walked out past me.

  And maybe a bucket of ice.

  I followed him back to the main office where he opened up a storage cabinet and then turned to me. His eyes surfed over my body. I crossed my arms over my chest, all modest, even though I had just assaulted him with my own eyes not two minutes ago.

  “You look like a small,” he said and then handed me a white T-shirt with the black logo on the upper-right corner.

  I unfolded it and spread it across my chest, sizing it up. “It looks tight.”

  “It’s supposed to be,” he said wryly. “You can change in here. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  As soon as the door shut, I pulled off my top and exchanged it for the too-small T-shirt. It really was tight, and didn’t leave much of anything to the imagination. I wondered if I should insist on a medium as I eyed myself in the wall mirror.

  I decided that I would, and pulled open the office door. Trace was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and his head cocked to the side.

  His arresting blues lit up as he looked me over.

  “I think I need a medium.”

  He slanted a smile. “I think so too.”

  I had anticipated spending the rest of the afternoon following Trace around and getting familiarized with my job, so I was rather surprised when he unexpectedly passed me off to Zane Brenner, the head bartender, instead. Apparently, Trace was less than willing to spend any time with me, training me or otherwise. In fact, he seemed to have a real aversion to it.

  Luckily, Zane didn’t seem to mind me, or the added t
ask of having to show me the ins and outs while serving his own customers at the bar. Between his wry humor, and friendly nature, he was easily the most-likeable employee at All Saints.

  The evening wore on quickly, and before I knew it, the place was filled up with customers, giving me ample opportunity to put my training into practice. I even got a chance to wait on a few tables by myself when the manager, April, and another waitress got held up with a shipment crisis at the back.

  The job was easy enough and I got the hang of it fairly quickly, though my feet were singing an entirely different tune halfway through my shift.

  Taylor and Ben showed up just after dinner as a fresh crowd of younger people began to arrive. It was Saturday night and All Saints appeared to be everyone’s favorite place. Or maybe it was the only place in town, I still wasn’t sure yet.

  “So, do I get a ‘friends and family’ discount now that you’re working here?” asked Taylor, fully amused with the revelation. She hopped up one of the bar stools.

  “I don’t need a discount,” said Ben, without looking up from the menu he was browsing. “But I’ll pay you an asinine amount of money if you can get us some beer in here.”

  “Let me think about that…um, no.”

  “Why not?” he laughed.

  “I don’t know, maybe because of this little thing called the law? Ever heard of it?” Apparently, I was really big on it.

  “My father’s a prosecutor,” he said with a bratty smile. “Not only have I heard of it, I drink to it whenever I can.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at his backwards logic.

  “Just ignore him,” instructed Taylor. “He’s inept.”

  “That’s not what you were saying on the way over here,” replied Ben as he rose from his seat and tweaked his eyebrows.

  “You. Freaking. Wish.”

  Grinning wildly, he moved to poke her side, but she slapped his hand away before he could make contact. He didn’t seem the least bit phased by it as he walked off to the restrooms, and even though she rolled her eyes at him, I definitely noticed her stare lingering a good while longer than it needed to.

  When she turned back to me, her expression was weighty. “I was worried about you yesterday.”

  “Sorry about taking off like that,” I said, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “I had to get out of there.”

  “I don’t blame you. Nikki was completely out of her mind. I still can’t believe she did that,” she said shaking her head. “It’s too bad you didn’t stick around though, Trace cut her down in front of everyone.”

  “He did?” My interest suddenly peeked.

  “She deserved it too,” she said unsympathetically. “I mean, who does that anyway?”

  Psycho ex-girlfriends who forget to take their meds, that’s who. “I just want to forget the whole thing.” It happened, it sucked, and I’ve accepted it. I had no intention of reliving the events over and over again. I had enough real-life nightmares to contend with.

  “I hear you, babe. So how’s it been working with Trace anyway?” she asked. “Is it majorly awkward?”

  “Not really,” I shrugged. “I’ve hardly seen him tonight.” That part was the truth. He had made himself incredibly scarce all evening, and I had the nagging suspicion I was the reason.

  She laughed. “No kidding. That’s what you get when daddy owns—” She stopped abruptly, softening her tone. “Hey, you!”

  I turned around to see Trace walking up behind us.

  “What’s up, Taylor,” he greeted her casually. “Where’s Ben?”

  “Manning his porcelain throne.”

  “Thanks for the visual,” he said looking around, distracted. “What are you up to?” he asked her almost mechanically.

  “Just talking shop with my girl,” she smiled big at me and then back at him. “You came up a few times.”

  “Yeah?”

  My eyes bulged. What the heck was she doing? The last thing I wanted was him thinking I cared enough to discuss him.

  “Only good things,” she added.

  I turned away in an effort to hide my enflamed cheeks.

  He shifted uncomfortably. “You should get back to work.”

  “You got it.” I circled on the heel of my foot and was just about to high-tale it out of there when Taylor called out.

  “Wait! I haven’t ordered yet.”

  Oops. I turned back around embarrassed, pulling my pen and pad out from my black apron as I returned to the table.

  “What can I get you?”

  She grinned from ear to ear. She was seriously enjoying this way too much. “Let’s go with Buffalo wings, and a pitcher of Root beer.”

  “Spicy or regular?”

  “Spicy, of course.” She gave me an open-mouth wink.

  “Be right back with that.”

  “You’re doing great,” she cheered as I headed into the kitchen to place her order. “Keep up the great work!”

  No doubt all of B.C. heard her on that last one.

  By Eleven o’clock, the place was packed wall-to-wall. It looked like every soul in town had managed to find their way over to All Saints, and shockingly, no one seemed to mind the crammed personal quarters or the lack of quality oxygen. The live band was just starting in on their first set when the main lights dimmed down, and the dance floor filled up to capacity. Everyone appeared to have caught that Saturday night fever, and even I couldn’t help but smile from the sidelines as I looked on with my serving tray tucked under my arm.

  To my dismay, Nikki eventually showed up and spent the better part of the night determined to get back into Trace’s good grace. I watched as she followed him around the place like a lost dog, hovering all around, nuzzling up to him, and batting her apologetic lashes that looked even faker than the synthetic hair extensions she had on her head.

  As sickening as it was to watch, at least she was focused on him tonight, and not me.

  Aside from that minor gripe, the job was going relatively well, and certainly a whole lot better than I had anticipated it would go. I even got into a decent rhythm of service and actually found myself enjoying the distraction, and even though I messed up an order that night, according to April, it was far better than the four she messed up on her first night.

  I was on my way back to the kitchen to pick up that very order when a hefty man in his late twenties grabbed my arm and stopped me as I tried to pass by his table.

  “Look it, Jasper, fresh meat.” He was speaking to his lanky friend, but he kept his beady eyes on me.

  “Can I get you something?” I said, roughly shaking my arm free from his sweaty palm.

  “Sure. What are you selling?”

  “Excuse me?” Everything about him screamed creep, from his crooked teeth to the dark glint in his narrow little eyes.

  He laughed hoarsely. “You heard me, sugar, let’s hear your specials,” he said and stroked the top of my thigh.

  I may have been new here, but I knew enough to know his hand didn’t belong there.

  “Get your hands off me,” I said in my most aggressive voice, then took a nervous step back. I imagined I wasn’t all that intimating to a man his size, but I would sure as hell still try.

  “Take it easy,” he said as he grabbed out at me again.

  I smacked his hand away and swallowed hard as he rose up from his seat, belligerent in every way.

  Crap. This was bad, really bad.

  My mind raced as I anticipated what he was going to do next or how I was going to handle it, though none of it had a chance to come to fruition.

  A dark figure appeared out of nowhere, abruptly pushing the aggressive man back into his chair. He was leaning down over him now with his face square up against his, and was saying something, though only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

  I contemplated getting in closer to get a better view, or possibly running for cover somewhere out the back, but by the time the thought finished, the mystery man was already upright and taking a step back int
o view, adjusting the flaps of his black overcoat as though nothing had happened.

  It was Dominic Huntington—unmistakably.

  7. UP CLOSE and IMPERSONAL

  I watched in wonder as the formerly aggressive patron stood up from his chair and lowered his eyes to the ground, repentant, as though he had just sinned in the house of God and was begging for forgiveness. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, at what I had just witnessed. The stark change. It was surreal.

  “I’m very s-sorry, miss. Please excuse my rude behavior this evening,” he said, and then turned to Dominic for some sort of sign of approval.

  Dominic gave him a slight nod and with that the man rushed out of the bar without even bothering to wait for his friend—Jasper, the lanky one—who got up shortly after, confusion draped over his face, and followed him out of the bar.

  It was the darnedest thing.

  I veered my eyes back to Dominic to thank him for stepping in like he had, though I immediately lost my train of thought as I took in the man before me.

  He was even more stunning up close, dangerously so, with dark, penetrating eyes and smooth skin that seemed to glow in the otherwise unforgiving light. He smiled back at me; a sexy, crooked grin that conspired with the soft curves of his face to make every attribute a contrasting feat—alluring and menacing all at the same time.

  “I-I—” I had apparently lost my ability to speak.

  His lips curved up, pleased by this reaction. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said and sat down at the now-empty table, his silky voice reverberating through my skin like the pulsation of my favorite song.

  “Dominic Huntington.” He held out his hand modestly, coaxing me to come closer to him.

  I practically jumped at the chance to touch him. “Jemma Blackburn,” I said, overly perky.

  His hand was silky and soft, cool to the touch. I felt a strange sensation as soon as my hand touched his, almost as though my skin were numbing. I shook my head as if to chase away a spell and then remembered my manners.

  “Thank you for that,” I said motioning towards the exit. “I don’t know what you told him, but—”