Page 14 of Dirty Game
I twist hard, and the snap is loud as a grin spreads over my face.
Marco’s howl echoes off the marble, reverberating through the lobby and up into the glass dome.
Blood blossoms from his palm as the bone shreds the skin.
He staggers back, clutching his ruined hand. “You fuck?—!”
“She’s notyourfamily anymore.” I step between them, shielding Rosalynn with my back. “She’s mine. Because you all gave her to me as payment, remember?” I say it quietly, so only he hears the last part. “So don’t touch what you can’t afford.”
Marco’s face warps between pain and hate.
He spits, blood and saliva painting the marble at my feet. “You’re dead. You’re both—” He can’t finish the sentence.
His bodyguard guides him toward the door, his screams curdling to whimpers as he goes.
The moment stretches.
The security team disperses, back to their duties, but the silence left behind is heavy.
I look down.
The blood from Marco’s hand has splattered Rosalynn’s shoes, pooling around her left instep.
Her face is blank.
Her breathing is shallow, measured in the smallest increments.
She’s still not moving.
I crouch to her level, careful not to touch. “Did he hurt you?”
She shakes her head, a movement so slight I might have imagined it.
Her eyes never leave the floor.
I watch her for a long second, then another.
There’s an imprint of Marco’s hand around her arm, already deepening to purple.
She holds her elbow with the other hand, not massaging it, just holding.
“He won’t come back,” I say.
She doesn’t say anything.
I let the silence stand. Sometimes it says more than a thousand reassurances.
I straighten, nod to the guard behind the front desk. “Clean this up.” I flick my gaze to the blood. “And get someone to sweep for his bodyguard next time. He’s not as harmless as he looks.”
They scatter to comply.
Rosalynn finally shifts, like a puppet whose strings are reluctantly reattached. She smooths her skirt and pushes her hair behind her ear, the motion automatic and deliberate.
“Your wrist,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
