Page 30 of Scarlet Mark
“Fighting me right now would not be a smart move, Amara,” I warned as I settled beside her. Adrenaline pumped headily through my veins, my killing drive still raging inside me.
She froze beside me, fear wafting off her in waves. She could probably taste the lethal energy fueling my every move, a side effect of having just taken down nearly two dozen men. It left me feeling alive, indestructible, and furious.
Jenkins had thought me so inept that his little horde of incompetent soldiers could take me down? It was fucking insulting.
I reversed the Audi down the long drive, the growl of the engine matching the one in my chest.
Peeling out at the end of the road, I sent us flying forward toward the Autobahn.
And then a ringing sang through the car’s system.
I knew who it was without looking, hitting the Accept button. “Arthur.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Dagger? Senator Jenkins just called claiming you’ve lost your mind over a girl.”
I snorted. “I bet he did.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Did he happen to mention the greeting party he sent to the meeting spot?”
“Yes. He claims you killed them all.”
“I did.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“There were roughly two dozen heavily armed men waiting for the delivery. What does that tell you?”
He remained quiet for a moment, then replied, “Seems a bit much for one girl.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I muttered.
More silence.
Arthur Calthorpe was a lot of things—cold, unapologetic, sadistic. But he trusted his Cavalieri implicitly.
I had no reason to lie to him. Not now, not ever. I always completed my jobs on time or early, and earned him several bonuses throughout the years.
Reliablewas my middle name.
I did not fuck up.
And he knew it.
“Find out what she knows,” he finally said, hanging up, his order a new task.
He would expect me to go to whatever lengths were required to discern the truth.
Including torturing Amara.
“I hope you’re ready to talk, kitten,” I warned. “Or it’s going to be a very long night.”
Amara
Killian killed all those men.
Without blinking an eye.
Shot at me with a precision that left me frozen midstep.
Every action measured, precise, revealing a predator before my eyes. Each bullet had sailed into the skull or chest of his victims, sending them to the pavement before they could even register what he’d done.
