Page 36 of Scarlet Mark
“He purchased you to be his trophy wife,” I surmised.
She laughed, but it lacked humor. “Oh, that’s a naïve assessment.” She met my gaze, her pupils dilating to black out her irises. “He acquired me to fuck his friends, Killian. To fuck whomever he told me to in whatever situation he required. Including to gather intelligence and information from those he called allies, to use the details against them. And also to solidify partnerships. He obtained a woman who could play a trophy wife for the cameras while act as his deviant between the sheets. Also, that account you saw? That was the final payment. Of four.”
I whistled. “So that’s why he wants you back. You’re an expensive investment.”
Amara didn’t reply, just lifted a shoulder and released a long breath that seemed to expel all her fight. “You managed to make me talk.”
“I did.” And I wasn’t sorry about it. The only apology I would make was for misjudging her. But that truly lay at Malcom’s feet, not mine, a crime he would be paying for dearly in the near future. “What types of secrets did he make you learn for him?” Because that was the key to all of this. Not who she was or how he acquired her, but what she knew as a result.
A man like Malcom could easily deny allegations associated with human trafficking, especially if Geoff and Clarissa Rose took his side. Which they would undoubtedly do. They’d paint Amara as a culprit, victim-shame her, and put her away in an insane asylum somewhere.
Or worse, have her removed.
I’d seen that sort of shit done all my life. Sure, it’d raise a few eyebrows, but in the end, the senator would find a way to garner public’s sympathy. They always did.
But Amara knew something that could destroy him. Something powerful enough that he risked pissing off the Cavalieri to cover it up.
“What do you know, Amara?” I pressed, leaning toward her. “What did he reveal to you?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Killian.” Her dismissive words burned, stirring a flicker of irritation.
“It doesn’t matter?” I repeated, cocking a brow. “Why would you protect him?” Because that could be the only reason she’d not want to divulge information. Unless it somehow guarded her as well.
“Who says it’s him I’m protecting?” she countered, confirming my suspicion.
“He has something on you.” I drew my fingers through my hair, falling back against the couch. That complicated matters. “Look, the bastard tried to kill me. So regardless of whether or not you tell me what it is he has over you, he’s going to keep trying to kill me. Rather than play an expensive game of cat and mouse with him, I’d much rather take him off the board entirely. Which means I need you to tell me what you know.”
She studied me. “And what makes you think you can beat him?” Not a belittling question, but one laced with curiosity.
I’d intrigued her.
That meant, if I played my cards right, she’d start talking.
But I had to prove my worth to her first.
“Give me your wrist,” I said, glancing at the one with the cuff.
Her brow furrowed, but she complied, lifting her delicate arm. Pressing my palm to her smooth skin, I traced the band and found the unlocking mechanism. It unlatched upon recognizing my thumbprint, falling to the couch cushion between us. “You can leave if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” I stood to fix myself another cup of coffee while she remained on the couch, her expression wary.
She suspected this was a test.
It was, but not one designed for her. This test fell on me to pass, and failure wasn’t an option.
I fixed two mugs, deciding to offer her a few shots of much-needed caffeine. If she refused, I’d drink it.
Setting the two fresh cups on the coffee table in front of the couch, I joined her again. This time I drew my leg onto the cushion and used the armrest to support my back, facing her.
“The Tabella Della Morte has a lot of resources and valuable connections, Amara. To take on such an organization means that either Malcom Jenkins is a very stupid man or he has reasons to feel confident in his position. I’m betting on the latter because your former fiancé does not strike me as an idiot. Even if he did send a bunch of amateurs to take me out.”
She said nothing, her gaze unreadable as she watched me from beneath a cluster of auburn lashes. However, her lack of an argument or statement corroborated my opinion.
“Do you know how much Bedivere Corp. is worth?” I wondered, picking up my mug to blow across the rim.
“Money isn’t everything,” she replied.
“Whoever told you that is lying. Money is power, sweetheart.” I learned that lesson a long, long time ago. “It’s all about status, names, the ability to buy each other out. It’s a giant fucking pissing match where the one with the most assets sits on top. Your senator is wealthy, but he’s not in my league.”
“Then how did Arthur blackmail you into working for him?” she asked, raising a brow. “If money is power, then you should have been able to tell him to go fuck himself.”
