Page 56 of Dirty Game
Not transaction, but... something else.
Something I don't have words for yet, but feel building in my chest like a storm.
The phone on his desk rings.
Not his cell—the landline that barely anyone uses.
I shouldn't answer it, but something makes me pick up.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then, someone finally speaks."So you're the new pet." A woman's voice, smooth as aged whiskey, sharp as a blade. "I was wondering when he'd replace me."
My blood goes cold. "Who is this?"
"Someone who knows exactly what you're feeling right now. The confusion. The desire. The way he makes you feel like you're the only thing that matters one moment and nothing the next." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Let me guess—he's marked you but hasn't fucked you. Typical Varrick. Always did like to play with his food."
"You're her." The realization hits like ice water. "S.C."
The silence stretches.
"So, he kept the scar. How sentimental. Did he tell you how I gave it to him? How he begged me to mark him, make him mine forever?"
"You're lying."
"Am I? Ask him. Ask him about the hotel room and the knife and how he held still while I carved my initials into his skin. Ask him how many times he said he loved me while his blood dripped onto Egyptian cotton sheets."
I hang up, my hands shaking.
Not from fear, but from rage.
How dare she call here, call me a replacement, reduce what's happening between Varrick and me to some echo of their past?
But worse than the rage is the image she's painted—Varrick young and in love, letting someone mark him permanently, willingly.
The kind of devotion that leads to that kind of scar... what happened to turn it into betrayal?
No. I won't let her poison this, won't let her reduce me to some shadow of herself.
I think about the way he looked at the photo of his younger self.
The way he brought me food even after pushing me away.
The way he said I was learning to fight back like it was the best and worst thing he'd ever seen.
I'm not her replacement.
I'm something else. Something he doesn't know how to handle, which is why he keeps pulling me close and pushing me away.
The elevator chimes.
Jensen's voice calls out, "Miss Rosalynn? The boss wants you to pack a bag. We're moving to the safe house."
"Why?" I unlock the door, find Jensen looking grim.
"The Corsinis put a price on your head. Fifty thousand to whoever brings you to them alive." He pauses. "The boss is handling it, but until then, you need to disappear."
