Black Mark Series Book 1: Black Mark's Resistance

by Ebony Olson

  “I am not my mother’s daughter!” I yelled at him and ran from the library.

  I ran up to my room and slammed the door behind me. I swiped at the tears that fell unbidden. I cursed, taking a deep breath. I was going to have to apologize to Darius a second time in twenty-four hours. If I still had a job in the morning, I’d be surprised.

  Collecting my cello, I played an aggressive heavy metal song. The piece was heavy and violent and everything I needed to purge my anger. It worked my entire body better than a run would have. My fingers worked the fingerboard, my wrist worked quickly to change from up-bow to down-bow and back again in quick succession. Beads of perspiration covered my bare skin as I drew the bow across the strings for the final note, my left forearm working to create a vibrato.

  Movement at the terrace doors caught my eye. Zander was standing on the terrace. I stood with surprise dropping the bow. Zander didn’t hesitate, he opened the doors, walked straight up to me and wrapped me in a bear hug. Zander took the neck of my cello from my hand, placed it back in its stand and held me tight till my breathing evened out.

  When I calmed, Zander stepped away. He took my hand and walked me to the far end of the terrace. Around the corner, the terrace opened to a much larger area and housed an outdoor table and chair set. Setting me down on the chair, he stepped inside the open doors at this end.

  I peeked inside and saw it was a bedroom. By the way he was rooting around in the wardrobe, I’d say it was his. Zander came back with a bottle of Finnish vodka. He took the cap off and handed it to me. I took it, throwing back a mouthful, letting it burn down my throat. I didn’t hand the bottle back, and he didn’t ask for it. Zander just sunk onto the chair beside me, letting his arm run along the back of my chair.

  I took another swig of the vodka and put the bottle on the table. “Thanks. This is the boys end is it?”

  Zander smiled. “You can come here anytime too.”

  “It’s beautiful up here. So peaceful, like being set apart from the world.”

  Zander looked down at me. He ran a hand through my hair, brushing it back from my face. He pulled my chair against his, took my shoulder in hand and pulled me closer to him. “It’s also cold.”

  I snuggled into his side and we sat there quiet, watching the sunset. “I have never heard Bruce Dickinson played on cello before. Chemical Wedding right?”

  “You recognized it?” I smiled internally.

  “It was a very good rendition. The way you played that riff, it’s impressive on guitar, but watching your fingers move. I was sort of in awe.”

  “If it wasn’t forbidden I’d kiss you right now.” I nudged him with my shoulder and Zander chuckled.

  A buzzer sounded in Zander’s room not long after the sun descended. I expected Zander to answer it, instead he hugged me tighter. “You’re not what he expected. He thought he had your ticket. That’s proving not to be the case.”

  I frowned. “So kissing me was a test?”

  Zander tensed. “That depends on where he kissed you.”

  “In the library,” I replied simply. Zander raised a brow at me, a glint in his eye. “Oh. You meant—on the mouth, where else would he kiss me?”

  Zander once again gave me that look, the side of his mouth pulling up at the side.

  “Zander! That’s just so inappropriate.” I smacked his arm.

  “Honey, that bruise on your shoulder, and the ones you came home with last week, tell me you get up to a whole lot of inappropriate on the weekend. Do not act innocent with me.”

  I blushed, took a moment to compose myself, and stuck out my chin. “So?”

  Zander sighed. “If he was testing you, he would never kiss your mouth. If he wanted sex from you, you would still be down there with his head between your thighs. If he kissed your mouth he wanted something else from you.”

  “He wanted me to strip,” I growled.

  “Why?” Zander didn’t act shocked by the request.

  “What do you mean why?”

  Zander shrugged. “He asked you to strip, you refused. The kiss was to seduce you to the point he would get what he wanted, which was to see you naked. He would have kept his clothes on, seen what he wanted to see and walked away.” Zander looked down, meeting my eyes. “So why did he want to see you naked. Does he think you are on drugs?”

  “No.” I looked at him disgusted. With a sigh I ran over the conversation looking for the information. I closed my eyes when I caught on. “He thinks I’m into self-mutilation.”

  Zander looked back out at the lights of the city in the distance. “Are you?”

  “No.” I swallowed.

  The buzzer sounded again. Zander sighed, standing up. “So go tell him what he wants to know.”

  I stood too. “I guess apologizing sooner is better than later.”

  Zander shook his head. “Do not apologize. He should not have kissed you like that. He owes you the apology.”

  “Do you think I’ll get it?”

  Zander laughed. “Uh, no.” He walked into his room, shutting the doors before going to the intercom and picking up the handset.

  I made my way to my bedroom, stepped back inside and closed the doors. I opened my bedroom door to walk out and found Darius standing on the landing, his hand raised to knock. He lifted my bag. “You left this down stairs.”

  “Thank you.” I took the bag and stepped back into my room, dropping it on my bed.

  Darius stayed in the entry way.

  “Come in.”

  Darius came in and shut the door behind him before crossing his arms.

  “I used to cut myself when I was younger, but you can barely see any sign of that now. I wasn’t hacking at my flesh or anything. I just liked to see my blood running free, to feel all those painful emotions I couldn’t express running out of me. It wasn’t to commit suicide or disfigure myself. I never put my life at risk.”

  Darius searched my eyes as if unsure he believed what I was saying.

  “You could have just asked me. Asking me to strip was uncalled for. Kissing me to achieve that same outcome was unprofessional and below the belt. You would have left me feeling exposed and that would not be conducive to a good working environment.”

  Darius tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in on me as I spoke.

  I sighed. “From now on, you want to know something, ask me straight out. I’ll be honest. If I don’t want to tell you, I’ll tell you it’s none of your business. Deal?”

  Darius stepped closer. “You got upset at me downstairs because of your mother. Why?”

  I sat on my bed. “My mother had an affair with the director of the company she interned for during her last year in college. I’m the result.”

  Darius shifted his stance, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you ensure safe practice during blood play?”

  He was worried for my well-being. It was kind of sweet. “Jasper is a qualified medical practitioner. Everything is sterile, only I bleed, so there is no cross contamination. The cut is always superficial. It heals quickly and has minimal scarring.”

  “He also hits you,” Darius began.

  “He spanks me,” I corrected. “We have a contract, a safe word, hard and soft limits are clearly defined. He talks me through anything new which may push a soft limit.”

  Darius exhaled like he was relieved. After a moment, he met my eyes. “Add that he is not to touch your phone to the contract please, as a hard limit.” Darius turned to leave.

  I stood up. “He was right.” Darius looked over his shoulder at me. “It was my time. I was away from work. You could have sent a message and I would have replied as soon as I could.”

  Darius turned back to me. “You were aware out of hours work would be required when you took the job.”

  “And you were aware I spend my weekends relieving the stress of the work week. You knew where I was last night. I don’t think you had to guess what I would be doing.”

 
His nostrils flared, eyes dark and hard. “Might I suggest, in future, if you are in the midst of your stress release, you do not answer the phone. Dinner is ready.” He walked out.

  I swear he wasn’t angry about hearing me have sex, but that I didn’t want him to ring me. I don’t think Darius was the only person suffering head spins trying to work someone out.

  Chapter Five

  “Grab your stuff,” Warren instructed as he walked back to his desk from the elevator. “Dare has a walk-through at the new function center.”

  I locked my computer and grabbed my bag. “Which center?”

  Warren grabbed his folio case and phone. “His. Renovations are wrapping up and he wants to ensure they are up to scratch. We are meeting him downstairs.”

  Lynwood Corporation was expanding. After years of hiring other facilities, Lynwood Corporation purchased an old mill, renovated it, and would be hiring it out for weddings and conferences. I’d seen the plans when I came to work here two months ago, so I couldn’t wait to see the finished product.

  “I’ll meet you down there.” I started toward the fire exit.

  The fact I would opt for the stairs had been accepted and not pushed. If he could, Warren would give me advance notice, so I could factor in the extra time for taking the stairs. At times like this, it was just best to get down them as quickly as possible so that Darius wasn’t kept waiting.

  I exited into the foyer and saw Darius talking to one of his managers. Darius’s eyes tracked me through the foyer. I moved to the exit and the waiting car. I knew the routine well now. Never interrupt unless it was something he needed. If Darius wanted me for anything, he’d let me know.

  Clark saw me coming and opened the back door. “There will be three of us, Clark. I might sit up front with you if you don’t mind.” I smiled.

  Clark smiled shutting the door and opened the front passenger door.

  “Thanks, Clark,” Warren spoke over my shoulder, stepping past me and into the front passenger seat.

  “Hey, I called shotgun,” I accused.

  Warren grinned at me. “What the hell is shotgun?”

  He was taking the mickey. I knew it. He’d been making fun of my Australian colloquialisms for two months now. With clenched fists, I stepped back to the back door as Darius approached.

  Clark paused for a moment then shut the front door and opened the back door again. I climbed in and slid across so Darius could get in. I was adjusting my skirt when Darius dropped onto the seat. Noticing my hands, he turned his attention to his seatbelt. I started laughing.

  Warren turned around. “What’s so funny?”

  “Just a memory.”

  Warren quirked a brow in humor. “Good memory?”

  “Not the memory itself so much, as my naivety.” I smiled. “I thought being in that back seat letting a guy kiss and feel me beneath my skirt was so rebellious only five years ago.” I sighed. “My innocence was ridiculous.”

  Darius’s fingers gripped a piece of paper, his jaw tensing as he handed me a list. “Look that over and let me know if you see any issues.”

  I took the list and started scanning through the names of performers for the New Year’s Eve celebrations. A name halfway down the list caught my attention. I scanned back up the list. “This will be a problem. You can’t have Cindy Curtis and Michael Boon at the same event anytime soon. Dump Cindy and pull in that new local singer, Evelina.”

  Darius took the list back from me. “Why would Cindy and Michael be problematic? They’re engaged aren’t they?”

  “Were engaged. She was at the club on Friday, drunk and dry humping one of the Sector brothers. She went home with him too. People were taking photos on their phones and posting it. I give it a week till the break up is announced, but that’s beside the point. She’s having substance abuse issues and spiraling into a dark place.

  “Her agent needs to pull her off the scene and get her some help or she’s going to end up being another Winehouse. Dump her and keep her off the list till she gets her act cleaned up,” I offered as my personal phone started buzzing.

  Darius scratched Cindy from the list and handed it to Warren. “That’s good to go then.”

  Warren nodded, taking the list and opening his tablet to adjust the digital list.

  I silenced the alarm on my personal phone with a sigh. “I have to make a call.” I pressed dial, putting the phone to my ear.

  “Liza Ellis’s phone,” a chirpy voice sang at the other end of the line.

  “Hi, Gerry. Is the Wicked Witch available?” I asked my mother’s personal assistant.

  “Mora. Oh my God, it’s great to hear your voice,” she chimed. “She’s with guests and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Of course she doesn’t. God forbid she take a call from her own daughter. Wish her a happy birthday for me.”

  “I will. How’s London?” Gerry asked conversationally.

  “London is good,” I replied as I watched the buildings blur past the window as we drove.

  Gerry had been my mother’s personal assistant since I was twelve. She stopped trying to get my mother to take my calls by the time I was fourteen. We were both resigned to the fact that the quick chats with Gerry were the closest I was going to get to having a relationship with my mother.

  “So what did I get the Witch? Please tell me it was the new broomstick I asked you to get her?”

  Gerry laughed. “Close. Skydiving lessons.”

  I paused and checked my phone. “I’m sorry. Did you say I, Mora, the most hated daughter on Earth, got her skydiving lessons? As in, someone is going to push my mother out of a plane, several thousand feet above the Earth, and yell happy birthday from Mora, as she plummets to her potential death?”

  Gerry was laughing loudly now. “Exactly. It’s what she wanted.”

  I took an excited breath. “That is awesome, Gerry. Can I add one more thing? Can you hand her a broomstick as she boards the plane and tell her it’s in case her parachute fails?”

  “I’ve got to go, Mora. I’ll film it for you.”

  “Sure, just stop filming before the chute opens. I’ll let my imagination fill in what happens after.”

  Gerry guffawed and hung up the phone. I smiled wistfully as I gazed out the window for a moment, then shoved my phone away. Darius and Warren were looking at me.

  “Sorry. It’s my mother’s birthday.”

  Darius looked back at his iPad. “She was too busy to talk to you tonight?”

  I laughed. “She hasn’t taken a phone call from me, well, ever.”

  “Does she call you for your birthday?” Warren queried with a frown.

  “No, but I make it a point to call her every year. I know it annoys the hell out of her to be reminded of me when she’s enjoying herself.” I swallowed the anger in my throat. “I’m actually going to record myself singing happy birthday, and pay someone to call her every year after I die, so that she thinks I’m haunting her from my grave.”

  “You think she will outlive you?” Warren looked concerned.

  I laughed. “I know it. Only the good die young. That woman is evil incarnate.”

  “A lot of women who are very successful business women are perceived in that manner,” Darius defended. “People make great sacrifices to get to the top.”

  “Successful business people sacrifice love,” I responded quietly. I saw Warren’s eyes flick warily to Darius and back. “The love of a good relationship doesn’t exist for them because they are unable to trust. The love of their children suffers, because they are too busy clawing over their colleagues to bother with their kids. Successful business people fail at successful, healthy, relationships.”

  “Her career success paid for your Cambridge education.” Darius slid his iPad away and I could tell by the tenseness of his jaw that he’d taken my remark personally.

  “I was on full scholarship and worked behind a bar to pay my way. My father paid for my schoolin
g and extracurricular activities growing up, and his child support probably covered the food I ate and clothes I wore. That woman didn’t contribute anything but the stretch marks of pregnancy toward me.”

  “Have you ever made those comments about the broomstick to her face?” Darius asked carefully.

  I smiled, pure joy flooding my system at the memory. “I gave her a broomstick with her name engraved in it when she forgot my sixteenth birthday. Whenever I need a happy moment, I think of her face when she unwrapped it.” I returned to looking out the window, rain starting to spatter the window. “It’s my favorite childhood memory.”

  Clark exhaled. “I bet this rain makes you miss home, Miss Ellis?”

  I took a deep breath. “Home is where the heart is, Clark, which is definitely not where I grew up.”

  We pulled into the car park of an old industrial building. Darius and Warren opened their doors to exit. Clark opened mine and gave me his hand to help me out, holding an umbrella over my head. “Take it.” Clark smiled sadly handing it to me.

  “Mr. Rafal.” A man in his early thirties, suffering from early pattern baldness, rushed out of the large glass doors, a large umbrella held aloft. Darius stepped underneath and walked with him inside.

  I walked around the front of the car to stand with Warren. He smiled at me and we followed our boss inside. When we stepped inside I paused. The inside was full of luxurious lounges set by a large unlit double-sided fire place, a large bar to one side. The decor was all gold and cream, it looked beautiful.

  “As you can see, the reception area is complete as per the specifications,” the man spoke anxiously as he dropped his folded umbrella into a holder by the door.

  I folded my umbrella and stuck it in the same holder. Darius walked forward into the reception area and started inspecting everything. He sat on the lounges, smacked a few cushions around, tugged on the gold silk curtains, knocked on the double hung windows. When he seemed satisfied he started toward an arched doorway.

  “I want to see the fireplaces working before I leave,” Darius directed as he passed.

  The balding man bobbed his head and ran off through a staff-only door. Warren and I followed Darius into a large foyer. It had dark timber paneling on the wall, which matched the timber flooring. There were three sets of double doors along the long corridor. Darius walked to the first and opened the doors, stepping inside. I followed, Warren behind me.