Page 269 of Rage

And through it all, Scarlett’s gaze stopped on Josephine Singh who sat on a throne, for lack of better word, checking her nail beds as if she were bored.

Scarlett was bold when their eyes met and a look of knowing surpassed the Second Heir’s face. It was as if they’d shared a secret. When she bid the girl goodnight and came to her in her dreams, when the shadows danced at her back, when the sconces flickered… It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Scarlett pushed forward.

Her heels clicked off the tile, lost from the sounds of ecstasy and soft music pulsing through the lounge. Lost to everyone but Josephine whose hooded eyes locked onto her, whose boredom turned into excitement, made her sit up, made her alert and intrigued.

When Scarlett finally stood before her at the bottom of a three-step dais, a man and a woman–suited for business–looked her over with raised brows full of shock.

“You won over the obedience of a Darling and you haven't even been home a week,” said the woman, her flashing red eyes painted with mischief. “Impressive.”

“Don’t mind my partner,” said the man, his broad shoulders squared and handsome face lit up with a smile. “It’s a compliment.”

Josephine gestured between the two. “Ms. Emerson, I’d like to formally introduce you to Zahira Mostafa and Frank Castelo.” War Maiden and Frankenstein. Nameless City’s most feared Anarchists. “Butit looks like we’ll have to cut our meeting short. It’s not proper to neglect a lady.”

Zahira and Frank shared a knowing glance before drawing their fists to their chests. They dipped their heads in unison and left without sound. Only the courtesans flanking Josephine’s throne remained, their envy of Scarlett making them tight-lipped and sour.

“I’m glad you found your way to me,” the Heir admitted.

“I take direction well,Joey.”

The woman smiled, her eyes uncannily large and her teeth sharper than Scarlett remembered. “Oh, Cassidy let that one slip, did she? Only those of my closest circle are allowed to address me as such.”

“Then it seems I’m long overdue. Lest you’ve forgotten where you let me rest my head. I’ll cut to the chase. I want to accept your offer. The one you gave me the night of our dance.”

Josephine’s laughter was low and husky. Amusing, breathtaking–and with the way she looked down the bridge of her archaic nose–victorious. "Who's to say that offer is still valid? I mean..." she made a pout of her lips, eyes scanning the inner sanctum, "it's not every day I ask a woman to be my wife."

A blonde haired woman set a hand on Josephine’s shoulder, nails like talons. "You proposed to marry a whore?”

“What the Highborns would say if they knew,” tsk’ed another, her black hair in long, luscious curls down barren shoulders.

“Will you take all of your brother’s playthings?” That last one felt like a slap to the face, the red-head who’d spoken it flashing only the wickedest of smiles.

Josephine sighed. "Apologies, Ms. Emerson. They tend to envy what they don't have."

Scarlett swallowed a lump in her throat yet remained as strong as she could. "You dismiss your business partners, but you lend your ear to courtesans who don’t know how to respect your guests. Seems you’re just like your brother.”

Her words were static tension that made the shadows dance along Josephine’s throne. What humor the Second Heir had vanished, and now her jaw clenched, her eyes dulled. Gone was Josephine’s wit and charm. Replacing it was a look of unadulterated rage that sent a shiver down Scarlett's spine.

She lifted her hand, gesturing for the lot to leave. "Clear out. All of you."

It brought Scarlett far too much pleasure seeing the gorgeous trio slinking after the others. It took no time at all for the place to hold only two beating hearts, that is if Josephine still had one left.

"Marrying me thinking it would save your dignity would do the opposite," Josephine began. "You're not my brother's first victim and you won't be his last. The Singhs don't care about thetrouble they cause, not when they're the forerunners of weapons manufacturing and trade."

"Trade as in sex trafficking," Scarlett snapped.

"Little Dove–"

"Stop it. Stop trying to use pretty words thinking it'll change how I feel or what's been done. You don't know about this family the way I do. You don't know what I've been through. You were sent to Europe, got into Ivy Leagues at the bat of a lash, learned how to work the Underground. You know what I got?" She got close enough to see Josephine’s emotionless face, the way her eyes danced along hers. "I got pulled from my mother’s arms at eight. I was raped by Pigs and what did my father get in return? Ten thousand dollars per mark, per bruise, per desecration of my soul. It continued for twenty fucking years and now, you want your turn, don’t you? Come back after two decades and think you know what’s best. Just know this. I can marry you, but I'll never be owned by you. You and your filthy bloodline can go to hell.”

Her chest heaved, her hands shook, and she could barely look at Josephine with tears obscuring her sight. But there was no ire in the Heir’s voice when she asked, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Scarlet recoiled at the sudden change in conversation. "What?"

"We were in the same class. Grade 2. You don’t remember."

Scarlett agreed, "I don't remember a lot about my youth."

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