Page 13 of Marked By His Touch

I catch my breath, my chest heaving, my body trembling. We’re safe. For now.

I glance back at the rearview mirror, my heart skipping a beat. It was the same man from the car that followed us earlier, the one with the serpent tattoo coiling down his neck. His eyes were fixed on me, his gaze cold.

His stare was like a brand seared into my memory. There was something about it, a knowing, a recognition that I can’t shake. It makes my skin crawl.

I lookout the window as we pull into the woods. The city lights fade behind us, swallowed by the darkness of the trees. The air grows cooler, the scent of wet trees replacing the grime of the city. As we approach the wooden ranch nestled amongst the trees, the tension finally eases.

“Safe house up ahead,” Isaac confirms.

A locked gate, forged from heavy steel, bars the entrance. The gate creaks open as a guard, his face obscured by a shadow cast from his cap, nods at Isaac.

“Mr. Bourne,” the guard adds, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Welcome back.”

“Victor,” Alexander says, a curt nod in his direction.

The fences, constructed from rough-hewn timber and razor wire, stand like silent sentinels. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, a sigh that tastes like temporary freedom.

The sound of the car’s engine mutes and is replaced by the hushed rustling of leaves and the chirping of crickets.

We are deep in the forest. It feels almost like a fairy tale for a moment.

But the peace is shattered by the appearance of an old lady in front of the house.

Katerina stands on the porch, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, her expression as cold as the icy winds sweeping across the grounds. Her eyes are locked on me, a disdainful glare that feels like a physical blow. She’s surrounded by two guards with watchful eyes and loaded guns. She’s in her pajamas, but a firearm gleams in her hand, not matching the loose cotton of her clothing.

“Why you come back,niet niet!” she spits, her voice sharp as broken glass. “Danger!”

The word hangs in the air, a venomous barb.

“Good to see you too Katerina,” I greet her out of the car window.

“Stupid girl!”

I step out of the car, exhaustion pulling at my limbs. I’m back in the belly of the beast, Port Haven. But I’m not alone. Alexander is here, his hand reaching for mine. And Isaac stands beside him, his eyes scanning the surroundings, alert and ready.

Somehow, that’s enoughfor now.

For a moment, I stand still, taking in the scent of pine needles, the cool, fresh air, the rustling leaves—these are the things that ground me, the things that remind me of the beauty that still exists in the world, the beauty that the darkness can’t destroy. Or so I think.

Chapter 5

The Safe House

The airin this place feels thick and cloying as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. It smells like woodsmoke and dust. The ranch is a world away from Port Haven, but the stillness here feels even more unsettling.

It’s in my bones—something is amiss.

My eyes scan the room we’ve stepped into. It’s a vast, rustic living room with wooden furniture and a massive stone fireplace. A stuffed moose, its taxidermied eyes fixed on me, looms above the hearth. I wonder if Alexander killed it? This is his place after all.

There are a few women sitting around on couches, in arm chairs. Some are talking, others are reading. The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows. Their faces are pale but otherwise healthy.

A group of four women are huddled together on a big brown leather couch, their voices barely audible. Their eyes are laser-focused on Alexander and me, a silent intensity that makes me shudder.

A few of them sit alone, their eyes downcast, their bodies seemingly shrinking into themselves.

I see some familiar faces: Maya, Tatiana, Lena, and a handful of other girls I recognize from the shipping container. They nod at me, silently acknowledging our shared reality. There are new faces, too. I wonder where they came from and what stories they hold.

Alexander stands near the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantel, his dark gaze sweeping, taking it all in. Isaac leans against the rough-hewn table, his eyes sharp and alert.

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