Page 90 of Scarlet Mark
I handed one to Amara, leaving the other two within reach on the table should she need another.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t thank me. But turned to look at the monsters groaning on the floor. While she debated her next move, I assessed the room for security cameras and found none.
This dungeon sucked.
Not that I should complain, as it made it that much easier for us to escape.
But for fuck’s sake, the Roses operated a multimillion-dollar slavery scheme, and they knew nothing about proper underground protocols. Or perhaps it was a result of their usual prisoners being scared little girls.
I couldn’t wait to watch Amara kill them. They deserved pain. A lot of it.
She started with the jackass who had his dick near her mouth, bending down to draw my knife directly across his throat without a word. Then watched as he choked on his own blood, a look of awe on her face.
Not exactly triumph or satisfaction, but more like wonder at watching life slip away from the monster at her feet. Malcom had curled into the fetal position, mourning the damage to his dick. He seemed completely unaware of his dying friend.
“Who was he?” I wondered out loud.
Amara shook her head, her attention having shifted to the dying senator. She just stared at him, her fingers clutching the blade handle so hard that her knuckles were white.
Malcom remained oblivious, too concerned about his own wounds to see her coming.
A mistake on his part. Because she resembled a naked vigilante goddess, her eyes bright with vengeance, her limbs shaking from the rage building inside her.
“You. Do. Not. Own. Me.” She bent to grab a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look at her. “I am not a toy. I am not a fuck doll. I am not a slut.Youare a monster.”
He snorted, then winced and moaned at the injuries he’d sustained. Fucking pansy. This was the part when they all begged for their lives. Irony at its finest because he undoubtedly enjoyed putting others in this position.
How many times had he forced Amara to plead? What about the other women he’d likely violated?
I folded my arms, pleased to see him filling the shoes of his victims. His death should be prolonged and painful, but the choice belonged to my warrior. If she longed for it to be quick, I would respect it. If she wanted to make him scream, I’d happily listen. And if anyone tried to disturb this moment, I’d kill them.
She tugged on his scalp, bending to place her face close to his. “I have something for you to swallow,Malcom.I think you’ll enjoy it because you’re a dirty, filthy bastard.”
The words must have been ones he said to her in the past, or maybe even tonight, because the venom pouring from her voice was underlined in experience.
Amara pressed the blade to his lips. “Open wide for me,slut.” She rammed the knife into his mouth with considerable strength, forcing every inch down his throat. His screams were lost to a horrible gurgling, one that satisfied my need for blood and left Amara watching him without emotion.
His hands lifted, his fingers trying to claw at the item stuck in his mouth, but he couldn’t gain purchase on the handle. She’d shoved it in too deep, lodging it inside him with no escape.
“Suck it,” she encouraged him. “Enjoy it. Swallow it.”
Harsh, dark words that finally brought a hint of feeling to her features. Tears. The wobbling of her lips. A deep, sad exhale.
I pulled her into my arms before the first sob broke, holding her against me and ignoring her soiled state. She needed my strength, my adoration, mylove.
We weren’t done yet, had several others to kill, but she required the pause to regain her focus. I’d do whatever she needed, give her whatever she asked for, and never let her go.
Malcom convulsed, dying out of the corner of my eye.Good riddance, asshole.
My arms tightened around Amara, devastated for her and proud at the same time. This was one nightmare of many that she needed to extinguish to reconcile her past and move into the future.
She’d never forget. That was not what this was about. Experiences shaped us, taught us how to live, and influenced who we became.
“He’s dead,” she whispered.
“He is.”
She swallowed, her nails digging into my lower back as she hugged me fiercely. “I killed him.”
