Welcome to the "In A Name" series!
🎂 Firstly, it's December 23rd here in New Zealand, so happy birthday, Marik! It felt right to start posting IAN's rewrite today. 🎂
🌟 Credits and Inspirations: This is a reimagined version of a story I originally co-authored with The Duelist's Heiress. It was our pride and joy. Welcome to the rewrite by me. 😀
🌟 Acknowledgments: Immense gratitude to writeringoodfaith, my incredible beta reader, and to ghostflx and naeinu17 for their invaluable support. Your contributions make this story shine!
🌟 For My Miraculous Ladybug Readers: Stumbled here from my MLB fics? This series is darker than that content, but if you like enemies-to-lovers, banter, and strong female leads, I reckon you'd enjoy even if you just dive in fandom-blind and learn about Marik alongside my OC, A'isha.
🌟 Note on Concrit: I love to hear your thoughts, but since much of the story is already written and edited, I'm not seeking concrit - so just sit back and enjoy the ride! General comments are still super welcomed and totally make my day.
🌟 Content Warning: This series explores mature themes, including physical, sexual, and emotional abuse, mental health issues, strong language, smut, and explicit content in general. This is my blanket warning for the whole series.
Without further ado, let's dive into chapter one of IAN! 😀
IN A NAME: ACT ONE
By Captain Meowneith
Chapter One: The Loose End
Marik Ishtar lounged on his golden throne, sneering down at the cowering fool before him.
"Forgive me, Master," Gavin stammered, flickering torches casting shadows across his ashen face. "I never meant to say your name around her! It just slipped out."
Marik rolled his eyes at his snivelling subordinate. A man reduced to the guilt of his own folly. How appropriate. "Explain this 'slip' of yours."
"I— I—"
"You— You—" Marik mocked, and leaned forward in his throne. "You tried to take advantage of her. You reclaimed the deck you lost through sheer incompetence, but risked your mission by trying to take a little more." His eyes narrowed. "I believe your exact words were 'Master Marik doesn't have to fucking know'."
Gavin trembled on the marble floor, a pitiful display. "She didn't realise I said your name, Master! I'm sure of it." His futile pleas continued as he crawled up the steps to Marik's throne. The more astute Rare Hunters in his audience exchanged nervous glances, some visibly shaking.
With a shove of his boot, Marik kicked Gavin back and deftly brandished a folder. "And this report is your pathetic attempt at redemption?" He scoffed, revealing the girl's photo with a flick of his thumb. Caught in a moment of laughter, her free-flowing black hair framed golden skin, a bright smile, and eyes shadowed by circles that suggested sleepless nights. The picture was recent. Perhaps those sleepless nights were a trace of the mugging he'd orchestrated.
Marik's attention returned to Gavin cowering before him. The only benefit of his dark, sequestered upbringing was that Marik Ishtar didn't officially exist. As the founder and leader of the Rare Hunters, he shared his name on his own terms, but now this ignoramus had slipped it to the niece of the detective hell-bent on arresting him. "One week of observation and you can't even give me the girl's name? How incompetent." He could've gleaned more from an hour on the web. "You've avoided conviction three times, correct?"
Gavin stiffened.
"Well?"
"Yes, Master." He shrank further into himself. "Years ago. The pigs had nothing on me."
A miracle. "Then you, of all people, understand that a mere slip of the tongue can tip the scales." Marik set the folder aside, the Millennium Rod now in his grasp, its gold eye flashing hungrily. "Given your futile efforts to deceive me, you know well that there is no place within my ranks for negligence, ill-restraint, or insubordination. As per your contract, Gavin Sprague, there is only one way to end your employment."
All colour drained from Gavin's face. "Master, please!" He stooped low, leaving an unwelcome sweat smear on the polished floor. "Please give me a second chance!"
"Second chances are for fools."
Marik raised the Millennium Rod, power pulsing through his fingertips, its light engulfing his throne room. Gavin, the weakling, scrambled for the exit. Then came the familiar scream, piercing the cold air like a shockwave. As the sound died, the room dimmed again, and Gavin thudded onto the floor, eyes wide and glazed, his body a soulless husk.
Marik's glare swept over his deathly quiet audience. "Well? Dispose of him."
Frantic steps echoed as two Rare Hunters rushed forward, while the rest clambered for the exit at Marik's dismissal. With a grated sigh, he placed the Rod in his lap, kneading his brow as his attention returned to the girl's photograph—still laughing away, blissfully unaware of the loose end she'd become. A loose end he couldn't afford.
According to the report, she attended Alexandria International High School, suggesting an age range between fourteen and seventeen. Judging by her appearance, he would assume sixteen or seventeen. About his age, in fact. Interesting. He seldom interacted with the opposite sex, let alone girls his own age.
"Master Marik," Odion interjected, bowing before him, "should we dispatch a team after the girl?"
Marik smirked as he looked back at the photo. "No need, Odion." He rose from his throne, anticipation bubbling in his chest. "As they say, if you want something done right, do it yourself."
A'isha Dahar's vision blurred, her calculus textbook splitting into twin horrors. She rubbed her eyes, refocusing just as dawn's first light cut through her bedroom blinds. Two hours wrestling with mathematics and all she had to show for it was a thudding headache and caffeine jitters.
"You're up early, Ish?" Uncle Ahad leaned against her bedroom door frame, already back in his detective suit.
"I know it's early," she said, drumming her pencil on her desk, "but math and I aren't exactly simpatico at the moment."
Ahad's six-foot-something frame plopped on her neatly made bed; she'd inherited some of the Dahar vertical genes herself, unlike her cousin Amara, whose height seemed stuck in childhood. "A'isha, tell me you slept last night?"
She smiled. "More than you, I bet."
Her uncle's normally vibrant bronze skin was paler, his frown lines deeper, and the dark circles under his eyes gave hers a run for their money.
"If you're going to put your weekly roster on the fridge for us, you need to follow it instead of working yourself to the bone."
He let out a tired chuckle.
"I'm serious, Uncle."
"I know you are."
A'isha sighed. She'd barely slept this past week and already her headaches were giving her headaches. That'd been her machine of an uncle's norm since the Rare Hunters' return to Egypt a month ago. "You really can't keep running on empty. You know that, right?"
"My pal, The R.H., must've missed that memo."
She tensed at the title. The R.H., widely known as the founder and leader of the Rare Hunters—or to her, as the ass responsible for her latest recurring nightmare. Her obsession with taming the math beast wasn't the only reason she was up at such an ungodly hour. Nor was it Ahad's only reason for asking if she'd slept. After splitting up with her long-term boyfriend, then being mugged by those Rare Hunter freaks, tossing and turning was par for the course.
Ahad straightened on the bed, guilt written all over his face. "Shit! Sorry, Ish. I didn't mean to remind you of—"
"No! No, it's fine." Well, not exactly, but her poor uncle was running on fumes. "So his gang mugged another poor sap last night?"
"Three."
Her brows shot up.
"I swear The R.H. never sleeps."
"Sounds like someone I know," she teased.
"Yeah, yeah." He laughed, waving off her jest—but his smile faded quickly, and his gaze dropped to the floor.
Her own smile fell. "What's up?"
"Look, Ish." Uh oh. His classic opener when she wouldn't like what came next. "I know it's the weekend, but Amara's still grounded and it's just you two today, which means—"
"—rest in peace, Saturday?"
She recalled Amara's recklessness vividly. Her younger cousin hadn't just gone to a party full of booze and drugs, but also jumped into a car with some guy a decade older to go drifting. As Ahad had driven home after another late finish, he'd seen them lose traction, nearly causing an accident. It was both a wonder and a relief that the only thing Amara had hurt was her relationship with A'isha and Ahad. Apparently, seeing A'isha's face, practically stamped with 'LONG-TIME ORPHAN' in bright neon paint, wasn't enough to discourage her cousin from reckless driving.
"I'm sorry, Ish." His crumpled brows said as much. "But we both know Mar won't follow the rules without someone around to enforce them."
At least he'd stood up to Aunt Elissa for once and actually grounded Amara. "Remind me, what are the rules of her house arrest?"
"No screens, no leaving the house, and no visitors—especially not boys."
"Got it; she's banned from her idea of life. Am I fine to keep studying?"
He nodded. "Just keep a close eye on her once she's out of the shower."
"Damn! There's gonna be no hot water left, is there?"
"Jump in my ensuite while she's still showering?"
"And share Elissa's soap?" She shuddered. "I'd rather face the ice bucket challenge by showering after your hot water hogging turd of a daughter."
He chuckled, his joints popping as he rose from the bed. "Just be quick, alright? I can hide her phone, but I can't hide the telly and we both know she'll sneak on it. I'll see you at eight."
"Eight tonight or tomorrow morning—"
Ahad thwacked her arm lightly, making her snicker. "Tonight, smartass." He paused at the door. "And thanks for doing the lawns again. And the weeding."
"No sweat, Uncle. You've got enough on your plate."
A tired smile crossed his face. "Thanks, Ish. I appreciate you." With that, he left for another day of dealing with The R.H.'s mess.
A'isha had barely entered the bathroom when Amara jerked her iPhone behind her back. The little sneak grabbed her weird handleless brush, running it through her long, straight hair and perfectly trimmed fringe with an air of fake innocence.
"You realise I can see your phone in the mirror, right?"
Amara dumped the brush back on the vanity, her full lips curling into one of her classic pouts. "Well," she faltered, "Mum said I'm allowed it, so lay off!"
"But your dad said you're not." A'isha held her hand out expectantly. "C'mon, Mar. Can you please just—"
"No!" Amara clutched her phone like a lifeline. "Get off my back! Or I'll tell my mum."
A'isha's jaw clenched. "Mar, if you don't hand it over, your dad will extend your grounding. Is that what you want?"
Her cousin huffed and made aggressive eye contact with a corner of the room.
"Amara, one more day without screens won't kill you." Probably.
A'isha saw the gears turning in Amara's narrowed, hazel eyes— "Fine!" She dumped her iPhone in A'isha's outstretched palm and stomped to the door. "By the way, the shower's probs cold. Just like your heart." With her petite nose tipped sky high, her majesty paraded into the hallway and out of sight, no doubt downstairs to sneak in some Vampire Diaries.
A'isha unleashed a mighty sigh. Was it optimistic to hope one day Mar might take after Ahad instead of Elissa? Probably; at least, as long as her wicked witch of an aunt was around to spoil the girl rotten and undermine every effort of discipline and structure Ahad tried to enforce. With another sigh, she shoved Amara's phone into her nightgown pocket and started undressing.
Surprisingly, the shower was warm, and though it'd only been a minute, she remained cautiously optimistic that the temperature would stick around. Maybe Elissa had skipped her usual marathon-like shower for some extra beauty sleep before her routine Saturday shopping spree.
The sweet scent of strawberry shampoo rode the steamy air as water poured from the shower head, pounding knots from her shoulders. Sadly, she'd need about a week under there to untangle them all.
Amara's sour face flashed in her mind. 'Just like your heart.' An admittedly decent jab, particularly from her, but totally uncalled for. Ugh! Of all the aunts and cousins she could've been stuck with, she had to draw the short straw with a real-life Lady Tremaine from Cinderella and her mini-me—
Cold.
Cold cold cold!
She yelped, springing away from the frosty assault of water. "Seriously?" she asked the empty room, when really she should've been asking her delightful cousin. "It's been two minutes!" With a resigned grimace, she rinsed any soap off in record time, wrapped herself in a towel, and marched into the hallway. "Amara! You selfish pain in the—"
A'isha froze. Beyond the stair railing, Amara was by the front door. With a guy. One she didn't recognise. Nothing new there; keeping count of the boys in her cousin's life should be a sport. But he was a visitor. A boy visitor. That thing Ahad had outright forbidden Amara from having over. Splendid! How should she go about this?
She scrutinised him. Pale blond hair and caramel skin. A navy-blue singlet. Fitted jeans, black like his polished shoes. A walking jewellery store with his gold armbands, earrings, choker, and even some creepy sceptre tucked under his belt. Her palms started to sweat. From stress. The stress of dealing with Amara and now this guy. It had nothing to do with his good looks. Sure, he was pretty, but seemed a little ostentatious and a lot older than Amara's 'almost fifteen' years, as she liked to put it.
His gaze was on her, proud and piercing and totally not the reason she swallowed. Then he smirked. A freaking smirk. Was something funny to him?
A'isha huffed, reaching into the depths of her theatre-loving heart to channel what she hoped was the intimidating girl-boss energy of a modern Lady Macbeth. "Hello," she said, staring him down from the top of the stairs. "Who the hell are you?"
Creepy Mystery Dude merely tilted his head, his smirk lingering.
Did he not understand? Or was he just rude? English was their at-home language thanks to her English aunt, but she was in Egypt with an Arab uncle. Steeling herself, she switched to Arabic. "Man 'ant bihaqi aljahim?"
All he did was raise an eyebrow as if prompting her to do something. Do what? He was the one doing absolutely nothing—
That's when it hit her. She was one floor above him. In a towel. A (very) short towel.
A'isha slapped her thighs together, heat flooding her face. This comedy of errors was a travesty only Shakespeare The Bard could work with. "Be right back," she squeaked (why, voice, why?) and darted for her bedroom with zero grace and less dignity. She needed to dress. And she needed a game plan. If this guy thought he could stroll in and snub Ahad's rules, he had a reality check coming.
No matter who he was.
A'isha towel-dried her hair, tossed on a top and jeans, and prepped for a Saturday salvage operation—step one: evict Creepy Mystery Dude. If "leave" didn't translate, she was ready to demonstrate with the universal language of boot meets butt.
Taking a deep breath, she swung the door open and almost experienced a cardiac catastrophe. Creepy Mystery Dude was in the upstairs hallway, studying Elissa's 'family' photo shrine of Amara. She was ninety percent sure not even Amara enjoyed its existence.
With one hand in his pocket and the other cupping his chin, he looked over from the photo-vomit and smiled. A proper smile. Like a polite person.
"Where's Amara?" she fired off, half-expecting more silence.
"Indulging in some questionable television."
So he did understand English! "You're not joining her?"
"I don't have the stomach for vampire love dramas, but I also don't have the heart to rip her from 'Ian Somerhalder's dreamy face'. We're taking the nine twenty bus to Green Plaza."
Guess he was acting like he hadn't perved on her legs. Okay. Cool. She could work with that. "Amara, taking the bus?"
"Yeah. She's really bummed that my motorbike's at the workshop." Tall, dark and pretty. Drives a death trap. Had Amara 3D printed this guy and sold her vast shoe collection to bring him to life? He pointed to a tragic photo of toddler Amara on a rocking horse, her butt crack hanging out of her diaper. "Is that you?"
"No, that's—" So not important right now. "Stay here please." She beelined for the stairs.
"Just so you know," he called out, "Mar plans to give you the silent treatment for taking her phone."
"And in other news, water's wet." A'isha thought she heard a chuckle from upstairs as she headed down—and found Amara on the living room sofa, eyes glued to a close up of Ian Somerhalder's face on the wall-mounted TV. Why did her cousin always push her luck? She really did know better. "Mar, what part of 'no screens and no boys' is so difficult to understand?"
Amara didn't even look at her. Seriously?
A'isha counted to three, imagining fluffy clouds, Ferrero Rocher on sale, or free tickets to P!nk (forever her singing inspiration). "Look, Mar, I'm not the fun police. Your dad asked me to enforce these rules and they're only for your safety."
More radio silence.
"Mar, please," she said, reaching for her shoulder—
THUD!
A'isha jerked her hand back, eyes snapping to the ceiling. "What the hell is he doing up there?" Putting a pin in her chat with Amara, she raced back upstairs two steps at a time. "You look at photos with your eyes, not your hands."
With a sheepish smile, Creepy Mystery Dude stepped back from the family portrait she'd caught him messing with. "Sorry. I was trying to straighten it, but it fell off of the hook."
It did look freakishly straight now. "My bad for assuming."
"No problem, uhh—" He rubbed the nape of his neck, his gold armbands glinting beneath the hallway skylight. "I just realised I don't know your name?"
"A'isha."
His eyes softened; lavender, of all colours. "A'isha, huh?" Those same eyes suspiciously panned down, down, down her body, before calmly returning to her face. Did the shady turd just check her out? "That's a pretty name. What does it mean?"
As she frowned, her eyes drifted to a photo of a young, beaming couple. Golden hair tumbled over her mum's milky shoulder, her dark blue eyes twinkling with life and her straight nose scrunched up like her own when she laughed. With his tan arms around her waist, her dad was planting a wet, bearded kiss on her cheek, his jaw strong and his cheekbones high. If Ahad grew out his short, black hair and spared time to take care of himself, they'd look like identical twins again.
"My name means 'she who lives' or 'happily living' or something." If only they still lived too. As she tore her eyes from the photo, she realised he'd followed her gaze.
"My name's Namu."
Nobody asked.
"It means 'tree' in Korean, but honestly, I think my parents are just die-hard orca fans."
"Namu was the first orca to be held in captivity, right?" Her trivia brain couldn't resist showing off.
"The first healthy one. They named him after the fishing port where they found him." It seemed his trivia brain wasn't to be outshone.
Okay. How'd Amara land such a brainiac for a boyfriend?
"Boyfriend?"
Oops. She'd thought aloud.
"I'm not Amara's boyfriend." He said her cousin's name like it tasted foul on his tongue. What was he doing in her house, then? "A'isha"—her own name rolled off of his tongue like he'd been saying it all his life—"I apologise if my manners were lacking earlier when, uhh…" He gestured to her legs, urging her to rewrite her memory or at least overwrite it with a version that included a longer towel. "It caught me a little off guard, is all, and I forget how to speak when that happens."
"You weren't laughing at me?" A thinly veiled accusation.
"Would it bother you if I said I was?" he asked, straightening another picture frame with the back of his finger.
"I'm already bothered." But hey, this'd be a great segue to a topic very close to her heart: his departure. "Look, it's nothing personal, but you need to leave. Amara's on a no-boy grounding."
Did his eyebrow just twitch? "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's not your fault." That dishonour belonged to Amara's inability to make good life choices. "I'm sure you can reschedule. Her grounding ends tomorrow."
"I'll reschedule with her right now and catch the next bus home."
That went better than expected. "Great!"
"Great," he echoed, maintaining eye contact for a moment too long before passing her by, his cologne a complex blend of spices and citrus. Was that basil? Or cedar? Maybe sandalwood? Her ex, Dani, only ever wore Axe body spray—
Namu stopped at the top of the stairs, patting his pockets.
"Is something wrong?" Please don't let him have noticed her cataloguing his cologne.
"Yeah." He turned to her, so close the heat of his breath fanned her warming cheeks. Had he ever heard of personal space? "I got a lift here and, uh, I've just realised I left my wallet at home like an idiot."
"Well"—her voice definitely did not crack—"I'll just give you some bus money." So she could get back to her Saturday. Or she would have. But then she remembered Amara, who thought her wallet was a bottomless piggy bank, swiped every note from it last weekend.
"Is there a problem?"
"I've just realised I don't have cash right now," she said, feeling ever the moron, "but Amara should have some." If the little leach hadn't blown it all by now.
"No trouble," he said with a shrug. "I'll ask her. She knew we were busing, after all."
"Sweet."
"Sweet," he echoed, again maintaining eye contact for just long enough to make it awkward. And when she made a point of squinting at him, he went one step further. He winked. Good God, Amara's weird friend was hitting on her. Or messing with her. How old even was this guy? Twenty-something?
Her squinting didn't let up. "I'm not interested."
Before he could mess with her more, she closed her bedroom door in a tactical retreat. Despite several renovations, their villa's walls remained painfully thin; so thin she heard him chuckling as he descended the stairs. The cocky jerk. But soon enough, she'd hear him bid Amara farewell. After that, she'd pry her cousin from the TV. For now, though, it was time to abuse her brain with more calculus.
A'isha was halfway through her first equation when muffled conversation came through the door.
"I'm outta cash, sorry." By the flat tone of Amara's voice, she was bummed about her pervy friend's imminent departure. Still, A'isha could imagine her cousin fluttering her enviously long lashes at him and flaunting her trademark cutesy-girl smile.
"How did you plan on paying for the bus?" Namu asked, sounding miffed.
"You, silly."
Why could A'isha now picture Namu rolling his eyes? She tapped her pencil against the desk, biting her lip. Getting him home wasn't her problem. This math equation was. He was Amara's responsibility now—
"I have an idea," Amara said, and A'isha knew she wouldn't like it. "Your parents aren't home, right? We could walk to your place."
Oh no no no! A'isha rolled back in her chair and marched to her door, yanking it open.
Namu was leaning against Amara's bedroom door frame, arms crossed, a troubled frown on his pretty boy face. He looked at her, his frown flipping upside down. "Oh, hello again."
"You're still here."
"I'm afraid Mar's misplaced her bus money." He laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his pale blond hair. "Hey, the white Nissan Sunny's yours, right?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Well, I'd hate to impose, but is there any chance you could drive me?"
A whole car ride with Flirty McTurd? It'd get him out of her hair, but also involved however many minutes of awkward silence or one-sided flirting attempts—
Amara appeared in the doorway beside him, slapping her hands together. "Please, Ish!"
A'isha's head jerked back. Did Amara just end her silent treatment shenanigans? And with the P word, no less? If Amara's flat tone wasn't because she was bummed out, maybe she was getting a cold? Whatever the case, it was worth encouraging those seldom seen manners. "Only because you said please."
"Thanks, Ish." Amara bounded to the stairs. "I'll get the car keys."
Wait, she'd never said Amara could tag along! Though, she'd just sneak back on the TV the moment they left. Her tagging along was probably for the best. "Mar, you sound less lively than usual. Are you getting sick?"
Her cousin stopped on the stairs, her pink-polished hand on the railing. "I don't feel quite like myself."
"Alright. We'll get some meds on our way home." A'isha had scoured the kitchen for painkillers this morning to ease a tension headache, only to come up empty-handed, and while she didn't have any cash on hand, she did at least have her card. "Just let me get a cardigan, okay?"
As Namu approached her, she definitely detected a hint of sandalwood in his cologne. "See you in the car, A'isha. And thanks so much." He flashed her a charming smile on his way to the stairs, and maybe it'd gotten smiles back in the past, but A'isha remained unmoved.
The wind rustled the hedge of trees bordering the front yard as A'isha jogged down the patio steps, faded wood clunking under her fake converse. Like most of her wardrobe these days, she'd bought them with her own money, and through sheer determination, had kept them white.
Most people in Alexandria were confined to cramped apartments, so she considered herself lucky to be among the minority who lived in the wealthy suburb of Kafr Abdu, known for its tree-lined streets and abundance of cafés. The credit for that mostly went to her hard-working uncle and, though she didn't like to think about it, probably her parents' life insurance. As for her aunt's contributions—ha, what contributions?
A'isha ducked into her second-hand sedan, expecting to see Amara's oval face and bright eyes in the passenger seat. Instead, she was met by Namu's pleasant cologne and his unpleasant stare. Say what? Her cousin always rode shotgun.
"How'd you pull that off?" she asked, nodding to Amara in the back seat.
His seatbelt squeaked as he shrugged. "All it takes is a little magic."
She snorted. A magic face, maybe. "And what's with that shiny stick?" She nodded to the gold item splayed across his lap, his thumb tracing the Ancient Egyptian eye engraved upon it. "Let me guess; a stolen relic from Cairo Museum?"
He huffed in amusement. "No, but this item did help me break into it once."
"Casually confessing to last month's break-in to a cop's niece?" Not really, of course. The R.H. and his Rare Hunters were responsible for that.
"I wouldn't be that foolish, would I?"
A'isha rolled her eyes. While she was glad he hadn't left his strange sceptre tucked under his belt where it could rip the upholstery, it was still about as creepy as its owner (read: a lot). She couldn't wait to be rid of both.
In the backseat, Amara rattled the keys, holding them out to her. "Here you go, Ish." Her voice, typically as loud and lively as a child on a sugar high, was unusually flat and soft-spoken.
A'isha took the keys, trying to catch her cousin's eye. She seemed spaced out. More like she'd smoked a joint than caught a cold. But wasn't weed supposed to smell strong? "You sure you're all good, Mar?"
"I'm tired," she said, her posture oddly rigid as she gazed out the window. "I might take a nap after this."
While she didn't wish her cousin sick and certainly didn't want her high, A'isha had to admit her productivity would sky rocket if Amara slept the day away. Maybe there was hope for her math grade yet. Starting the engine, she asked, "So, where are we heading?"
"Alexandria Port," Namu said.
She did a double take. "People live there?"
"Die-hard orca fans for parents, remember? They're marine biologists. We have a houseboat and everything." Between that and his smarts, he was certainly different to Amara's usual riff raff.
"If you say so." A half hour drive necessitated a good playlist, so she brought up her favourite one on her smartphone. With the power of Bluetooth, a mix of P!nk, Kelly Clarkson and Ed Sheeran blared through her car speakers, conveniently drowning out any more of Namu's attempts at conversation.
A'isha should be chuffed. Just a few more minutes until she'd kick Namu's creepy butt to the curb and eagerly move on with her Saturday. But the deeper she drove into Alexandria Port, the more her chest tightened. They hadn't seen another soul in a while. Only glimpses of the choppy Mediterranean Sea between graffiti-smothered warehouses and faded shipping containers. Why would anyone dock a houseboat in a place like this?
But if Namu was a no-good liar, surely the port's security guard wouldn't have recognised him and opened the gate. And surely Amara wouldn't know the route from that gate to his supposed houseboat half as well as she knew every MAC lipstick ever. Once A'isha had needed directions, it had been her cousin - not Namu - who'd provided them, and in that same flat tone that, both oddly and fittingly, sounded about as dead inside as a GPS's voice. Even if Amara was catching a cold, A'isha had never heard her sound like this before today.
Paranoia. This had to be. After being mugged by a group of seedy men, of course she'd be suss of a cocky flirt like this Namu jerk. But that night, when she'd been forced to walk home in Alexandria's worst storm in years, she'd been paranoid too. And ignored the feeling. And now regretted it with a fiery passion.
A'isha slammed on the brakes.
Namu's seatbelt went taut, forcing a grunt from his lungs.
"Get out."
Regaining his composure, he swept a few stray strands of hair out of his face and squinted at her. Not threateningly. More like he was trying to assess the situation. To assess her. He gripped that sceptre tighter—
A hand grabbed her shoulder from the back seat. "Ish, what're you doing?" God, she'd almost forgotten Amara was there!
A'isha jerked her shoulder free, her gaze fixed on Namu. "You heard me, orca boy." She jabbed a finger at his door, her hand directly in front of his face. No way could he misinterpret that. "Get out of my car." The moment he did, she'd shove her foot on the gas and high-tail her and Amara home.
Namu opened his mouth—
But Amara cut in. "Let me walk him the rest of the way. It's not far."
A'isha shook her head. Grounded or not, she wouldn't let Amara gallivant off alone with this creep, particularly somewhere like this. "Namu can walk the rest of the way by himself"—she flashed him a sweet smile—"like a big boy."
The jerk so clearly bit back laughter as he unbuckled his seatbelt. She heard a door open, but it wasn't his. Amara slammed hers shut behind her and yanked Namu's open, peering in to glower at A'isha. "I'm walking him the rest of the way, whether you like it or not."
A'isha almost growled. Trust Amara to make this even more difficult than she already had. "Mar, get back in or I'll—" A light breeze disturbed Amara's fringe, catching all words in A'isha's throat. It soon settled back into place, but she swore she'd glimpsed something on her cousin's forehead. A yellowish glow.
"You'll what?" Amara challenged, inspecting her hot pink nails. "Have Dad extend my grounding? Whatevs. I'll deal. C'mon, Namu." She stepped back from his door. "Let's go already."
He faced A'isha, furrowing his brows. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble, but you know what Mar's like once her mind's made up." He lifted one leg out of the car at a leisurely pace, then had the nerve to say, "We'll try not to take too long."
The leather of the steering wheel groaned beneath A'isha's palms. Something about this felt so off. Something about him felt so off. But she couldn't force Amara back in the car, just like she couldn't let Amara out of her sight, especially with this shady turd and in this shady place. Damn it! "Wait."
He paused halfway out of his seat. "Yes?"
She glared out the windscreen. "How much farther?" If she had to choose between letting Amara do whatever she wanted or driving him the rest of the way, she'd choose the latter. At least this way they didn't split up.
Namu settled back into his seat. "Just there." He nodded up ahead at a concrete area surrounded by stacks of shipping containers. A parking lot, by the looks of it.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Fine."
Amara scooched into the back seat and re-buckled her seat belt. "I knew you'd see it my way."
A'isha directed her glare at her cousin's reflection in the rear-view mirror, but the oblivious pain in the butt was already staring back out the window. God, why did Amara have to make her choose between running and keeping her safe?
"I believe what Amara meant was 'thank you'," Namu added, showing a smile that most might call charming. A'isha called it patronising.
With a huff, she returned to the task at hand: get rid of The Jerk. She steered the car down the pothole infested street, feeling like she was driving along the River Styx and leading them to the underworld. Hades was probably waiting. Or already sitting in the front passenger seat.
"My house isn't far now," Namu said, and pointed at a tyre-scuffed spot clear of potholes. "Just there'll do."
A'isha parked, keeping the engine running as she faced him expectantly. One bare minimum goodbye with equally minimal manners, then she'd just have Amara left to deal with, and after tolerating Mr L'Oreal Commercial for the last hour, her cousin's sole presence almost sounded like a restful Saturday.
"Thank you again for the lift, A'isha."
"You can thank me by leav—"
Namu's eyes captured hers, as cold and hard as ice, and all she saw in that moment was the same proud, piercing stare he'd worn when they first met.
A'isha's paranoia erupted into full-blown dread, freezing her where she sat.
"No, I'm serious." This time around, there was no charm to that smile; just pure cockiness as he leaned in dangerously close. "You have my heartfelt gratitude, Dear A'isha. You've made this so easy for me."
Shapes blurred past the car, forming figures she'd seen only once before and had never hoped to see again. Her head whipped to the nearest one. Their dark purple robe flapped in the wind as they surged toward the car, alongside several others.
Suddenly, memories of that night came flooding back. The roaring downpour. A flickering streetlight. Hooded silhouettes surrounding her.
"Hurry up, Gavin!" one Rare Hunter had shouted over the rain. "We're freezing our balls off here."
Straddling her, Gavin had slithered his vile hands up, up, up her arms, and if her skin hadn't already been smothered by goosebumps, that would've done it in droves. "So let's find somewhere nice and dry for her to warm us up…"
"Fuck off, Gav!" that same Rare Hunter had barked. "You know The R.H. wouldn't approve—"
"Master Marik doesn't have to fucking know!"
In the present, A'isha's breathing slammed to a halt as her eyes shot to a smirking Namu.
Except he wasn't Namu at all.
He was Marik.
The R.H.
And she was fucked.
I hope you - yes, you! - enjoyed IAN's first chapter. Please consider leaving a review - whether it's detailed thoughts or a simple comment like 'I liked X part'. Regardless, you'll make my day!