Page 18 of Marked By His Touch

“As a matter of fact,” she interrupts me, her voice sharp, “I got a job. At a new beauty salon in town.”

Beauty salon? My mind snaps to attention, searching for the connection, and it hits me fast, like a bolt of lightning. The one I saw at the waterfront when Alexander was getting a new phone.

Is it a coincidence?

I can place her face now. I saw her earlier today. She’s the pale woman that was standing behind Dorthea. It’s like the puzzle pieces are aligning. I can feel the adrenaline surge, a prickle of fear quickly overtaken by a chilling sense of certainty.

I raise my eyebrows, a suspicion taking root in my gut. “And you’re going out now? Dressed like that at 2 a.m.?”

The hushed whispers of the other girls create a soundscape of anxiety.

The girl in the dress continues her firm voice: “As a matter of fact, I know the owner. I need to get out of this place. We’ve been trapped here for weeks. This isn’t a life! It’s a prison. Besides, the manager said I could sleep there and start my shift in the morning.” Her eyes blaze with defiance, her lips drawn into a thin line.

“Is that safe?” I ask.

The girl in the T-shirt, her eyes filled with frustration and concern, chimes in, “That’s exactly what I told her!”

I want to say more, to warn her, but I’m not sure what I’d say. I know what happens to people who think they can escape.

Before I can even form a thought, the girl in the dress pushes past her friend, her movements a flurry like a storm of energy breaking free. She shoves past me and tears the door open.

“What about the guards?” I ask, widening my eyes.Is she serious?

“I know a shortcut around the guards,” she shouts. “Don’t fuckin’ try to stop me!”

She disappears into the darkness, a fleeting flash of color. I feel a sudden wave of helplessness.

Zara’s finger jabs my shoulder, pulling me back to the present. She doesn’t seem fazed by the girl’s escape, her expression a mix of amusement and hardened acceptance.

“I still up, you want to train now,da?”

“But—” I stutter, “the girl?”

Zara sighs, “That girl is a self-destructive, messy, as you Americans say. Beyond help. Stupid.”

“Right—” My throat tightens. I know she’s right, but how can she just let her leave?

“In my world – weakness is death. You know that,slatka.Or do you prefer I call you sweetie?”

Before I can answer, Alexander appears behind us, his gaze sweeping over the gathering. His eyes are like a dark storm. He doesn’t need to say a word. Everyone in the room knows he’s the alpha, the one who commands respect and fear in equal measure. His eyes, possessive and demanding, scan me, a silent warning, a reminder of the boundaries he sets.

A few of the girls, drawn to the scene, whisper amongst themselves, their voices a soft murmur that feels like a threat.

“Oh, thisAlexa?” one of them says, her voice thick with a heavy Russian accent.

“Da, beautiful, huh?” another girl, a stranger to me, says from the corner, her gaze lingering on Alexander, a hint of something else in her eyes, something I can’t quite place.

Alexander doesn’t acknowledge them. He never does. He doesn’t need to.

“You’re not training with this one,” he snaps, his voice sharp and cutting through the silence. His finger is pointed at Zara. “She bad news.”

He starts to climb the stairs. When I don’t follow him, he stops. His lips are tight, his brow furrowed. “Ava Parker, come with menow.We’re going to sleep.”

He might own me in love, but I’m still my own person. I’m not his puppet.I’m tired of being a good girl. A weak girl.

I might be marked by his touch, but I won’t be the one who breaks.

“I’m training now,” I say, stepping backward towards Zara. I grab the railing of the stairs to steady myself, bracing for the storm brewing in Alexander’s eyes.

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