Marks of the Mazza: Reverse Harem (Mazza Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Author Links

  Sneak Peak

  Chapter 1

  Who is Blake?

  Blake Blessing

  Marks of the Mazza

  Copyright © Blake Blessing 2018

  All rights reserved

  First published in 2018

  Blessing, Blake

  Marks of the Mazza: Mazza Series # 1

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Jessica Nelson

  Proofread by Tia Silverthorne Bach

  Interior formatting by Gaynor Smith

  All of Indie Books Gone Wild

  Cover by Premade eBook Cover Shop

  This book is dedicated to my two crazy friends (you know who you are) who made me sit down and write my own story. They believed in me before I believed in myself. Thank you!

  THUNDER BOOMS IN the distance as rain pours down from the heavens.

  Damn.

  Damn, damn, and double damn.

  If there is truly a god out there, he’s spitting on me right now. That’s how bad my day sucked. The rain is coming down in torrents where only moments ago there wasn’t even a sprinkle in sight. Ducking into the closest alcove, I shake off the water as best as I can. Water seeps through my lightweight hoodie to my skin.

  In the last hour, a rando walked into the book store and wouldn’t leave. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but this man walked around for twenty-five long minutes after we were closed and didn’t even buy anything. I waited to balance the drawer until after he checked out but no, he left empty handed. Someone should teach him common etiquette. If you are going to make someone stay late, you should at least support their business.

  Then when I balanced, the drawer was fifty dollars short, emptying most of the cash from my wallet. We aren’t supposed to replace missing funds, but you get written up for coming up short, and there is no way I can afford to possibly lose my job. I’ll take the small loss now.

  My current options: wait for the rain to stop or order an Uber. At 11 p.m. I don’t really want to take my chances and wait it out, but I also don’t want to waste any of the last twenty dollars in my account either. I enter the address of my studio apartment in the app to gauge the cost. I’m going to do it. Only seven dollars, and I waitress tomorrow at the diner, so I’ll at least refill my cash stash a little bit.

  Two minutes. Not bad. I blow out a sigh, slide my phone back in my bag, and glance up and down the street. Fog rolling in from the mountains slowly blankets the town. Shivering, I wrap my hoodie tighter around my body as a sleek black car pulls up to the curb.

  Sweet! My ride’s here.

  Running out through the rain, I pull the door open a crack and slide into the back seat. Already I feel better in the heat that’s on full blast. I take a few seconds to check out the car and notice two guys sitting in the front seat. Two very good looking guys. Both are turned around and staring at me with somewhat confused expressions.

  “Umm… Hi.” Wow. So eloquent. Internally, I give myself an eye roll.

  A warm blush creeps up my cheeks. Good thing it’s so dark back here and these two don’t have a clear view of me. I get the distinct feeling that something isn’t quite right.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “This is an Uber, right?”

  The man in the passenger seat gives a smile that’s friendly if a bit mischievous. I take him in for the first time. Shoulder-length, wavy blond hair is tucked behind his ears. At least I think it’s blond.

  The driver does not have the same welcoming reaction. I feel like he is staring right into me and definitely finding me wanting. Where the passenger is light, the driver is dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression. Yeesh. Someone must have taken a sharpie to his fancy Italian loafers. My body temperature starts to rise as we sit here in silence. I run my fingers along the seat on either side of me, flitting across the seams.

  Both men are still staring at me. I clear my throat again, dig my phone out without looking, and unlock it. Finally breaking eye contact in this bizarre stare down, I glance down at the app.

  “Ughhh…” I groan and drop my head on the back of the seat. Looks like I missed my real Uber while participating in this little…whatever this is here. Wonderful. I still get charged five dollars even though I missed the ride. “Look, sorry I barged in on you here. I’ll…ah…I’ll just be going.” I hook my thumb back at the street. Scooting over toward the door, I reach for the handle. Before I make contact, the door swings open, and a third man jumps in and slams right into me.

  “What the…” The man grabs my shoulders to keep me from falling over. His weight pins my leg, forcing me to shift away from him. I twist my shoulders to disconnect the unnerving contact. His voice is deep and has a slight accent that I can’t place. Either he is from somewhere I don’t recognize, or his accent is weak.

  “Sorry! I jumped in the car by accident. I thought this was my Uber.” I’m mumbling because there is most definitely something going on here, and I don’t know how to escape the situation. They don’t have any lights on. At all. No headlights. No interior lights, not even when the doors opened. The only light is the glow of the clock on the dash.

  I turn on my phone again and check the time.

  11:08 p.m.

  The last eight minutes feel like an eternity has passed and yet no time at all.

  The man next to me sucks in a breath as he stares. I scoot away and grab the handle on the opposite side of the car. Again, my attempt to escape is thwarted. It’s the guy next to me again, this time with his hand on my arm. It’s a gentle grip, but tight enough to show that he absolutely means to keep me here. I whip around and look at him with my heart running a stampede inside my chest.

  The glow of the street light filters in behind him. I can barely make out any of his features, but his hair is a burnished red, or appears to be in this light. His hair is short on the sides but has a longer wave on top. His ears are actually pretty adorable, as they stick out a bit with almost pointed tips.

  He raises a hand, and the tip of his index finger grazes the strange, purplish birthmark under the outer corner of my left eye. It resembles a fuzzy letter K. There is a vertical line, with the little arms fanning out toward my left ear.

  It generally gets attention when people notice it, but nothing so…reverent as this.

  “Wait. Let us at least take you where you were tryi
ng to go.” He drops his hand to the seat, brushing my arm and maintaining contact.

  “That’s okay. I didn’t mean to intrude.” I jump out on the side facing the street and briskly walk around the back of the car to the sidewalk. The rain has tapered off to barely anything at all. Just the way my luck runs. If I had stuck it out with the rain, I would have stayed five dollars richer.

  Damn you, Uber, and your missed-ride fee.

  As I dart up the block, I think I hear a car door close. Turning around for another peek at the car before I round the corner, I notice it’s gone. Strange. The car didn’t pass me or even make any noise. I suppose it could have left in the opposite direction.

  An odd tingle runs down my back, and I quicken my pace. Every few steps, I glance behind me, but I see nothing and no one out of place. Just a quiet, deserted business street with a haze of fog hovering around the streetlights. Every so often, I pass a glow of lights behind a window shop, but nothing alarming.

  I make it to the apartment complex after about a fifteen-minute walk. Trucking it up the three floors, I suck in a deep breath as I slam the door, lean my forehead against it, and at the same time engage the lock.

  What a strange night.

  AN ANGRY, SCREAMING baby wakes me up. Not sure why I set that as my alarm other than the fact it does the trick.

  Rolling over, I groan and spread my arms and legs wide, imitating a facedown starfish. I’m exhausted even though I got almost seven hours of sleep. I think my life is just catching up with me.

  Turning off the alarm clock, I burrow deeper under the covers, leaving only a small opening to stare at my wall and count chips in the paint. I’m twenty-four years old. No family. No college education, but trying to make it through life by working part-time at the bookstore in town and a waitressing job in the evenings. I am just frickin’ weary. Having no purpose in life is damn depressing.

  Growing up with the Smiths, an old couple who took me in at age five, shortly after a car crash took my family, was almost like being alone. They weren’t mean to me. Didn’t abuse me or anything like that. In fact, I think they loved me the best they knew how. But they both were in their seventies and didn’t have the energy to keep up with me or put in any sort of effort. I mean, come on. They were retirement home age already. They have both since passed, leaving me well and truly alone. To be honest, I have been alone since my family died.

  From the time I went to live with the Smiths, my life has been a string of repetitions. School, home, chores, eat, sleep, repeat. It still is, only work has been added into the equation. I have nothing to drive me. No love of my life, no family, no children. I don’t have any burning passions, and even if I did, no means to hone it.

  The best I can do for myself is save up to go to college. But even that is a dull, monotonous road. Passing the same scenery every thirty minutes. An empty loop on continuous repeat.

  My mood and outlook on life would make more sense if I had had a horrible childhood or suffered some unspeakable trauma. I mean, don’t get me wrong. My life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. Far from it, actually. I just know that no matter how hard life knocks me down, it could always be worse.

  Having taken an appropriate amount of time for self-reflection, and laughing a little at my ridiculousness, I start to get ready for the day. Today’s schedule is pretty light. Just the day shift at the Village Diner. I’ve got enough saved for one class already, and soon I might even have enough for two. Maybe I’ll actually be able to enroll in classes at the local community college. That’s the goal anyway.

  “Hey, George!” I call through the back door as I walk into the store room. The diner is an old building with peeling beige paint and cloudy films of grime coating the windows. The sign out front is actually cool, and if George ever took the time to replace some of the continuous light bulbs, it would be a neat retro sign. Then the sign would read “Village Diner” instead of just “Village.” That’s not on the agenda anytime soon, though.

  Inside isn’t much better. I navigate through open boxes of restaurant supplies haphazardly scattered on the floor and shelves. The combination with dim lights gives off a Silence of the Lambs vibe. Pretty sure Charlotte and her extended family are spinning homes in the corner of the storage room too. At least the front of the diner is open and moderately clean.

  “Hey, sugar. You’re just in time for the brunch crowd. Go ahead and get suited up. Julie is already on the floor but could use some help,” George says as he stops in the staff room doorway. George doesn’t keep track of our time like normal employers. He knows most of us work more than one job to support ourselves. He cares like that.

  He’s a short, stout man in a white, grease-stained T-shirt that doesn’t quite cover his beer gut. Wiping his meaty hands on a dish towel, he shoves it in his back pocket as he goes back to the kitchen.

  The first hour goes by quickly as we get into the swing of the lunch rush.

  Old Mrs. Henderson comes in with her granddaughter, Beth. Beth is seven years old and pretty shy. Sweet girl. Mrs. Henderson, on the other hand, is a firecracker. She always sits in the booth right next to the front window in her Sunday best. Not sure she got the memo that this is an old, greasy diner.

  “Isolde, be a dear and bring Beth here a piece of the peach cobbler. À la mode,” she says all la-di-da. I deliver the dessert with a smile and a hair ruffle for Beth before getting back into my work rhythm.

  I lose myself in the clamor of multiple conversations and the clink of dishes and silverware meeting. The door chimes. Turning around with a bright smile on my face, I start toward the front to greet the newcomer.

  My steps falter and a tingling runs up and down my body. This new man is definitely a god among men. He’s much taller than my 5’5” frame and fairly broad, with exactly the right amount of muscle. I make my way up to his face, and what a face it is. All angles and such a serious expression.

  Yeesh.

  His eyes are such a light green they barely have any color at all. I can only tell because I’ve stopped so close to him. There is a black ring around his irises, and his eyes are framed by dark-brown lashes. He has a long, straight nose and a wide mouth. A mouth that is currently pulled down at one corner in disdain.

  “Hi there. How many?”

  “Two.” He curls his lip.

  What a pleasant personality. Should I consider myself lucky or unlucky that it’s my turn to get the next seating?

  “Sure, right this way.” I grab two lunch menus from the hostess stand that is really just a nicety. We don’t have a hostess.

  His eyes drill into my back as I walk in front of him. A little unsettling, but I don’t let it show. Placing the plastic menus on the table, I turn around and gesture to the booth.

  “Would you like anything to drink now, or do you want to wait for your companion?” My voice is a little higher than I would like, so I take a steadying breath to get myself under control.

  He continues to stare hard at me. His eyes rove over my face, catching on the birthmark.

  “Just water, please.” He sits in the booth, crinkling the cheap, red plastic upholstery that is cracked from decades of use, and dismisses me by turning his attention outside the window.

  What a douche.

  I tend to the rest of my tables after I set down Douche’s water and wait to go back until his companion comes in. I’m honestly a little curious if it’ll be a woman. What woman would put up with his dick attitude?

  The door chimes again, and an awareness that’s been with me since Douche walked in increases to a sharp buzz running over my skin. I find myself clenching an empty plate to the point I’m afraid it will crack, and bunching my shoulders up to my ears.

  At the door is another man, this one with long, golden-blond hair. As I make my way up front, I smile in greeting. However, the closer I get, the more my eyes narrow in suspicion. This is the guy from the passenger seat last night.

  He’s a large presence, although not as daunting as Do
uche. He has more of a swimmer’s build and a bit of mischievousness that’s more prominent in the light of day than last night. His eyes are such a bright sky blue that I lose a few precious seconds under the distraction. He has a broad face with a strong jaw and an accompanying smirk that lets me know he gets this sort of reaction all the time.

  “Allo, sweets. I see my party over there by the window. Can you bring me iced tea when you get a chance? Thanks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and saunters by, brushing against me as he passes. His scent is slightly woodsy and almost as intoxicating as the heat that comes off his body. A zing of excitement comes over me that makes no sense. I’ve been attracted to men before, but those times were more of a slow burn, the tingles light and fun. This feeling is like a raging wildfire running rampant from my scalp to my toes, owning everything in its path. I frown after him as he swaggers to the table.

  Now, I may not be the brightest bulb in the bunch—not that I’m not smart, I am—but there is definitely something going on here.

  A shaky exhale leaves my lips as I pour an unsweetened tea and walk toward their booth. The endless clanking and chatter of the diner seems to fall away as I get closer to them. Smiley meets my gaze as I come up to the table. There’s a light in his eyes that I can’t quite decipher.

  I set down his drink and attempt to smile. It probably comes across more as a grimace, though, because I am suspicious as fuck of these guys.

  “Welcome to the Village Diner. Would you like to hear the specials for today?”

  “No. We are ready to order.” This comes from Douche, so I turn my attention to him. He still holds a sour expression as if he would rather be anywhere other than here. And I mean any-fucking-where. His disposition hasn’t improved at all with the arrival of his buddy.

  “What can I get you for lunch?” I pull out my notepad and pen, happy to break eye contact, only to be pulled right back into his stare.

  “I’ll have the Reuben and fries, and I think our friend Sage here will have the cheeseburger with everything.” Smiley’s eyes spark in amusement as I meet his gaze.