Page 6 of Marked By His Touch

At least it’s not raining.

The engine hums, keeping time with my fingers drumming on the dashboard. I fidget in the passenger seat, unable to sit still. The worn leather of the rental car seats feels strangely familiar. The car sits low and sleek, rented under a cover name –George Doven.One of Alexander’s many aliases, carefully crafted over years of navigating the murky world of the Eastern European mafia.

Alexander drives with an almost mechanical precision, his hands steady on the wheel. He seems lost in his thoughts, a world I can’t penetrate. I know he’s struggling, carrying a burden he’s been forced to shoulder. The silence between us is thicker than usual. I know he’s worried, but he will never admit it.

I break the silence. My voice is tight. “What do you think they did to Sarah?”

My mind flashes to her as my stomach twists. I can’t bear the thought of Cole’s men touching her, of their hands violating her.A primal fear, a mother’s instinct to protect her child, courses through me.

He glances at me briefly, his eyes a cold, steel blue. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

A shiver runs down my spine, a sudden chill that has nothing to do with the cool air blowing in from the open window. I imagine Sarah alone and afraid.

“Drive faster,” I whisper.

Alexander’s gaze remains fixed on the road. “I don’t think it’ll help if we drive off the road and kill ourselves.”

“Right,” I say, and try to chuckle, but it’s a forced sound. A sound that does little to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. I sigh. “I’m just worried about her.”

He nods. “I know. We’ll find her.”

“Yeah,” I say. Shivering, I close my shirt around me, pulling it up to cover myself.

I need a distraction. My fingers fumble for the dashboard, finally landing on the radio’s button. It crackles to life, a familiar beat pulsing through the car. It’s a pop song, fast and catchy. Out of nowhere, Alexander starts humming along, his voice a rough, deep baritone that blends surprisingly well with the singer’s polished vocals.

I’ve never heard him sing before.

“Alexander?” I probe gently, “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “The humming? Yeah, sorry about that. It just reminded me of—” He hesitates, his eyes looking distant for a moment, “Michelle and I. We used to put this on at home, late at night, when our parents weren’t around. She’d get scared, so I’d crank up the volume. We had it on cassette tape back then. It would calm her down, we’d sing along, and I’d sit with her on the couch until she fell asleep.”

His voice is soft, almost nostalgic. I can see a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

“Oh,” I say, my voice catching in my throat. “I bet she loved that—spending time with you.”

He gives a small, bitter laugh. “Maybe—It’s not Beethoven, but—”

He remembers my obsession with Beethoven. Of course, he does. Like he knows everything else about me, every hidden corner of my heart.

He glances at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You know, for someone who’s all artsy, you’d think you’d have better taste in music.”

“You’re telling me my music taste is bad?” I retort, a playful chuckle escaping my lips. “That’s coming from someone who’s head-banging to nineties pop?”

He throws his head back and laughs, a full, throaty sound that shakes his shoulders. “Sorry, we can’t all be as sophisticated as you, Ava Parker,” he says. “Beethoven and a bottle of scotch, and you naked. Then I’d be able to listen to it. In fact, I’d give up all my dirty secrets for that.”

I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” he says, briefly caressing my cheek. It’s a fleeting gesture that immediately relaxes me.

“It’s working,” I admit, taking a deep breath. The tension eases for a moment, like a brief reprieve. We have seven more hours of driving ahead of us, a long road back to Port Haven.

As the miles tick by, the landscape shifts. We approach the coast, and the muted browns and greens give way to lush greens and vibrant blues. The air grows heavy with the scent of salt and seaweed. The highway winds along the coastline, the sea stretching out before us.

My heart clenches as we approach Port Haven.

It’s my home, a city drenched in the memories of my parents, but it also holds a deep-seated fear. This city is a viper’s nest, a place where darkness thrives.

Where the Veles mafia thrives.

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