Page 23 of Marked By His Touch

I get up, my legs shaking, and run toward Zara, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I see the surprise flash in her eyesas I charge, my fist coming up to meet her jaw. She turns just a second too late, and the impact sends her staggering back.

Zara stumbles, her eyes wide with surprise, and then she’s on me. Her grip is a vise, and she slams me to the ground, the wind knocked out of my lungs.

“Decent punch, Parker,” she says, her voice a low growl. “But you’ve got a long way to go.”

Her words hang in the air, laced with a cold, hard truth. She’s right. I have a long way to go. But I have to go tonight. Even if it kills me.

“Alexander?” I call out. But he’s already disappeared inside, his silhouette swallowed by the ranch house.

Whatever.

I rise to my feet, brushing the dirt from my clothes with a restless hand. I need a shower, and then carefully choose my outfit for tonight.

Chapter 7

The Back of the Beauty Parlor

The alleybehind the beauty parlor reeks of stale beer and desperation. One flickering street lamp casts long, distorted shadows, turning the graffiti-covered brick walls into a scene of a horror movie.

“What the hell is this place?” I mutter, my heart pounding. The door looks like it belongs in a forgotten chapter of the city. A wave of apprehension washes over me, but I’m not turning back.

The car I snagged at the ranch, is parked down the street. I used Katerina's name as a shield. The guard had flinched, knowing better than to cross her. I remember his face when I threatened to let her know he'd denied me. He looked terrified. But I push it aside quickly, I need to focus, to stay on task.

I reach a door, and a nondescript metal thing reads: “Kitty’s Port Bar.”

A young woman with a bored expression and a low-cut shirt, almost revealing a glimpse of her nipples, opens the door. She looks like she’d seen it all and isn’t impressed by much.

“I’m here for a job interview,” I say, trying to sound confident.

I’m terrified.

She nods curtly. Her hand, a gilded cage of bracelets, makes a sound of clinking metal. Her sandy hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. She ushers me into a long hallway, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and something else—something sweet?

We walk down another narrower corridor. A flickering wall of light catches my eye.What is this place?The source of the light remains hidden, but the wall, pulsing, seems to ripple and shift, almost like it’s alive.

The music, muffled at first, slowly grows in volume. A low, throbbing beat that resonates in my bones. I swallow hard, my mind racing.Music? So this is really a bar?

She walks ahead of me, her movements swaying slightly. “What is your name again?”

“Daisy,” I say.

She gestures towards a door, and my gaze flickers toward a security camera mounted on the wall. I automatically turn my face away from it.

“In here,” she says, pointing with a long red fingernail toward a room. The door, nothing but a crimson curtain, reminds me of the beauty parlor upstairs.

“Good luck,” she says, her voice flat, her eyes darting.

The room is sparsely furnished, with a single table and a couple of worn velvet couches. It feels more like a dimly lit living room than a place of business. A sense of unease settles in my gut.

This isn’t a beauty salon, far from it.

The room is dark, lit only by a single spotlight. The air feels different in here. It is tense and expectant. I step back, my hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. I haven’t brought a gun. The tight outfit I’m wearing wouldn’t let me carry one.

A man in a perfectly tailored suit emerges from the shadows of the room.

“Hello there,” a deep voice calls out.

He steps into the pool of light, his face a mask of light and shadow. A serpent tattoo is coiling down his neck, its tongue poised like a striking viper, which makes me shudder.

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