Page 54 of Scarlet Mark
I counted ten beats before pushing out my chair. “Darling, can you excuse me for a moment?”
Her face paled. “Killian—”
I brushed my thumb over her lips, giving her a smile. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Trust me.” I didn’t give her a chance to object, merely followed Raoul’s trail toward the back of the restaurant.
One bathroom.
Locked.
It gave me a chance to scope out the security. No cameras. The door to the kitchen was locked and closed, suggesting employees rarely used this entryway. And we were out of view of the restaurant patrons.
Some might find it superstitious to be dealt such a perfect hand, but I knew better. Most circumstances in life occurred in perfect order; it was human involvement that fucked it all up.
And the only thing that could go wrong now was someone joining me in line, which provided me with the incentive to hurry this along.
I eyed the handle, noting the cheap lock. A stern twist would shatter it. And I doubt a door like this had a deadbolt.
Pressing my ear against the door, I waited for the sound of a flush, knowing it would indicate a moment of weakness.
There.
I twisted the handle hard, forcing the door open and clocking the idiot right in the head. Not part of my plan, but it worked. He growled a curse in Arabic while I kicked the door closed behind me and pushed him toward the sink.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to wash your damn hands? Fuck, man.” Finding nothing to bar the door, I grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him against it. He was so dazed and shocked from my abruptness that he didn’t go for his gun until a second too late. I already had it in my hand, the barrel lifting to his temple.
“Marhabaan,” I greeted, giving him a too-friendly smile. “I know you speak English, asshole, so I’ll get right to the point. I need you to call your boss for me.” I glanced down, regretting it instantly. “And finish zipping up your fucking pants.”
Seriously.
He was he going to walk into the hallway undone? Because he clearly hadn’t planned to wash his hands. Poor hygiene all around.
“You have a death wish,” he replied, his accent holding a slight British lilt.
“I could say the same thing about you for misinterpreting my words as a request.” I dug the barrel into the side of his head. “Pants. Now.”
He grumbled out a poorly chosen word as he finished buttoning up, then cocked a brow. “Satisfied?”
“Hardly. Call your boss.”
He smiled. “Sure.” He pulled out his phone, arrogance pouring from his aura. This guy clearly wasn’t hired for his brains.
“On speaker.”
He shrugged, doing exactly as I requested. The phone rang once before someone picked up. “Is it done?” a cool British voice asked.
Raoul raised a brow.
“That’s not your boss,” I said, hitting him upside the head with the butt of the gun. He collapsed with anOof,the phone skidding across the floor. Sighing, I bent to retrieve the device.
“Sorry about that. Raoul decided to retire early.” I slid the gun into my jacket to better hold the phone. “Taviv, is it?” I asked, taking him off speakerphone and pressing the device to my ear.
Silence.
“Ah, don’t be shy. I’ve heard all about you from a mutual friend. Amara. She’s not your biggest fan, you know.” I knelt while I spoke, pulling out my blade. “Before I cut your buddy’s throat, any final words?”
“Killian Bedivere,” a new voice said, the throaty quality reminding me of a man who had smoked one too many cigars. How utterly cliché for a man in his position.
“Assad,” I replied, drawing my knife across Raoul’s skin. “I regret to inform you that tonight’s business deal is about to go south. I hope you didn’t need anything from those crime lords outside. One minute.”
