Page 143 of Scars Run Deep

A golden angel gliding toward us.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could school my reaction back to impassive as I took in Valerie Carmichael in all her beauty. Her soft brown hair was piled in a bun on her head, some wisps free and framing her face. Her amber eyes cut through everything else around her, but my chest squeezed as I saw that usual vacant look in them. At least she didn’t look high this time. Samuel often dosed her for these big events, a precaution to ensure she remained docile in front of so many influential figures. This errand of his must have put the kibosh on it this time. It meant I could actually talk to her, that she’d actually hear me, and see me. She put everybody else to shame in a sophisticated one-shoulder golden metallic dress that flowed down in pleats to a pair of golden sandals.

“Well, I have to mingle,” Samuel said. He grasped Asher’s arm. Hard. Fuck. “Go order a drink. Something strong. I want you relaxed for what’s to come. I know how much you hate the dolls and I can’t risk you reacting negatively.”

“I am relaxed.”

“Hmm, my mistake, I meant pliant.”

I swallowed hard.

Asher’s fist clenched.

“Unfortunately, that’s not a trait I possess. Thanks to your teachings actually,” he responded smoothly, his fist unclenching.

“Nice try, boy,” Carson chuckled.

But there was nothing lighthearted about it, no amusement in it.

It was downright nasty.

He grasped Asher’s tie and tightened it like a noose until a choked sound escaped him.

I started forward.

Asher held up his hand discreetly.

Fuck.

Carson leaned in close and growled, “I’m sure a couple of weeks in my dungeon would disabuse you of that way of thinking. Is that what you want, because I have to say, I’ve missed those lessons of ours.” He tightened the tie all the more. “So, is that what you want, son?”

“No,” Asher croaked.

“Then head to the bar and drink. Scotch. Three doubles. My staff will be watching.”

“Yes,” Asher only just managed to utter again at the brutally constricting grip.

Carson smiled, then abruptly released him, making him cough and grasp at his throat.

The bastard turned to me like nothing had happened. “Enjoy your evening,” he said, before disappearing into the crowds.

As soon as he was out of sight, I rushed to Asher and eased him behind a pillar.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” he grunted.

“What do you think is going on with that errand he said my father is running right now?”

“Impossible to know without more of a hint, but suffice to say he isn’t picking up his dry cleaning.”

“Plus, he has people doing that for him. He’s probably doing something concerning the dolls.”

“He was the original trainer. The mentor to all other trainers.”

I scrubbed my hand over my face, trying to push down how fucked-up it all was.

And how personal.

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