Page 70 of Scarlet Mark
Amara owned the room, her dress one of the more scandalous in attendance. Women watched her with envy, men with desire.
I observed her with the knowledge that she’d be coming home with me tonight. That I would be the one to undress her. To fuck her. To claim her. And knowing all that stirred something inside of me. A possessive instinct, one that burned through my veins and tightened my stomach.
These sensations were new and volatile and entirely too welcome.
When Arthur gave me the go-ahead to take out these marks, I couldn’t tell him the truth of why I wanted them dead. Not that he’d asked, but it still felt like an omission. Especially as Amara would be the assassin on this case.
The Cavalieri Della Morte prided themselves on secrecy, on not letting anyone from the outside world know our true nature. Yet I’d confided almost my entire history to Amara. Fuck, this was an even deeper initiation into my dark life, ingraining her in my sins and cementing her place at my side.
It was wrong.
It felt right.
It was likely a mistake.
But I didn’t care.
She’d become the mistress to my work, creating a bond I never knew I wanted. And watching her work now was an experience that made it all worthwhile.
Men approached from all angles, begging for a second glance despite the women on their arms. It amused me and disgusted me. I couldn’t take my eyes off Amara long enough to admire anyone else in attendance. None of them mattered anyway. She was the only one in this room that I desired.
Our targets remained a steady presence in my peripheral vision. While they’d definitely noticed Amara, they clearly didn’t recognize her. The mask helped, as did her revealing gown. It drew their focus to her assets, not her face. And while I’d gathered they were intimately familiar with her body, they obviously hadn’t worshiped it like I had. Otherwise, they would have identified her right away.
Amara tilted her head back on a laugh that had my lips twitching and several heads turning. She certainly knew how to work a room. Was that part of her training? Or a natural skill? Regardless, I adored it.
As did our quarries.
I casually checked my watch. An hour had passed, leaving my hands aching for Amara’s curves. The sooner we ended this, the sooner I’d have her naked beneath me. Best to move this along, then.
Catching Amara’s eye, I gave her a nod of my head that she returned while Franklin and Hampton observed. Lifting my hand, I gave her another signal with two of my fingers, one she told me to use. Apparently, it meant something in her former world. She responded with another nod before lifting her drink in salute and returning to the male at her side with a smile.
I forced a smirk before checking my phone, all part of our plan.
From my peripheral vision, I caught Franklin and Hampton shifting, their interest definitely piqued. Pretending not to notice, I scrolled through a few messages from Nikolai.
Thanks for the date night idea, Dagger. We had a bloody good time.
Now my lips really did pull into a grin. Nikolai was Russian, not English. Which meant he literally had abloodygood time.Nothing like a sharp edge to darken the evening,I typed back.
Dots appeared, Nikolai having obviously been waiting for my acknowledgment.Too true. Unfortunately, our double date didn’t last very long. They couldn’t seem to handle my pchelka’s penchant for shiny toys.
Pity,I replied.Clearly, they didn’t understand the beauty of her skills.I’d not seen Nikolai’s female in action, but from what I knew about her, she’d be a formidable adversary with a blade. Amara would adore her. Perhaps we could go on a proper double date someday, not dual nights of killing sprees.
Definitely not. Feel free to send more date ideas, if you have them.
I chuckled.Noted. Thanks again.
Anytime.
With a swipe of my finger, I checked the most recent update from Raven regarding Malcom’s whereabouts. Still in Europe. Excellent.
Movement out of the corner of my eye had me switching my screen to another text, one about purchasing agreements. It was a manufactured message I asked Raven to send me from a fake number.
The clearing of a throat had me glancing upward without bothering to hide my phone. Franklin took the opportunity to not-so-discreetly read the words on the screen while Hampton focused on me.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, his voice holding a pompous edge to it that had me wanting to punch him. But I smiled instead.
“Clayton Powell.” I extended my hand, fully aware that my buddy Powell had never met this douchebag despite receiving numerous invites to his charity events. It wasn’t Clayton’s scene. He preferred parties with alcohol and available women, mostly to keep up his charade as a playboy heir. I’d discovered the truth about him years ago. Very few had caught on since, making his presence on the scene lucrative indeed.
