Page 18 of Scarlet Mark
“Let’s go,” I said as the train stopped. Her bag went over my shoulder as I stood, my hand held out for hers. She begrudgingly gave me her palm, her skin clammy against my own. A nervous tell that informed me she had a plan up her sleeve.
Bring it on, darling.
I linked my fingers through hers, dragging her along at my side off the train and into the crowds of Berlin Central Station. The car I ordered was in the Hauptbahnhof parking garage. I just had to pick up the keys from my delivery man.
Amara remained quiet but vigilant, her steps measured and sure.
I searched the crowd for the sign I desired and smiled when I spotted the one that read “Mister Dagger.”
Greeting the male in fluent German, I flashed my identification and thanked him as he handed me the keys to a brand-new Audi R8. Sleek, gorgeous, perfection with enough horsepower to send us flying toward our destination. I couldn’t wait to feel her purr beneath me.
The same could be said about my charge, who had yet to say a word.
“You’re being awfully well behaved,” I commented, squeezing her hand.
“You’d prefer me to act otherwise?” she countered, batting those lush auburn lashes at me. “Because I’ll happily scream, if that would make you feel better.”
My lips curled. “Oh, I would enjoy that, but perhaps in the bedroom later. Not here.” I pulled her forward before she could reply, but didn’t miss the small gasp in my wake. She probably expected me to finish what we started atDiavolo Rojo. As much as I would enjoy that, I really needed a fucking nap. I’d wanted one on the train but didn’t trust her not to try something while I slept.
The hotel I’d booked near the meet-up spot would have to do.
Movement in my peripheral vision had my lips inching upward.
Amara didn’t flinch, her expression artfully blank, her posture sure.
But she’d just swiped a knife from a table as we passed a coffee shop. I caught the flash of metal as it disappeared into her hand.
I hid a smile, amused.
She could keep the butter knife.
Maybe we’d even play with it later. Then I’d introduce her to one of the daggers hidden beneath my clothes, teach her what a blade really felt like against her delicate skin.
I led her away from the stream of human traffic toward the garage, anticipating her strike. But it never came. Not even when we found the car I’d procured. If anything, she appeared too busy gaping at the beautiful sports car—black, of course—with a leather interior and a manual transmission.
“Get in,” I demanded, holding the passenger-side door open for her.
She shrugged and slid into the bucket seat, the knife nowhere to be seen. I suspected she hid it up the sleeve of her brown jacket or maybe in the pocket of her jeans.
If she planned to stab me while driving, we’d have a problem. Not that it would work—a blunt edge like that would bruise more easily than slice through my clothes. Still, it would suck.
I dropped her bag in the trunk in the front of the car, debating if I wanted to say anything. As she seemed content to stare out the window, seat belt already buckled, I decided against it and settled beside her instead.
She appeared to be waiting, so I’d wait with her.
And in the meantime, I’d acquaint myself with my new toy. Temporary, likely, but fun.
The engine roared to life, causing me to grin. Amara shifted subtly, her gaze flashing to the dashboard, eyeing the interlocking-ring symbol on the steering wheel and returning her focus to the parking garage.
I snorted. She might not find the fine piece of German machinery gorgeous, but I certainly did. And I particularly enjoyed the way it rumbled beneath me as I pulled out of the parking spot to head toward the exit.
Amara didn’t perk up until I entered the highway system, her intrigue palpable as I was finally allowed to drive the car as intended.
And I did.
I floored it to the speed of my desire, flying past others on the Autobahn with ease and loving the hell out of the Audi R8. It was really too fucking bad that we couldn’t drive like this in the United States. Of course, it didn’t stop me from trying, but the liberty of not having to worry about any trouble put me at ease in a way I couldn’t experience back home.
Not that I did a lot of driving in New Orleans or New York City—my two primary residences.
