Inception (The Marked Book 1)

by Bianca Scardoni

  I offered a sympathetic smile and then focused back in on Carly and the other girls as they skated around the ice waving at the crowd in an effort to get them amped for the game.

  Across the rink, the Wildcat Girls were getting ready to put on their own show in matching brown, white and orange outfits accompanied by their official mascot—some unfortunate guy dressed in an adult sized wildcat costume—also in coordinated school colors.

  “There’s Caleb!” squealed Taylor. Oddly enough, she really seemed to be into this. Or maybe she was into him. I wasn’t sure yet.

  “Where?” I asked, only mildly interested.

  “Owens,” she pointed to center ice. “Thirty-Six.”

  “Owens? Like, Carly Owens?”

  “Yeah,” she laughed. “They’re twins. Didn’t I mention that?”

  “I don’t think so.” I hardly noticed a resemblance. Well, apart from the chestnut hair. And maybe the pouty lips.

  She went on to wave at a dark-haired guy sitting a few rows below us. He was staring up at her adoringly.

  “He’s cute,” I noted. Maybe he was one of hers.

  “Dillon Walker. Biggest scumbag ever,” she said as soon as he wasn’t looking. “That’s his pregnant girlfriend waddling up over there,” she said pointing to an extremely pregnant sophomore girl. “And that’s the skank he screws from Easton when his girlfriend’s not around,” she added, pointing to another scantily clad girl only a few seats away from him.

  “Gross.” Guys like that needed to come with warning labels.

  The cool air bit against my skin as I focused back on the ice, waiting for the game to start. I tried not to notice the smokestacks that were bleeding from my nose every time I took a breath as it only forced me to pay greater attention to the profound level of freezing I was experiencing. It was becoming increasingly more difficult as each minute passed.

  “Watch your mouth!” I heard someone yell.

  The crowd to our right suddenly broke out into a scuffle, distracting me from my plight. Bodies from several rows jostled around as fists flew rapidly through the virgin air. I heard the girls screeching out in distress as the crowd collectively spread itself apart, distancing themselves from the commotion.

  A few odd strays piled into the brawl, though after a few moments, we could see the Johnny-come-lately's were actually trying to break the fight apart, and not partake in it.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked nobody specific.

  “Trace got into it with two kids from Easton,” answered Hannah who had somehow ended up behind Taylor and me.

  I craned my neck to get a better look as the angry mob began settling down. I could see Trace shaking off a pair of (what looked like) friendly hands, as another man pulled the other two guys in the opposite direction. One of them was bleeding from his nose and walked away willingly though the other one was a lot less eager to leave. He turned around and grinned in our direction, proudly flashing the nasty cut above his right eye.

  “Stupid boys,” said Taylor as she tied her hair in a ponytail. “Can’t live with them.”

  I waited for her to add the, can’t live without them part, but she didn’t.

  I relaxed back into my place, bouncing a final glance down the line to Trace who also had his own little accolade settling in—a busted bottom lip, though not too bad for a two-on-one.

  His piercing blue eyes locked in on me, hardening with what looked like anger, before averting back to the ice.

  If I didn’t know any better, I might have thought he just openly glared at me.

  The night wasn’t a total bust. After three intense periods of play, a decent intermission performance by both squads, and a stellar performance from the star-player himself, Weston took home the victory with a demoralizing 7-2 win over Easton. The stands roared with cheers as we rose in a standing ovation that I only participated in to get a better view of the nearest exit.

  As soon as the arena started to clear out, we quickly swapped our seats for the parking lot where we hung around and waited for Carly and Caleb to round out the rest of the group. I sat on the hood of Taylor’s beetle, listening as Ben went on about an after-party going on at some girl’s house from Easton, and I could already tell Taylor was into it.

  I immediately started devising a plan to get out of it.

  Carly showed up shortly after still dressed in full cheer attire. After making a few rounds in the parking lot, she piled into Nikki’s red jeep along with Morgan and Hannah and headed off to the Easton party together. And they weren’t alone. More than half the cars had already cleared out.

  “Who am I riding with?” asked Ben, looking directly at Taylor as he walked back over to us with Trace.

  “Obviously with the person you came with, genius,” replied Taylor as she fetched her keys from her purse.

  “Trace isn’t going.”

  “Great,” said Taylor, throwing her keys back in her purse. “I guess you’re riding with us, which means we’re stuck here waiting for Caleb.” She wasn’t happy, and she was about to get even more unhappy.

  “Don’t be mad,” I said, turning to her with regret. “But I’m not going either. I promised my uncle I’d be home right after the game. He already texted me,” I said holding up my phone. Both were lies. I was so going to hell.

  “What? You can’t be serious!” Taylor’s bottom lip sulked out. “This totally sucks.”

  “I know, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow at Carly’s party,” I assured her, though I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go to that one either. “We’ll have a great time.”

  “We better,” she warned, letting me know she wasn’t going to be as forgiving with that one. Her smile quickly returned. “Alright, get in. Let’s see if we can get you home before curfew without breaking any laws.” The girl loved a challenge.

  “Hold up,” said Ben. “That doesn’t make any sense. Trace should take Jemma home. He’s already going that way.”

  I glanced over at Trace who looked annoyed with Ben’s offer.

  “You’re going home anyway,” said Ben, shrugging. “You can drop her off on your way home. That way the rest of us can go straight to the party.” He nodded into it as if to persuade him.

  Trace looked over at me, musing as he grazed his busted lip with the tip of his tongue. “Fine. Whatever.”

  “Done,” said Ben, turning to Taylor. “Let’s roll.”

  “Jemma?” she raised her brows, awaiting my approval.

  “Yes. Go. Have fun! I’ll be fine with Trace.”

  I think.

  14. strictly business

  The warm heat radiating from the vents felt like a godsend against my skin, which had all but anesthetized itself from the cold. Trace was leaning forward in his seat and checking his lip in the rear-view mirror, angling his face as he appraised the damage. I found myself watching him without meaning to, my eyes taking in the hard edges to his face, the deep indentations in his cheeks, the fullness of his heart-shaped lips...

  It really wasn’t hard to see why a girl might become slightly unhinged around him—for him.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked, wincing as he patted the cut with his finger.

  “Nah. I’ve had worse,” he said and relaxed back in his seat.

  I hadn’t actually been alone with Trace since the incident last Wednesday. We carried on as if it never even happened, dutifully avoiding any real conversations and ensuring neither one of us had a chance to bring it up. It was just as well, I had no desire to talk about it anyway.

  “You want my jacket?” he offered. He was looking outside the driver side window when he asked. “You’re shaking.”

  I hadn’t realized my shivering was that obvious, especially since I hadn’t seen him look at me once since we got into the car. “I’m okay, thanks.”

  He griped the steering wheel with one hand and threw the car in gear with the other, jolting me forward a little as he backed out of his parking spot.

  “So what happened back ther
e?” I asked out of curiosity and a newfound urge to make conversation with him.

  “Back there?”

  “The fight.”

  He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road.

  When he didn’t offer anything up, I pressed on. “Did you know those guys?”

  “Not really.”

  I looked him over. “Do you make habits out of fighting with people you don’t know?”

  “Do you make habits out of asking so many questions?” he responded crudely.

  Alrighty then. I could totally take a hint.

  “Sorry I asked,” I said in the same tone and then twisted my body away from the sudden arctic chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

  Neither one of us said another word until we hit Main Street ten minutes later. The entire street seemed eerily quiet, and sort of deserted as most of the shops had already closed up hours ago. Everyone who might be out on a Friday night was either still at the game, at an after-party, or on their way to one.

  “Mind if we stop for food?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “You’re the boss.” I answered without looking.

  He turned into the parking lot of the next burger place and pulled into the first spot before killing the engine. There was a grand total of two cars in the entire lot. I was surprised they stayed open for this kind of business, or lack thereof.

  “What are you having?” he asked as he swung open his door.

  “Nothing for me,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder at the empty parking lot, scanning the barely lit street adjacent to the lot. The neighborhood looked questionable, at best.

  Maybe it was the lack of street lights, or just my own paranoia, but waiting out here by myself suddenly didn’t feel like an altogether great idea.

  “I’m ordering you something,” he persisted. “Might as well tell me what you like.”

  “Sure, that’s fine.” I wasn’t paying attention anymore. I flung my passenger side door open and climbed out. “I’m coming inside with you.”

  I caught his stare over the roof of his car, his expression bewildered by my bizarro behavior, and then his eyes softened some, seemingly treated with a dose of understanding.

  Once inside the restaurant, I made my way to a two-seater table by the window facing the parking lot and waited while Trace ordered his food. I felt safer having a panorama view of the area in case I needed to, I don’t know, run for my life.

  After a few minutes, Trace appeared with the food.

  “I got you a cheeseburger and fries, and one of those strawberry shakes you order at lunch sometimes.” He pushed the tray in front of me and sat down.

  I stared back at him, surprised that he noticed what I ordered at lunch, especially since his eyes generally spent most of their time in another direction (that direction being any direction that wasn’t mine). Or at least that’s how it seemed.

  He dropped his eyes and picked up his own cheeseburger, sinking his teeth in and biting off nearly a quarter of it.

  “Thanks,” I said, examining his ever-guarded expression. “How much do I owe you?”

  He looked up from his dark lashes and shook his head.

  I thanked him again and turned my attention back to the window, keeping care of my surroundings.

  “How have you been?” he asked after a short pause. His voice was low, cautious. “Since the other night,” he added unnecessarily. I already knew what we were talking about.

  His eyes bounced around my face as though he were trying to gauge my answer before I gave it.

  “Fine.” I forced a smile.

  “Did you talk to your uncle about what happened?” He picked up his burger without looking up this time.

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?” he asked, meeting my eyes again.

  I felt his leg brush up against mine and nearly lost my train of thought. “I...I’d rather just forget the whole thing.”

  “That’s pretty stupid,” he said under his breath, though it was more than audible.

  “Excuse me?”

  Where the hell did he get off judging me? He had no idea what I’d been through. What I was still going through. I was barely hanging on as it was, coping the only way I knew how. Who was he to tell me that it was wrong?

  A jeering rumble emitted from him. “It’s wrong. And stupid. I don’t really care how you justify it.”

  My head snapped up and locked in on his hooded eyes. Why did that sound like he just answered my thought?

  He took a sip of his drink, and then sank back in his chair. His legs stretched out in front of him, coming out on either side of me—fencing me in.

  “Pretending something didn’t happen, doesn’t make it go away. You get that right?”

  “I’m not pretending it didn’t happen.” It came out far more defensive than I had intended it to.

  “No?” He raised his brows. “What do you call it then?”

  “I call it…” I didn’t have an answer. “Just mind your own business and stay out of mine!”

  “Believe me,” he grumbled. “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder then. Shouldn’t this already be like second nature to you by now?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning in again.

  I matched his advance. “It means, you should have plenty experience staying out of my life since you’ve pretty much treated me like I was the Plague ever since I moved here.”

  He raised his brows slightly. “Is that what you think?”

  “Are you saying it’s not true?”

  His eyes flickered down to my mouth. Something flashed through them though it was gone before I could make it out.

  “All I’m saying is, I think you should be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?” I scoffed, though it lacked punch.

  He seemed to be assessing me again, looking for unspecified particulars on my face, in my body language. “What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t been there that night? If I didn’t come out when I did?”

  I felt a cold chill zip down my spine. I know exactly what would have happened if Trace hadn’t been there to save me.

  “Yeah, it’s none of my business,” he agreed, leaning back again. “But if I were you, I’d make sure I was ready for next time.”

  “Next time?” I repeated incredulously. I hadn’t exactly thought as far as next time, or what I might do if I came face to face with another one. I was still pretty swamped with trying to forget the last time. I crossed my arms in defiance. “I’m not planning on a next time.”

  He laughed grimly. “Life doesn’t give a shit about your plans.” There was real truculence there, dark undertones of anger, and pain, and regret. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of this had to do with his sister—with her murder.

  Even though what happened to his sister and what happened to me the other night were completely different and unrelated, I could see how he might equate the two. And I could certainly understand where he was coming from, and the point that he was trying to make, despite its crude delivery. We lived in a dangerous world, and the bottom line was that I needed to learn how to defend myself against predators—whether the human variety, or otherwise.

  I nodded weakly, the only response I was willing to give.

  He licked his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Like I said, none of my business.”

  15. FACE OFF

  Dominic arrived at the house around a quarter past nine, dressed to kill in black slacks and a button-down dress shirt. He had a penchant for black clothing, it would seem, though I could hardly be persuaded to mind. It made his skin and hair absolutely glow in contrast, and when necessary, allowed me to easily coordinate my own outfit—dark jeans and a simple black lace camisole.

  Like most of the privileged people from these parts, Caleb and Carly’s house sat at the base of a cul-de-sac in a gated neighborhood not far from my uncle’s house. The grand moonbeam-colored house was lit up with spotlights and was belti
ng out music that reached far past the borders of their sprawling front yard. It was a packed house, evidenced by the circular driveway filled to the brim with cars that spilled out onto the surrounding street, forcing us to park several houses down.

  An obscene ice sculpture greeted us on the front stoop.

  “Is that a—”

  “Indeed it is,” answered Dominic as he ticked his chin to a sign that read, “Enter all ye who like to party.”

  There was no way Carly approved this. “How gross.”

  Dominic walked in ahead of me, towing me behind him as I acclimated to the change of scenery, to the watchful eyes. It was dark inside, heated, and loud, with people packed in at every corner—dancing, grinding, chatting in small groups, and throwing back questionable drinks from oversized, red plastic cups. One could easily be swallowed up by a crowd like this but Dominic glided through it with ease. It was like the parting of the seas the way people stepped out of his path; girls snapping their necks around to look at him, to devour him with their eyes as he passed. I wondered if he knew the effect he had on the opposite sex. The sheer desire he incited in them.

  He had to know. Nobody could be that oblivious.

  Taylor came sailing out of the kitchen as soon as she saw us round the corner, her golden hair bouncing freely around her back as a look of mischief danced across her face. I caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces over her shoulder, namely a disinterested Trace who was leaning back against a counter, his personal space completely swallowed up by a brunette in a skintight blue dress—undoubtedly Nikki.

  “I’m so happy you’re here!” she squealed, throwing her arms around my neck and bouncing us around like a jackrabbit.

  She pulled back and eyed Dominic, grinning her approval.

  “This is my friend Taylor,” I bellowed over the music, making an official introduction.

  He tipped his head to her, flashing one of his debonair smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taylor.”

  “God. You’re like, smoking hot.”

  “Taylor!”

  “What? He is!” she laughed. “And you smell to die for. Seriously, what cologne is that?”